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miscellaneous-miraculous · 4 years ago

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My Heart is Bleeding on the Ground

AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650806

Adrien woke up to a flash of pink light. Oh, bug. Her whole body was shaking, arms and legs thrashing out in the tangled sheets. Her mask and cheeks were streaked with tears. She never spoke during her nightmares, but Adrien knew well enough what she was seeing. What she saw every time.

Not wanting to wake her unless he had to, Adrien slid closer. Sometimes just holding him was enough to lull her back into a more peaceful sleep. Sometimes it wasn’t. He reached for her, his fingertips barely brushing her shoulder before she immediately clamped her arms around him. “It’s okay, you saved me. I’m right here. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

--------------------------------------

It hurt to breathe. Broken ribs. His head was pounding. Concussion. Something felt like it was twisting his insides, a warm liquid pooling around his body. Stab wound. He held a hand over his side, trying to staunch the blood. Plagg was saying something but none of the words made sense. Ladybug was kneeling next to him – but why did she look so sad? He reached up and tried to wipe away her tears but only succeeded in creating a smear of red across her cheek. “Please, don’t cry, my lady,” he said. That only seemed to make her cry more.

“What do you want me to do then?” she asked. “My heart is bleeding on the floor.”

That confused him, she didn’t look wounded. The whole point was to keep her safe. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt. He moved his hand down to her chest, but there was no injury. “You’re not cut.”

She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, rubbing her hand across her eyes. “Come on, love, let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?” She scooped him up, gently cradling his head as she carried him bridal style.

Safe. He knew somewhere safe. “We should go to the Dupain-Cheng bakery. They have the best food in Paris – probably the whole world.” Marinette’s parents were kind, they would help. Maybe they could figure out what was hurting Ladybug.

“Later, mon chou,” Ladybug said, swinging them out the window. “I’ll make you a whole box of passionfruit macrons if you just stay with me.”

“I like passionfruit, it’s my favorite flavor. They make really good muffins too, and quiche, and cake, and almond cookies, and egg tarts, and baozi, and croissants, and –” he trailed off, letting the memory of the bakery overtake his mind. It was warm and it always smelled so good and M. Dupain liked puns and Mme. Cheng always offered him snacks and Marinette was there. Ladybug would like it there too. He should introduce them sometime.

The wind felt funny as Ladybug carried him across the city. It was – colder than usual, and the movement made his side hurt more. Why did his side hurt? Ladybug would know. “Why does my side hurt?” It felt like someone had taken out his organs and put them back in the wrong order.

“You got stabbed.” Oh, right. How had he forgotten that?

“That was dumb,” he said, trying to remember the incident. Why had he let himself get stabbed? He’d promised Ladybug he would be careful.

“It was,” she agreed. “Please don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try,” he mumbled, his eyes slipping closed.

He heard Ladybug shouting, telling him he needed to open his eyes, but it was like someone had glued them shut. Her voice was becoming farther and farther away as he plunged into the dark.

----------------------------

Ladybug buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him even more now that she was awake. For a while they just stayed like that, limbs entangled as they clung to each other – each one taking comfort in the other’s steady heartbeat. Adrien kept whispering to her, promising he was okay, reminding her they were safe, telling her that he loved her.

Eventually her hand found its way to his side, near the bottom of his ribcage, tracing over the scar. The blade had punctured his liver and barely cut into the vein there. The doctors had told him he was incredibly lucky it hadn’t been any deeper and that Ladybug was able to get him the hospital so fast. Adrien had told them it was all Ladybug’s luck rubbing off. His luck was what led to actually getting stabbed in an area that had some major organs and blood vessels. It was Ladybug’s luck again that he hadn’t broken his ribs, only cracked two of them. “I wish I could erase your memories of that day,” Adrien said, putting his hand over hers.

“I wish you hadn’t taken that knife for me.”

“I don’t.”

“Adrien –” they’d had this debate a million times before. They’d probably have it a million more times.

“Buginette, you know as well as I do there was magic in the blade. It would have gone through your suit the same way it went through his.” He was thankful he hadn’t seen that. Plagg had told him later, when Ladybug was asleep in the chair beside him at the hospital. “We’re partners, we protect each other.”

“Then let me protect you for once.”

"You already have,” he brought her hand to his lips. “You gave me a place to stay,” he kissed her fingertips. “You gave me someone I could trust with anything, someone I knew would have my back no matter what,” he kissed her palm. “You gave me courage,” he kissed the back of her hand.

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears. “We’ve been down this road a hundred times, love, we both know each other’s lines.”

She frowned, “I hate you.”

He grinned. “Oh no, my lady has been hit by Dark Cupid’s arrow! I must save her with true love’s kiss!” She giggled as he began peppering her face with kisses and he thought his heart would leap from his chest. She began tickling his sides, causing him to curl up in laughter.

“Mwahahaha, now your miraculous will be mine!”

“Not a chance,” he cupped her face in his hands, pulling her down for a kiss. He could feel her smiling against his lips. He pulled back a little, “Did it work?”

“Maybe you should try again,” she said. “Just in case.”

“Good idea,” he kissed her again, a sigh escaping his lips. When she pulled back, the look in her eyes was enough to make him melt. How could she look at him like he personally put up the sun, moon, and stars everyday when that was all her? His lady. His love.

“You know,” he breathed. “You can never be too careful.” The last words had barely left his mouth before her lips were on his again.

And again

And again.

#ladrien #ladrien june #miraculous ladybug #day 3 comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #tw:blood #mentions of blood #injuries #nightmares #aged up #post hawkmoth #my writing #writing #fan fic

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authorlmfletcher · 5 years ago

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Now that Who’s Who is over, I can finally share one of my favourite stories that I’ve written. <3

Adrien Agreste wasn’t happy. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for his life- he knew he lived a privileged life with wealth, fame, and beauty. But it was hollow and lonely. The only woman in the world he wanted to be with had vanished, leaving a gaping hole in his heart that he didn’t think would ever be repaired. She was gone and Adrien was left helpless to find her. A civilian instead of a superhero.

Also on Ao3 and FFnet.

Alarm. Stretch. Shower. Clothes. Coffee. Car.

Adrien shifted in his seat, taking care not to spill his coffee on his jeans. It was the same routine almost every morning - his bodyguard always seeming to know exactly where he had to be. The coffee was too cold, but at least it offered a little warmth to start the day. His body had long since ceased to function on caffeine, but Adrien drank it anyway. Maybe it was the idea that coffee somehow indicated the arrival of adulthood.

The grey sky outside the car window reflected his mood - grey and dismal. He’d better pretend to change that soon or he’d get a stern look of disapproval from his father. A look that still made Adrien’s skin clammy and teeth grit. But maybe that would break up some of the monotony of his life.

Leaving the coffee cup in the car, he stepped out to the location of the day, closing the door behind him with more force than he needed.

Hair. Makeup. Clothing change. Pose. Switch positions. Pose. Try to look happy.

The problem was, Adrien Agreste wasn’t happy. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for his life- he knew he lived a privileged life with wealth, fame, and beauty. But it was hollow and lonely. Sure, he could practically have any woman he wanted whenever he wanted - but he didn’t. The only woman in the world he wanted to be with had vanished, leaving a gaping hole in his heart that he didn’t think would ever be repaired.

Lunch. Calorie Check. Weights. Lunge. Parry.

Kagami had once tried to push a relationship on him but it had never really worked out. Not while his heart belonged to another. Not even now. Instead, Kagami was the bright spot in the dullness of his day - taking time to fence with him long after competitions were a requirement by either of their parents. Now it was just part of the fitness regime and a personal challenge to best each other. Kagami usually won, despite Adrien’s sincere attempts otherwise, laughing as she found an unguarded spot to press the point of her steel.

Shower. Suit. Office. Emails.

Typically, his afternoons allowed him to complete his required work at Gabriel . Mind numbing things like answering emails about things he didn’t really care about, meeting with his generally disapproving father, and any other tasks on the list. He didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to be the face and heir to the fashion company that he didn’t even care one whit about. But it was all he had and it was something to fill the time.

Empty time to think was the worst. Memories seeped into any moment he wasn’t busy. Memories of a girl with pigtails and a red-spotted suit. Memories of a woman with blue eyes and macrons. Of a floating cat with a cheese addiction. Memories that left a painful throb in his chest and a catch in his throat. He only allowed himself to rub the emptiness of his finger for a moment before forcing his brain to go numb and answer another stupid email.

Car. Supper. Run.

The only time in the day of his own - truly his own - was when the sun was sinking deep into the horizon and he could run. It wasn’t the same as rooftops but it was as close as he could get, freely racing through the streets of Paris with music blasting in his ears to block out any unwanted thoughts. At least, until the bakery came into view. His legs fumbled to a stall as he stared at the elegant font on black signs, breathing hard. Unwillingly, his feet were at the entrance, hand pushing the door open, the tinkle of the bell startling him to reality.

The petite woman behind the counter looked surprised to see him as well, the smile on her face turning from welcoming to pained as she shook her head in silence. Of course not. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

His eyes turned to the door at the back of the shop, the question asked without a word and Sabine nodded, her features so like her daughter’s that for a blurred moment it left him confused. Blinking to clear his vision, he bowed in thanks before slipping through the door.

He climbed the stairs to their apartment, arguing with himself about this choice, knowing he would regret it but unable to stop. It was the same, the warmth of life still smacking him in the face as he pushed the door open. Even with her gone, it felt like home.

They’d left her room untouched as a sign of hope. Pink and soft, even now her scent lingered despite the swirling of dust. Her chair. Her mannequin. Her sewing corner. Her bed. He couldn’t do this. He knew he couldn’t do this - the strength of his legs leaving him as a shaking crumpled pile on the floor of her room.

Cry.

Her mother found him, arms encircling him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A mother’s love. She didn’t need to ask questions. She just knew. How could her heart take the emptiness? He might never be as strong as her.

“She’ll be ok, Adrien. We have to believe it.”

Dream.

His apartment was hollow. Simply an empty shell that served its purpose. It would never feel like home now. Never with her gone.

Desperate for sleep to take him, the pills went down quickly, the promise of nothing ascending as he settled beneath the covers.

It rarely did - twisted dreams of chaotic memories making his sleep fitful.

Freedom. Memories of the past, running over the Paris rooftops in the twilight. The view from the Eiffel Tower. The Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous voluntarily sitting in Ladybug’s hands, delivered anonymously by one last akuma, leaving them both surprised at the sudden and unexpected twist of events. Their reveal to each other - her mask melting away to show him her beautiful face and her look of shock as she discovered his own. Kisses and laughter and a different ring. One that sparkled with diamonds just for her. Sudden and frantic desperation - tears on her face and panic in her voice as she pleaded for his co-operation. The emptiness on his finger that once carried the weight of destruction. Her being gone without a trace.

Waking up with a start, he breathed deeply to try and calm the irrational galloping of his heart while he dug his fingers into his hair. She was gone and he was left helpless to find her. A civilian instead of a superhero.

Not even the slue of private investigators or frantic trips to possible sighting locations found her. She had vanished into thin air along with the miracle box. Her duty as Guardian, she’d whispered through the streams of tears, kissing him goodbye before he had even realized her plans.

He wouldn’t sleep anymore tonight - flopping back to stare at the darkness of the ceiling in aching loneliness.

Rinse. Repeat.

It was easiest to live in mindless monotony. Turn off the brain, go through the motions, be disconnected from everyone and everything as much as possible. So he did. Each day the same basic schedule. Each day an attempt to avoid memories and the questions that dragged at the corners of his brain.

Sometimes, his evenings involved something different than running or mindless television or killing things in a game. Sometimes, he forced himself to get dressed and socialize - whether at an event for Gabriel or to see Nino.

Parties were easy. All he had to do was plaster on the fake smile and make the rounds. A carefully auto-piloted version of himself.

Seeing friends typically left him emotionally drained, especially when Nino brought Alya along. He couldn’t take the questioning or the reports of leads that Alya thought she had on Marinette. Three years and the woman wouldn’t let it go. He supposed that’s why Alya was so successful as a reporter - her unyielding determination. She kept on hoping. But, for him, it was gone.

Sometimes, his father sent him off to the world, ruining his routine and carefully numbed life. His father never seemed to care about Marinette’s mysterious disappearance. Instead, his father had pushed Adrien into the business, keeping him busy. In some way, Adrien supposed, it had been his father’s way of helping.

So, to New York, Toronto, Berlin, London he went.

Walk. Smile. Walk. Pose. Outfit change.

Do his job. Represent the brand. It was easy enough. Mindless enough. Parties and networking to attend, he stared at the bubbling golden liquid in the tall glass between his fingers with a mixture of disgust and desire.

He’d tried that before.

It hadn’t ended well.

The poor young girl he’d chased down in the drunken belief that she was Marinette was likely haunted for life by his screaming and flailing. No amount of apology could make up for that. It had taught him two valuable lessons.

One - stop drinking.

Two - stop looking for her in every face.

So, he held the flute of champagne with casual obligation instead of desperate hollowness.

When the chaos of the fashion work died down for the day, long after the sun had set and the sky was dark, he raced down the streets and let the freshness of the air burn his cheeks and fill his lungs. A new location sometimes helped clear his head because her memory wasn’t around every corner. He ran until he could barely move, dropping himself into bed exhausted - praying for a dreamless night.

Alarm. Stretch. Shower. Clothes. Coffee. Car.

Adrien stared at the coffee in his hand as the car lurched through the streets. Funny how his routines stayed the same even in other countries. His body felt heavier than usual - likely the aftermath of his parties and restless nights. Obligation to complete the tasks here in Shanghai before his late night boarding call home to Paris guided the day.

Hair. Makeup. Clothing change. Pose. Switch positions. Pose. Try to look happy.

More photo shoots. The city’s fashion school, a beautiful and abstract building, lent itself well to the academic attire he wore. God, he was getting tired of fake smiles and trying to pretend he was flirting with the women on his arm for photos. At least the makeup team made him look like he wasn’t the walking zombie he felt like.

On order of the photographer, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of the shirt before the hairstylist ruffled his hair. Keeping his eyes on the camera while the female models posed around him, he tried to look the roguish bit that the designer desired. Everyone seemed pleased with the results, sending him to relax for a bit before the next clothing change.

He needed more coffee. Following the signs on the walls to the cafe, he absently wondered if “Les Petits Temps Cafe” would have any Parisian style treats - like croissants - the thought flaring the constantly dull ache to a quick flame. No treats then. Just coffee. The girl behind the counter smiled shyly when she passed over a steaming cup.

Perched on a stool at a wooden table overlooking a large window to the bustling city of Shanghai, Adrien sipped the coffee with careful mindlessness. The heavy, dark clouds threatened rain.

Only a few more hours. Regretting that his phone remained with his discarded day clothes, he turned his attention to the patrons of the cafe to keep his mind distracted.

People bustled in and out, mostly students with bags thrown over their shoulders and books tucked into their arms as they chatted in various languages about projects and teachers. The girl behind the counter refilled the coffee machine while her co-worker, a single small-framed woman, trailed from table to table, cleaning up dishes and crumbs as people left.

Pushing himself to his feet, he scooped up his mug to bring it to her so she wouldn’t need to add more work to her day. She looked up at him in surprise when he spoke gently to ask where to place the dish.

Panic.

Wide blue eyes that he knew better than anyone else in the world stared at him in silence. He wondered if he was breathing. If SHE was breathing.

“Marinette.” Her name spilled unbidden from his lips. That seemed to wake her up, a blush tearing across her cheeks as she blinked and looked down at the mug he somehow still held on to.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I can take your cup from you.” Her voice nearly doubled him over, even when he realized she spoke fluent Mandarin. Her fingers grazed his hand while reaching for the mug, the spark from the brief touch jump starting his heart that had forgotten to work.

She shuffled away from him as quickly as she could, sliding behind the counter with her back to him. He didn’t know what to do, torn between the magnetic pull to hold her and being frozen in place. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, desperate for any sign of recognition. Streaked with a light tone, her hair reached nearly to her waist. It wasn’t unpleasant, just - different.

She intentionally faced away from him, chatting quietly with the other girl behind the counter in casual Mandarin before slipping through a doorway off to the side and vanishing.

“Marinette! Wait!” His voice was too loud, too desperate. His feet dragged his disconnected body to the counter, jumping over it like it was nothing. A shocked gasp from the other employee faded into the background as he threw himself through the doorway.

Scanning the kitchen, he panicked for a moment when he couldn’t find her. Had she escaped through another door? He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t. A ripple of uncontrolled panic flooded his system, leaving his heart in his throat and limbs quivering.

Then there she was. Hand on the handle of an oversized fridge, partially hidden behind its face.

“Marinette.” The knuckles of her hand grew white as she tightened her grip.

“Sir, you can’t be back here.”

He couldn’t stop himself anymore than rain can avoid gravity, his footsteps bringing him so close that he could feel the warmth of her prickle against his skin. Steeling himself to keep his hands at his side, he just breathed in the smell of the woman he had loved for ten long years, even when she’d disappeared.

She spun to face him, wide-eyed as he drank the sight of her in, memorizing every feature of her face, every freckle on her cheeks, every fleck in the brilliant blue of her eyes. How those eyes haunted his dreams. Eyes that now slammed shut, jaw tensing in a sign he long recognized as one she did before starting a difficult plan. Her hand reached up and clasped onto a necklace hanging under her shirt before she opened her eyes again.

“You need to leave. You cannot be here.”

He couldn’t understand what she meant, the words not settling into his head. He’d found her. After all this time. After all this hopelessness. He couldn’t leave. He simply stood there in front of her, unsure what to do. She was banishing him. Sending him away with no explanation.

“Why?”

Her eyes begged him in silence, making him step back a little.

“Please go.”

Voices called his name, asking him to back away from the cafe girl, trying to get him back to the photoshoot. Hands touched his arm, attempting to pull him away before he broke his arm free from the grasp.

“I can’t lose you again, Marinette. Please. Please!” More hands. Stronger ones. Pulling him backwards out of the room. Away from her. He tried to fight against them, knowing the struggling and shouting her name was drawing unwanted attention. Father would be angry. Adrien didn’t care.

Run. Scream.

Security threw him out, blocking his way back to her, carefully protected in her tower. She made him leave and he couldn’t understand why. The pain of rejection stabbed afresh, leaving his heart bleeding. He couldn’t stop the wave of tears that burnt his cheeks or the sobs that rattled his chest.

He ran through the streets in anger, letting the cold pellets of rain sting against his skin. Running felt like the only way to escape the pain - his brain swirling with memories and questions he didn’t know the answers to. Why? Why had she pretended she didn’t know him? Why had she banished him away?

Collapsing to his knees, he threw back his head and screamed into the storm. Screamed until he couldn’t any longer. Screamed until his voice gave out to nothingness, leaving him empty and raw. Slumping over, he let the rain wash down, focusing on the sensation of the droplets snaking their way down his skin. His hair plastered to his head, the products used in the morning shoot long since washed away. There was nothing left but emptiness.

Willing himself to disconnect again, to numb the feelings and shove them back into the nothing where they needed to be, he stared at the circles rippling from each raindrop as it hit the pavement in front of him.

At least he knew she was alive. She was safe. Maybe that could be enough. Maybe that was all he could ask for, even if every fiber of his being screamed otherwise. She didn’t want him here. Didn’t want him to know where she was. Could he honour that? He didn’t know.

“Adrien.”

If he’d been Chat just then, his cat ears would have flattened on his head as they twitched and strained to hear more clearly. Instead, he slowly lifted his eyes as he turned his head, not fully believing he’d actually heard her voice over the thundering sound of rainfall.

But there she stood, wrapped in a brilliant red raincoat, under an umbrella.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating - finally tipped over the edge of insanity. Or that, in this dreamscape, a whole new nightmare waited to tear a hole in his already damaged heart.

When she stretched out her hand, he took it, letting her guide him to his feet. Her head tipped back to look at him when she pulled him under the umbrella. They stood there for what might have been hours or moments, he didn't know. He felt himself dragged down into the depths of her eyes, drowning in her soul while rain splattered noisily on the canvas overhead.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know if she meant for today or for vanishing 3 years ago and breaking his heart into a million pieces. Part of him didn’t care. At least she was here now.

There was so much more to say. So many questions he needed to ask. Instead, he just stood there, under the umbrella, lost in her eyes and trying to ground himself into something real. Because this couldn’t be real.

"Come."

Blindly, he followed her, fingers interlaced with hers, certain that at any moment he would wake up and she would be gone again. He tightened his grip on her hand just in case it would keep her beside him longer.

Wait. Tea. Remember to breathe.

Her apartment was nothing more than a single room divided with a large closet wall between the bed and the one wall kitchen. She shooed him into the small bathroom with quiet orders to take off his dripping clothes, practically shoving her biggest and fluffiest towel into his hands.

The face reflected in the mirror seemed more real than the usual one. Haunted eyes peered back. Shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tried to rub this away - this dream that he knew he had to wake up from before he fell further into darkness. It was too real here. The smell of her, the sounds of her rustling outside the bathroom door to make the promised drink of tea, the goosebumps on his skin that made him shiver slightly from the coldness of the air.

Reality hurt almost as badly as memories.

He stepped from the bathroom with caution, disbelief filling him as his eyes found her waiting.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any clothes that would fit you. Wrap yourself in the blanket on the bed for now.” She bustled by him, picking up his discarded clothes and throwing them into a dryer hidden behind a closet door. The soft, rhythmic thrum gave him something to focus on over the chaos of his thoughts and emotions.

He didn’t dare to speak, simply watching her move quickly through the small space to bring him tea. She’d changed into oversized comfortable clothes, her hair pulled into a ponytail behind her. Her ever-present earrings glinted as she turned.

Tea in hand, blanket curled around him like a cocoon, he sat on the opposite side of the small table from her and waited.

Listen.

He knew her. He knew the moment she allowed herself to speak that all the words would come tumbling out and she would tell him everything. A million emotions flew across her face - emotions he could recognize in an instant. He knew her.

Fear. Panic. Sadness. Worry. Determination.

Finally she jumped to her feet, arms flailing and words rushing out almost faster than he could understand.

Hawkmoth, it seemed, whoever he was, only returned his miraculous because he was afraid. Their celebration had been too soon, although it had given them time together. Time, she explained, she would never trade for anything.

A new threat had appeared. One that scared her to the core. One that Tikki panicked about. One that wanted the miraculous box and the two most powerful beings inside more than Hawkmoth ever had.

Fu had given Marinette the job of Guardian, a title she hated now for what it meant to her life. Fu told her to value the life she had - but what kind of life was this? Torn from the man she loved to protect the Miraculous? To protect him? How could she love life when it had become so hollow?

She’d been on the run, moving from place to place when this new threat found her. Only once had she faced the monster directly - a battle that left her injured and frantic to escape. She always said that she was nothing without her kitty by her side and that proved it. She needed him more than anything else.

Marinette’s voice broke as she explained how she wanted nothing more than to rush back to Paris and throw herself into his arms. How much she had needed him, but couldn’t let the monster find him. She spent 3 long, isolated years doing her job - guarding more than the miracle box. She’d been guarding him too.

Tikki stayed hidden all the time now, afraid to let any sign of her power or existence give away their location. The rest of the miraculous remained carefully protected in the box.

Finally, she collapsed back into the chair, spent of emotion other than the flow of tears that poured down her face.

Adrien just listened, unsure what to say or do that would make sense now. Her muffled sniffs. The drone of laundry. The surprisingly calm beating of his heart.

The tea in the mug between his fingers was still hot, warmth creeping up his arms as he simply stared unseeing. All their years as partners where it had been his job to protect his lady and she ran away to protect him. This was the true cost of life as a superhero - self-sacrifice.

“Where’s Plagg?”

She blinked at him, a small sign of hurt crossing her face at the first words he’d spoken to her since he’d been dragged from the school.

“Safe in the box.”

Adrien nodded, contemplating his next words carefully. His fingers sunk into his hair, still damp from rain.

“We’re supposed to be partners, you know. All those years ago, Fu chose us to be partners. I protect you. You protect me.” Her eyes were wide as she listened to the raspiness of his voice.

“I wanted to be partners in life, too, Marinette. I wanted us to share everything together. Everything. And you took it all from me and disappeared.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time, eyes on the tea that grew cold. The loud chime from the dryer stirred them both from their thoughts. Marinette moved, standing to put her mug on the counter before disappearing behind the wall. Adrien listened to her shuffle through the closet on the other side before she stood beside him again.

Grabbing his hand, she uncurled her fingers to drop something hard and cold into it, pressing her hand overtop.

“I’m sorry.”

Cry .

Plagg’s look of utter disapproval to Marinette followed by loud complaining about the lack of food conjured such an overwhelming sense of emotion that all Adrien could do was burst into tears. Too much, too fast. And yet, everything he desperately needed.

He clutched at her. It would take a long time to repair the wounds and scars, but he could start here.

“I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t stop saying it and he couldn’t stop her if he tried. He needed to hear that from her until it settled into the haunted memories of the last 3 years. “I shouldn’t have left you. I just didn’t want them to find you. If anything happened to you -” She didn’t need to finish that thought. He knew exactly what she meant.

Fear does crazy things to people. He knew that. But she didn’t need to be afraid or alone anymore. No more running and hiding. Time to be partners again.

“You and me against the world, Milady. Remember?”

Alarm. Stretch. Shower. Coffee. Subway.

Paris be damned, he was staying in Singapore. His father’s sharp tone betrayed his anger, especially when Adrien couldn’t fully offer an explanation for his sudden decision nor for how long he would be gone.

Marinette insisted that they keep their distance in public - slipping her hand from his as they approached the train. It made him nervous every time, even when she agreed to let him trail behind and make sure she got to work safely. Even when she half-turned and soft-smiled as she went inside. Even when they walked home. Day after day.

Hide. Transform. Fight.

She was right to be scared, he thought as he wiped the blood from his lips. This…. thing…. was so much more dangerous than any akuma Hawkmoth had thrown at them. It was little more than a shadow, but the wounds torn through his suit claimed otherwise. Evil unlike any power he felt before oozed through the air, pulling the breath from his lungs and plunging his sight into darkness. Even Plagg was quivering under the surface, the feeling of destruction shifting beneath Adrien’s consciousness.

How could you stop something that was there but wasn’t?

Light searing through the dark burned against his retinas, scattering the heaviness from his lungs before his body crunched painfully against a wall. Blinking, he admired Ladybug’s new power.

The light beam tore through the darkness again, blasting from her yo-yo to send it cowering until the light faded. The moment the light disappeared, the thick black fog swirled around her, enveloping the woman in red.

His body screamed in agony even as his mind shouted her name and long before the cry of “LADYBUG” escaped his lips. She needed him.

Cataclysm .

It was all he had. A bubbling hand of annihilation stretching out to touch nothingness only to find it pressed hard against the light she shot from her yo-yo. Destruction and Creation together. The unexpected blast from their combined energy left him with barely a moment to connect eyes with hers before everything exploded around them.

Alarm. Stretch. Breathe.

Turning his head, Adrien looked at the space beside him. Marinette lay curled up tightly in a ball, the covers pulled almost over her head as she refused to let morning in. He couldn’t help but smile.

She was here. Nothing else mattered.

His ring sat with heavy comfort on his finger. The ring he’d given her now rested on her own instead of hidden on a necklace.

Beautiful colours of life replaced the hollow dullness of the apartment they called home. Smells of cookies and cheese combined with the inexplicable scent of her assaulted his nose. It was perfect. It was home.

His days might still be filled with the same photoshoots, fencing, emails, but now they offered promise. Running wasn’t an escape anymore. They did it together, footsteps on rooftops filled with laughter and games. Just like it used to be. Like it was meant to be.

Her smile emblazoned into his memories, every time the nightmare of finding her gone would seep into his dreams. She was here. She was happy. She was safe.

They could never seem to stop touching each other - hands always entwined together as if they could keep each other grounded.

Friends never rolled their eyes or made groans at the constant need for closeness. They understood. Her parents too. Likely because they wanted to hold their daughter and never let her go.

How many meals had been eaten at their house since Adrien personally escorted Marinette back to Paris? How many bone crunching hugs had they survived? How many hours of phone call conversations?

It didn’t matter. Every question, every hug, every phone call, every THING was worth it. Because she was here with him again.

Rolling over, Adrien pulled her close against him, burying his nose deep into her hair. Marinette. His wife. He could finally breathe. No matter what the future held or what monsters they might have to face, they would do it together.

She was home.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #miraculous fanfic #lyramaearcher #civilian theme #whos who #adrien and marinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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jewish-privilege · 6 years ago

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Nearly 100 graves at a Jewish cemetery in eastern France have been desecrated with swastikas.

The damage was discovered on Tuesday, ahead of nationwide marches against a rise in anti-Semitic attacks.

French President Emmanuel Macron visited the cemetery, in a village near Strasbourg, telling community leaders: "It's important for me to be here with you today."

France has the biggest Jewish community in Europe, about 550,000 people.

...The damage was discovered on Tuesday in Quatzenheim, a village in Alsace close to France's border with Germany. Nazi symbols and anti-Semitic slogans were spray-painted on the graves.

One tombstone was defaced with the words "Elsässischen Schwarzen Wolfe" ("Black Alsatian Wolves"), the name of a militant far-right group active in the 1970s and 1980s.

The group burned down a museum at Natzweiler-Struthof - a former Nazi death camp - in 1976.

...The attack came ahead of dozens of rallies against anti-Semitism scheduled to take place across France.

Tuesday's demonstrations are being organised by 14 political parties and are expected to take place in as many as 60 cities.

...Interior Minister Christophe Castaner has warned that anti-Semitism is "spreading like poison" in the country.

Statistics published last week showed a rise of 74% in the number of anti-Semitic attacks in France, from 311 in 2017 to 541 in 2018.

Several high-profile recent incidents have brought the issue of anti-Semitism into focus in France.

Post-boxes featuring a Holocaust survivor's portrait were daubed with swastikas, while a Jewish bakery in central Paris had the German word for Jews ("Juden") spray-painted on its window.

Last weekend, police also stepped in to protect the philosopher, Alain Finkielkraut, after he was reportedly bombarded with anti-Jewish taunts by a group of "yellow vest" protesters in Paris.

Jewish groups have also been warning that a rising far right across Europe has been promoting anti-Semitism and hatred of other minorities.

Crime data from Germany released last week revealed that anti-Semitic offences had increased by 10% over the past year - including a 60% rise in physical attacks...

#france #antisemitism #swastikas #grave desecration

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ill-will-editions · 6 years ago

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PARIS IS OURS - Acta Collective (2019)

First published in French on the ACTA site. Translated by friends at Inhabit.

Never before had the Champs-Élysées truly been “the most beautiful avenue in the world”. For a day, this artery, this symbol of luxury, became the embodiment of a regained common power.

Yes, order managed to contain most of the disorder on and around the Champs – despite some more or less successful attempts at wild breakaways. Act XVIII gained in intensity what it lost in geographical extension. But, it was enough to hear the Yellow Vests chanting “revolution!” all afternoon. It was enough to see the crowd pull down the huge metal plaque that protected the Bulgari shop, carry it forward, and charge the police – bellowing “We won! We won!”. It was enough to see the banners come within a few meters of the Arc de Triomphe, the enemy retreat and flee behind the Louis Vuitton before our onslaught. In short, it was enough to be there to understand.

Despite the obvious imbalance of power, there was mad determination, rampant trust: people were no longer afraid. What matters in a riot is not the quantity of material damage, the number of broken windows, thrown stones or burned cars. No, what matters is qualitative. It's the collective energy deployed, and how this deployment transforms consciences. It's not the statistical losses inflicted on the enemy that count. It's the political and ideological forces liberated among the people.

The media and government, who obsess over the “1500 ultra-violent” who allegedly organized the violence, hide the truth. On March 16th, everyone on and around the Champs participated in one way or another in the riot.

Unlike the first few Acts, no one thought to intervene in the looting, destruction, or clashes with police. Flying glass and hammer blows met with enthusiastic cheers. For the thousands of people present, all this seemed perfectly logical – normal. As summarized in the suddenly lucid Le Monde: “During the first weeks of the movement, there were always demonstrators to protest against the looters. This time, nothing.”

This is what horrifies the government: it's impossible to divide those swept up in the event. What horror, to see peaceful moms and dads smiling for photos on the velvet sofas of Fouquet's aflame behind them. Castaner encouraged them time and again to dissociate from the “vandals”. But all that talk is vain, inaudible. The arrogance of the government and the brutality of its police have reached such heights that there is no room for dissociation.

This is further proof that popular uprisings shake up those who take part in them. They develop their convictions and certainties through contact with practice. Today, principled pacifism has almost disappeared from the Yellow Vests' marches. Naïvety about state repression, too, has waned. Remember those who, not long ago, pretended to be able to put Yellow Vests in this or that box? To assign one or another intrinsic ideological identity?

But who's to blame for this progressive “radicalization” of the Yellow Vests? Who managed to convince them that only antagonism pays, if not the government itself? The insurrection gained in three weeks what traditional social movements hadn't for decades. By giving in to the Yellow Vests’ demands in early December, Macron confirmed that the State only hears popular needs when it's forced to do so, when it can no longer do otherwise. The Yellow Vests have understood this perfectly:

“We realized that it's only when we shatter that we're heard.” – Johnny, 37, day-care director

“It's great to smash, because the bourgeoisie is so safe in their bubble. They need to fear for their physical safety for them to let go.” – Anne, a Toulouse postwoman (33) [1]

That the movement again reached such a level of conflict after 18 weeks is already a remarkable fact. But the ultimatum of March 16 was not meant to be a last swan song, however flamboyant. Nothing could be more dangerous than satisfaction with Saturday. It only makes sense as a springboard. It's a matter of using this date to launch a new phase, to build a spring of struggle.

The strong parallel mobilizations for the climate and against police violence raised the burning question of coagulation. Because the riot, even if repeated, is insufficient. It must be linked to a revival of economic blockades and to the continuing work of political and strategic clarification. Éric Drouet recognized this on Saturday evening: the supervised walks were useless. Only overriding imposed frameworks and widespread sabotage of the economy can lead the movement to victory.

We have no choice: the first fruits of repressive response suggest what crushing the current movement will mean for everyone.

#yellow vests #gilets jaunes #Paris #march 16 2019 #revolution

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ikemen-obssessed · 6 years ago

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‘Cereal Beer At Midnight’

Kyle x MC

Written by: @ikemen-obssessed

When I woke up I could feel my body gently being shook. My heavy eyes half opened and looked upwards to find bright honey eyes hovering above me, an annoyingly smug grin outlining his handsome features. Suddenly, I felt something warm press briefly on my dry lips for a second, and I looked up at him in bewilderment. From the corner of my eye I could see through the window that it was still pitch black outside, the sun having set only a few hours ago.

“Mmm... Kyle? What’s wrong?”

I rubbed my eyelids hurriedly, worried about his reply. But as I did, I felt his large warm hands lower my wrists, leaving me to face him with a pointed gaze.

“Don’t do that, you’ll damage your eyes” his voice was laced with deprived sleep

“Y/N, don’t say anything. Just come with me. And don’t make any noise, or you’ll wake all the soldiers.”

As sounds protesting that last sentence formed in my throat, he covered my mouth with his, his tongue lightly tracing my bottom lip as he did so. I could feel heat pooling inside of me as I reached out to wrap my arms around his neck. However, just as I did, I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, the other resting on the small of my back.

I could feel a mild blush rising on my cheeks as his warmth radiated my own through the thin fabric of our clothes as he carried me through the eerily empty hallways of the Red Army Headquarters. Despite my constant whining, he simply covered my mouth with his hand and continued on his way to wherever the heck his destination was.

By the time he had set me down, my face was probably the same shade as a strawberry. As I adjusted to the room, the familiar scent of alcohol, oddly flavoured jellybeans and macrons filled my nose. You get used to the smell after constantly spending time cooking meals for a whole army in here.

“Huh? Why’re we in the kitchen?” I turned in his direction to watch him scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes averted from my scrutinising gaze.

“Erm, you know, I just wanted to eat some cereal and stuff. Thought I’d try decorating my beer with it” he answered, intently reading the cereal boxes I had bought that morning. It was hell to get them inside whilst trying to avoid Jonah. Edgar and Zero had happened to get caught up in it, and they had ended up leaving them in the infirmary with a hungover Kyle until Jonah had gone out on patrol in the Central Quarter. I think Jonah’s Heart Defenders were onto us, even though I had Edgar’s help.

I giggled, from lack of sleep or how ridiculous he sounded, I had no idea.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s really going on, or do you want me to spend the night in here?” seeing the determination held in my azure eyes, he let an almost strained sigh escape his lips.

“Okay, so I wanted a snack and didn’t fancy coming here alone. And what?” he looked so serious and oblivious, I couldn’t help but burst out into fits of laughter, immediately covering my mouth in an attempt to muffle the uncontrollable noise.

I did start to feel peckish at the thought of a snack, so I helped him put together something. 12 minutes later, I had finished eating the marshmallow sandwiches we had melted slightly on the stove after Kyle curiously asked about what midnight snacks I had back in London. He didn’t eat any of it, instead proving a point by opening a bottle of beer and adding pieces of cereal in it. Not wanting to deal with whatever effects that would have on him, I hid the cereal boxes and had been chased by Kyle when I refused to hand over the 3 bottles that I managed to find in the nearest cabinets. By the end of it, I had retreated to the farthest corner of the kitchen, hunching over the bottles of poison on the tiled floor. We did eventually call quits and returned to his bedroom. And that was pretty much how we welcomed the sun rise.

After we had got back, I could hear his laboured breathing, pretending that he was asleep, knowing fully well that he wasn’t fooling either of us.

“Kyle, can you please tell me now what’s bothering you?” I whispered, wrapping my small arms around him as I did so.

He turned his head to face me, his slightly calloused yet soft hands reaching out to stroke a lock of my hair, following with a trail of light kisses as he began to speak.

“I couldn’t sleep, I hadn’t seen you since the morning”

“You were hungover when I saw you in the infirmary just before lunch, but go on”

“When’d you come to the infirmary? I don’t remember that”

“Anyway, I just wanted to spend some time with you, alright?” he kissed the lock of hair once more before letting it fall on the pillowcase, returning my embrace while shutting his eyes. It was then that I noticed that was the first time he looked that serene since I had woken up that morning when he was still resting.

“Now go to sleep, I’ve still got work tomorrow” he grumbled, his voice close to my left ear.

“You know you didn’t have to use the cereal beer as an excuse, just tell me if you want to spend time with me”

“Shut up and go to sleep”

I just about held back my laughter as I said “Okay”, leaving a kiss on his eyebrows, hoping to smooth the creased lines that had formed on his forehead as I did so.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #kyle ash #ikerev mc #fluff #ikerev fanfic

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customboxesmanufacturers · 3 years ago

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#customcigaretteboxes hemppaperboxes cigaretteboxes mascarapackaging brownkraftboxes cardboardboxes windowboxes vapebox cerealbox monthlysubs

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bremont · 3 years ago

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(via Founders of online retailer Wildberries take lead in Russia's rich list, beating out politically connected tycoons & ex-oligarchs — RT Russia & Former Soviet Union)

One example of how the online shops has destroyed the local commerce 💔💔💔💔 small entrepreneurs.. as local small shops disappear💥💢💀 local social interrelations 😴👹👺 disappear, violence 👿 increases a empty world 🕳💫 of human animals living from a box 🎁 buying from a 📲🖥 box dying on a 👜🛒 box..😥😌How can you manage to understand the current reality is the main challenge of survival of the future.🤔 To make some see understand perceive is a inside out process, therefore no one can help President Macron neither the minister of finances to perceive his own errors, he is the only one that see thought his own eyes, minds, reflection, those that advice control command force or even direct behind the scenes are on the same position, therefore quite a complicated realm. Facts show that the core of the system is ill not longer working, violence is constantly increasing on a individual level on a collective level, the old schooling of economics & finances is out the window, shylocks,🤐😉🤑🤑🤑 bankers entrepreneur's and global trade is unstable, local shops & comerse are completely destroyed technology of the 21 century has change minds habits & the climate. the panorama, from how wars are conducted to how discernment between wisdom to stupidity to reason blinks after the calamity has taken place. Nations are divided in-between themselves & outside themselves. a fracture world where continents go on different directions violating the laws of physics logic reason & understanding. The old saying hope tomorrow will get better no longer works it is getting worse. however perhaps the human will realize that he is human & not a machine sometime in the very near future.😥😌🧐👽😇

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thenineliferexists · 6 years ago

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chapter 1:bagels in the park

M.T. awoke to a rustling. She startled a little and discovered that there was a massive kink in her neck, and immediately after realized that she was on the floor. On the floor, laying on her side in front of the door to her apartment, with a rotten copper taste in her mouth.

Craning her neck, she looked across the way toward the rustling to see a black cat with just a little white spot around its blush colored nose daintily stepping in and over her pile of packing boxes.

M.T. stared at it blearily for a short time. Then, she tried to pick herself up but her arms and legs felt distant and numb, so she lay for just a little longer before trying again. This time, she stumbled up while the cat sat inside one of the boxes, watching her evenly. She hobbled over to it, stretching out her hand very slowly, and let it tickle the long side of one of her fingers before it bumped its head beneath her palm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked. “How’d you get in?” She pet it, then, until bending over started making her back ache. So she gave the cat one last pat and turned to make her way over to her kitchenette.

She dug through one of the two cabinets in the kitchen with anything in it, and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. The other cabinets had an assortment of very nice dishes she had bought to fill the space, but she never used any of them. She tossed the pills onto the counter and went to the fridge, pulling out her jug of milk. The water filter on the fridge had broken a few weeks ago, and she knew she was out of water bottles.

She cracked open the lid of the milk and was smacked by a foul smell. Spoiled? She’d bought this yesterday. She’d used it last night. She put a hand on her stomach, wondering if that had been what made her pass out. She shrugged, setting the milk on the counter next to the trashcan.

She swallowed three or four pills dry and turned around to find the cat up on her counter, watching her again. She stared back at it, a little disconcerted.

“You want something?” She asked it. It tucked its butt under itself and sat, tail swishing back and forth. “Yeah, sure.” She answered what she took as affirmation. “Hungry?” Its tail flipped again. “Ok.” She took out a bowl, and brought down the cereal she had. She poured the cat the bowl of cereal and set it on the counter.

“That’s all I got,” She told it, feeling defensive. “I don’t know what cats eat.”

It blinked at her, unimpressed, but bent its head down to eat.

With the cat crunching behind her, she moved back through her apartment to her bathroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror, and was a little surprised to see a line of dark, dried blood from her nose. What kind of night had she had? She wondered. She touched the blood, but it had dried so completely that it hurt when she tried to rub it off. Stripping quickly, she stepped into a very hot shower and let the water work out some of the stiffness and tension in her body, from an apparently long and solid sleep on the floor.

After showering, she did feel better. She had to knock off hard crust from the top of her toothpaste bottle, and brushed her teeth before moving back into the bedroom. She found her phone on the floor, dead, so she swept up her charger from behind her nightstand and plugged it in before throwing herself onto the bed.

Exhausted. She was exhausted. Floor naps did nothing, apparently.

The last week or so had been harrowing, and she would need a solid month to truly recuperate from this job.

She rolled over and stared at her phone, watching it intently as the empty battery symbol blinked at her, waiting for the white screen so she could check her messages.

Finally, it did, and she forced herself to sit back up.

#571, her associate who remained nameless on her devices, had messaged, called, and emailed her a total of 86 times, each sounding more harried.

The texts, of course, were in code.

The plants need watered, they said. Don’t forget to water the plants.

Do you know how long it’s been since the plants have been watered?

How do the plants look?

Are the plants dying?

Do you need me to pick anything up from the store?

And they continued. Over email, they were more specific, because her associate was better at controlling things on the internet, but that made them worse.

MT, are you there? Do you need me to do something? You haven’t checked in. Can you meet? I think we need to meet.

She felt a short rush of anxiety, and scooted to the edge of the bed. She stuck her hand under it, feeling the rough side of her overnight bag. Still ready to go.

Then she swiped her finger across her phone screen, and found that…

The notifications had come in over a number of days?

She exed out of her messages and to the calendar. She had been asleep for a week and a half.

She started feeling sick and paid much closer attention to the way her head felt. She grabbed her overnight bag from under the bed and dug through it to find the burner phone she kept tucked under the folds of some clothes. She dialed a number and sat nervously.

“Hello?” A voice came through, hesitant.

“Ezekiel?” She asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“It’s Mercedes – I mean, shit.” She rubbed her face. “It’s Maizy.”

Silence. Silence for a solid minute and a half. Such a long minute and a half – her stomach flipped and maybe it was empty, because she didn’t remember eating for the last week. But, she waited for him to respond.

“Maizy?” He asked finally, sounding faint.

“It’s me.” She answered.

“Fuck me…” He whispered. “What… I mean… Are you ok? We need to meet.”

“Yeah, yeah we do.”

“Regular place?”

“Affirmative.”

They hung up simultaneously.

She sat on her bed for a solid hour, mentally mapping out every inch of her body over and over again. She didn’t… feel wrong, or different. She didn’t feel like anything had happened to her. Maybe that was worse. Had her… temporary employers found out why she was there, actually?

She couldn’t remember anything. What had they done to her?

•••

That evening, she left a window cracked for the cat, and was intent on going to the grocery store. Had to, all of her food had spoiled: she had had to throw all of the food in her fridge away, down to the dumpsters behind her apartment building. Nonperishable good items were cumbersome, she needed things she could go through quickly. Leaving behind things like that was sloppy, and there was absolutely no way in hell she was taking any of it with her.

On her way out the door, she found her key on the floor directly in front of it, instead of in her wallet where she’d thought she’d left it.

She grabbed a basket and some essentials: half a gallon of milk, a few rolls of sushi, some fruit and lunch meat. She paused in the cat and dog food isle, wondering what to get for the cat. It had seemed to like the cereal well enough, but that wasn’t healthy, was it? She grabbed a couple cans of cat food, then, that looked like what she’d seen in movies, and moved on.

What were the best foods to help one recover from a week of amnesia-inspiring drugging? She grabbed a box of immunity-boosting tea, and went on to the check out.

The cat was gone when she got back to the apartment. She gagged when she opened the cat food anyway and set it on the window sill, then she set aside one of her boxes of sushi and stuck the rest of the grocery bag in the fridge.

She hiked herself up onto the counter and ate there, content for a little while to let her mind wander. By the time she finished her meal, she turned around to see the cat back, poised over the can of food she had left out. She smiled a little, and went to bed.

After an hour or so, the cat came and curled up at her feet.

•••

Mid-morning the next day, Maizy dressed herself, grabbed both phones and her wallet, and headed out. She strolled to a park four blocks away from her apartment, and made her way slowly on the walking path. After about ten minutes or so, she felt someone sidle up beside her and keep pace for another few steps. It was not much longer, however, until the figure sped up just enough to swing around and grab her into a tight hug.

“Ezekiel,” She hissed.

“Damn protocol,” A voice answered, muffled in her shoulder. “I thought you died.”

Briefly Maizy hugged back, before taking hold of the person’s shoulders and pulling him back. Ezekiel was… well, almost tall, and lean. He wore baggy, layered clothes and a bulky pair of headphones around his neck. He had shaggy black hair and was currently carrying a crumpled paper bag.

“Do you want to sit down?” Maizy asked him. He nodded, and they walked over to a bench across the way. “What’s in the bag?” She asked, nodding toward it.

He passed it to her. “Breakfast,” He answered. “You always forget.”

“Oh, thanks.” She opened the bag to find a bottle of orange juice, a big bagel and a container of cream cheese. She pulled the bagel in half and started tearing chunks out of one of the ends, scooping the cream cheese out and shoving the bites into her mouth.

“So, what happened?” He asked urgently.

“I don’t know,” She answered around a mouthful of bagel. “I woke up yesterday evening on my floor. But I thought I’d only lost part of a day. My phone was dead, all of your messages came through at once.” She paused to swallow. “Did you have anything new about the job before I dropped off the radar?”

“Nothing that could have pointed to you being in danger. And nothing after you disappeared, either. It had to have been an outside job. If you had been found out by the big guys at Macron, my best guess is they knew better than to get their hands dirty.”

“So I guess we have to scrap Macron?” Maizy asked, and rolled her head down, trying to relieve some tension in her neck. “Solid month of recon wasted.”

“You’re telling me. Mercedes Truman was the perfect identity. But yeah, to be safe, Macron is off.”

“Alright.” Maizy said, finishing off the bagel and trying not to think about the projected payout for that job.

“Burner?” Ezekiel asked, holding out his hand.

“Yeah. And Mercedes’.” She dropped both of the phones into his hand. “Mercedes’ apartment will be empty by midday tomorrow. Here’s her card, too.” She flipped out her wallet and slid the card out of one of the sleeves, holding it out for him.

“Excellent.” He said, taking the card. “Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll try to do some more digging for what happened, but… something makes me think there isn’t anything to find. Be careful, yeah, Maizy?” He asked.

Maizy grined at him reassuringly. “Sure thing, Eezy.” She answered. “Don’t worry about me.”

He gave her a bleak look that said “Yeah, right.” But she pushed herself off the bench.

“Thanks for the bagel,” She said, ruffled his hair, and was off.

#original work #original writing #fiction #mystery #mythology #murder #conspiracy #darknet #story #ao3 #ao3fic #wordpress

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jaminies · 2 years ago

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Custom cardboard tray with butter wraps

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• Silver/ gold Stamp foiling

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Custom cardboard or foam inserts:

The macrons are coated with colorful sugar liquid, which creates a crunch on the macron’s surfaces. A bit of striking can crush the coating also the inner stuffing can be pulled out. To prevent these issues, we keep custom cardboard inserts that protect the macrons from merging and striking during shipment. More it increases the attractiveness of the box. More you can create different shapes or inserts like shelves and sea waves. The sea wave inserts look so stylish and elegant. The buyer can’t stop himself from buying your delicious macrons. Moreover, you can leave extra space and mention the flavor name on the inserts. It will look more enchanting with inside printed inserts.

#macron boxes #custom macron boxes #macron boxes wholesale canada

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hellyeahrihannafenty · 7 years ago

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The Totality: Rihanna | ELLE Magazine

Let’s just call Rihanna what she is: the coolest woman on the planet—with beauty, talent, attitude, and personal style to spare. Here, the global megastar answers questions from a cross-section of her famous fans.

Somewhere between releasing her debut single “Pon de Replay” (to blitzkrieg effect) in 2005 and sitting down to discuss international education with Emmanuel Macron in 2017, Rihanna has become much more than a pop star. The music is still absolutely vital, yes—her eighth album, Anti, which has been kicking up dust on the dance charts since it dropped last year, was deemed by Forbes to be one of the most successful recordings of all time—but as an icon, she represents something far greater: what a woman can achieve when she tackles her career, and her life, on her own terms. Rihanna is always fearlessly, unapologetically herself, whether she’s making maverick fashion choices on the red carpet, calling out body shamers, or adding yet another unmistakably RiRi-stamped endeavor to her string of (singer-actress-designer-entrepreneur-philanthropist-etcetera-etcetera) hyphenates. We can now add beauty mogul to that list.

The singer has poured her uncompromising attitude into a much-awaited makeup line, Fenty Beauty by Rihanna, poised to launch with a big bang of 91 products on September 8 at Sephora (expect lines) and on the brand’s website (Internet = broken). Its focus, perhaps surprisingly from a practiced maquillage peacock who has been known to rock vivid blue and ink-black lipstick with defiant flair, is gleaming, satiny, flawless skin, built around an assortment of user-friendly highlighting and contouring sticks, and a whopping 40 shades of foundation. “The biggest void I’ve found in the industry is the lack of variety in foundation shades,” Rihanna tells us. “That’s one of the things that was most important to me—to make sure everyone was included.” It’s a nod, too, to the complexion-perfecting gateway drug that ushered the Barbados native into beauty in the first place: “Foundation was the first product I ever owned,” she says. “It was like magic, and I’ve been in love with makeup ever since.”

Avidly hands-on throughout the collection’s development, Rihanna helmed everything from the playful name selection (there’s a gold powder highlighter, for instance, dubbed Trophy Wife) to the packaging, which, like its creator, is multifaceted, with tough, graffiti-inspired outer boxes opening onto sleek, streamlined, sweetly pretty individual products. “There are plenty of options out there when it comes to makeup,” Rihanna says. “My approach with Fenty Beauty was just to do things my way.”

19 QUESTIONS FOR RIHANNA, FROM 20 OF HER FRIENDS AND FANS

Tyra Banks, Model/Entrepreneur: You’re so successful and surrounded by people who want to please you. Who gives it to you straight?

Rihanna: For me, it’s my mama. They all fake, LOL, and fired!

Eminem, Rapper: You don’t seem like you’re ever thinking about trends when you go in the studio, yet you end up setting them. What are you looking at when you start your recording process?

Rihanna: I rarely know exactly what I want to do, but always know exactly how I want it to make me feel. Feeling always leads the sound!

Wyclef Jean, Rapper: The last time I saw you was at the World Cup. If you could be any football player in the world, who would it be?

Rihanna: Cristiano Ronaldo. But then again, Beckham did marry Posh Spice.

Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia, Designers, Oscar de la Renta: What’s your best vintage find?

Rihanna: On New Year’s Eve, 2016, I bought this costume from 1952 that was worn in the movie Singin' in the Rain.

“Rihanna is today’s most fascinating performer, a mysterious amalgam of amiable warmth and glittering charisma. With her keen creative eye for line and color, she has become a fashion icon, like Audrey Hepburn. Yet she is a tempestuous wild child and international adventuress, like Ava Gardner. Most importantly, as an artist in this overmechanized age, she bravely draws on deep wells of pure emotion, endearing her to millions of fans worldwide.” —Camille Paglia,Author/Critic

Tricky Stewart, Record Producer: Do you remember the first time a crowd gave you goose bumps singing all the lyrics to your song in concert?

Rihanna: Yes! I was on tour, and the whole crowd started singing “Take a Bow” word for word…to the point that I couldn’t even sing. They performed the entire song for me.

April Bloomfield, Chef: What do you cook when you want a little comfort?

Rihanna: Bajan macaroni pie, which is our version of a baked mac ’n’ cheese.

Zac Posen, Designer: What’s your secret family recipe?

R:It’s a secret! LOL. But they make a mean “cook-up” and pepper pot. Both are Guyanese recipes.

Jacquie Aiche, Jewelry Designer: What’s your favorite body part?

R: Well, my favorite body parts on pretty much any woman are the collarbone and shoulders.

Charli XCX, Singer/Songwriter: What’s your ultimate karaoke song?

R: Bon Jovi, “Livin’ on a Prayer”; Journey, “Don’t Stop Believin’ ”; Brandy and Monica, “The Boy Is Mine.”

"Rihanna brings ‘global gumbo’ to the culture. Her voice unites the world through positive music vibes." —Wyclef Jean, Rapper

Danielle Steel, Best-Selling Author: I love your shoe passion, especially your collaboration with Manolo Blahnik. How much of the designing do they let you do?

R; They really give me all the creative freedom I could ask for, but of course I have this unique opportunity to work with Mr. Blahnik himself, so his expertise is always more than welcome!

Kelly Fields, Chef (Willa Jean, New Orleans): Your preferences in fashion and art appear to embrace the entire scale of highbrow/lowbrow—which is how I like to cook. I’d love to know if your preferences in munchies run along that same scale?

R: You mean KFC on a private jet is not normal?

Laverne Cox, Actress: You’ve had so many iconic fashion moments and take so many risks. The CFDA Awards Adam Selman dress in 2014—what gave you the courage to take that risk that was so perfect and elegant yet daring?

R: Dear Laverne, I took advantage of my titties before they go south. I saw my window, and I took it.

Pharrell Williams, Musician/Producer: You’re a pluralist in every sense of the word. Did you always have these dreams to do so many things, in addition to being an artist? Or have you just figured that out along the way that there are other things you can do very well?

R: I’ve always been a dreamer…or let’s just say I kept my options open. In my heart, I knew singing was gonna be in my future, but I considered psychology, hairdressing, banking, teaching, acting, modeling, aviation, and philanthropy. I just didn’t know I’d pretty much be doing all of these things eventually!

Gary Ross, Director, Ocean’s 8: What’s the first thing I should do when I get to Barbados?

R: [Fast-food] Chefette and a rum punch!

"I love Rihanna. I love that she is herself with no apologies. Her sense of style and self is unique. I love how she transforms herself with each album, each campaign. Always evolving. A true icon." —Venus Williams, Tennis Champion

David Copperfield, Magician: I’m not kidding, this is a real offer: I can make you disappear and reappear anywhere in the world. Where do you want to go, and why?

R: Ten minutes before I lost my virginity…and I’m holding you to that offer. LOL.

Emilio Vitolo, Restauranteur (Emilio's Ballato, New York City): What’s the name of the soup dish that’s the most popular in our region of Italy?

R: It’s my favorite on your menu...pasta e fagioli.

A$AP Rocky, Rapper: Tupac, Bob Marley, and Time: Fuck? Marry? Kill?

Shit, well, we stay killing Time. Fuck Tupac. Marry Bob, duh.

Olivia Wilde, Actress: What’s the most valuable mistake you’ve learned from?

No cheese for Jay Brown before a flight.

Patricia Field, Stylist: Would you consider having a cocktail with me sometime in the near future? I’d like to get to know you better. (Not hitting on you.)

Your place or mine?

"Rihanna’s MTV 2016 VMA performances were groundbreaking, paradigm- shifting moments in female swag. She represents badassery, positive self-esteem, and in a great way. She is powerful and vulnerable simultaneously, which makes her a revolutionary. Yes, she’s sexy, but once she’s got your attention, I don’t think you can ignore what she’s saying to you: She is curated and deliberate without feeling staged, and her intent is as real as anything out there. I respond to her as a writer, a woman, and a fan.” —Courtney Kemp, Showrunner/Creator, Power (Starz)

HERE, RIHANNA'S INSIGHT AS THE PROPRIETOR OF FENTY BEAUTY

ELLE: When did you first wear lipstick?

Lipstick always got me in trouble. Whether it was at home as a kid, or my early teenage years in my career, I always had the urge to wear it. So I broke all those rules. Now lipstick is like my li’l secret weapon!

What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done/tried for beauty? Would you do it again?

A corset! I’d do it again, though. I’d wear it every day if I could make it out alive!

What makes you feel dressy/“done,” beautywise?

My finishing touch is usually my highlighter. I love highlighter—it just adds this sense of fantasy to any look.

"What is incredible about Rihanna is that in a world facing a deadening crisis of leadership and the constant negation of creative efforts, her music globally moves and inspires us to be completely alive without restrictions or prohibitions." —Richard Phillips, Artist

Of all the celebrities you’ve met, who smells the best?

[Photographers] Inez and Vinoodh! Inez smells delicious. She actually gifted me her scent, because I always asked her about it.

Who’s your hair idol?

This is probably confusing to most, but it’s in between Toni Braxton from back in the day with all her short haircuts…and Cindy Crawford. She had the most effortless yet stunning hair.

Who’s your makeup idol?

I have to go with Veruschka. She made makeup look like silk!

This article originally appears in the October 2017 issue of ELLE. [Buy]

#Rihanna #Elle #Elle Magazine #Fashion #Fashion Icon #fenty beauty #cosmetics #full article #interview #2017 #magazine

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paulbenedictblog · 5 years ago

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Bbc news Coronavirus: la sombría crisis en los hogares de ancianos de Europa

Bbc news

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Image copyright Reuters

Image caption Sixteen of us have confidence died on the Rothschild care house in Paris

Deaths might perhaps well simply moreover be invisible, coffins are exhausting to veil.

Out of doors the Rothschild care house in Paris, a transport van pulls as much as dump its faded wooden cargo, peaceful wrapped in manufacturing facility plastic.

A transport man tells one waiting journalist, it's miles "non-stop".

The gates of the care house are firmly shut. Sixteen of us have confidence died right here from suspected coronavirus, one other 80 are contaminated.

Bbc news Shuttered from the outside world

Bigger than a third of care properties within the Paris situation by myself are notion to had been suffering from coronavirus. However whereas clinic deaths are recorded within the on daily foundation toll of coronavirus, deaths in care properties are usually now not.

Alexandre Sanner works as a doctor for one other care house, in Vosges, within the east of France, where on the least 20 of us have confidence died.

Image copyright AFP

Image caption Alexandre Sanner says that the care house where he works was hit exhausting by the coronavirus

"There was a cluster of about fifty of us with fever, adopted by extreme pneumonia," he stated. "At the finish of the epidemic right here, there must had been 25 or 30 sufferers on oxygen."

Few of the cases in France's retirement properties are ever examined for the virus, once an initial outbreak has been confirmed. However day after day, stories are rising of double-digit dying tolls inside of these establishments, now with reference to shuttered from the outside world.

As Italy and Spain need to this level considered Europe's largest and deadliest outbreaks, so have confidence the elderly in care properties borne essentially the most painful brunt, enveloped by twin crises of mass an infection and staffing shortages.

In Italy, loads of deaths had been reported in residential properties in Bergamo within the north, whereas 83 elderly residents went without meals at a home for two days within the south because workers needed to enter quarantine.

Alarm at runaway dying charges in Spain's care properties was first raised at Madrid's Monte Hermoso centre, where on the least 20 died from coronavirus. Military units had been dispatched to care properties round the country, offering emergency support and disinfecting more than 1,300 centres.

Image copyright EPA

Image caption A minimal of 10 residents died in this nursing house in Cajar in southern Spain

The appearance of authorities steadily comes too gradual. Twenty-three of us had been found ineffective in one other Madrid situation, including two of the nuns who supplied care.

In a home in Alcoi, approach Alicante, 26 out of 130 residents died. Bigger than 1,600 residents of care properties died within the major four weeks of March, with more than half of believed to have confidence fallen sufferer to Covid-19.

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Media captionSpanish physician 'horrified and exhausted' by pandemic

Relatives teach anger on the inability of awareness referring to the outbreaks, whereas workers expose that already inadequate staffing ranges and an absence of maintaining clothes immediate result in a narrate of collapse as carers come down with the virus and need to self-isolate.

France is launching a singular app to count coronavirus cases inside of care properties, and contain them in its nationwide totals. France's most senior health official has stated that numbers might perhaps well spiral as a result.

The fee of this epidemic has left the authorities racing to bewitch up.

Bbc news 'There is nothing we can perform'

Initially build of March, President Emmanuel Macron visited a care house to chat about safety from the virus. He was filmed sitting at a desk, surrounded by elderly residents: no face-masks; no social distancing.

Image copyright AFP

Image caption President Macron visited a care house simply days sooner than such visits had been banned

A pair of days later, all visits to France's retirement properties had been banned. And final week, the authorities stated all residents ought to be personally isolated in their rooms.

However care workers yell that they are now the largest threat to residents.

We talked to 1 nurse, who wished to be known simply as "Carol". She stated that some properties had been preserving masks in reserve for a coronavirus outbreak, and now not giving them to workers.

Bbc news You will simply moreover are looking to read:

And with many workers off sick or in isolation themselves, she says, the spread of this virus is terribly exhausting to manipulate.

"As soon as the coronavirus enters a care house, it's all the device by device of," she told me.

"There is nothing we can perform. Since we assign now not have confidence ample workers, it goes to be dramatic. Once the virus enters the house, there'll be a good series of deaths."

Bbc news 'The battle has only simply begun'

Build of residing in clinic existence-enhance units within the Paris situation is now severely low and there are shortages of some treatment.

The health minister has stated France will launch mass attempting out of its inhabitants, and has ordered one billion face-masks to give protection to healthcare workers.

The pinnacle minister Edouard Philippe has extended the nationwide quarantine for one other two weeks.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption The quarantine will remain in space for one other fortnight

"The battle has only simply begun," he stated, warning that the major half of of April would be "device more troublesome" than the old 15 days.

Every evening, French residents stand at their commence windows to applaud the country's medical workers.

Solidarity with doctors, nurses and care-house workers is one aspect. However polls suggest that belief within the authorities has plummeted, even sooner than the wave of this epidemic has peaked.

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