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llyncooljones · 3 years ago

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lead me to you - rowaelin.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin masterlist

word count: 3939

trigger warnings: language, hospitals, mention of passing out, mention of trauma.

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @themoonthestarsthesuriel @autumnbabylon

her apartment, the early morning.

The early mornings that come with having a dog are the biggest downside of having a dog. Especially a large dog, a big, burly, muscular one with too much energy and a ridiculously high walking speed. Let alone running speed.

Aelin’s eyes have never felt more tired, never seemed crustier or dustier. She had woken up, her eyelids practically fused together with sleepy dust, or eye goo, or whatever the fuck the world called the build-up that ruins her mornings. She isn’t even sure.

Her head droops wildly as she sits on the couch, her hand dangling over the arm, a plate of toast slathered in butter with nothing else on her lap. Her fingers are soft and slippery with the buttery residue, and in all her eco-friendly glory Aelin decides to lick her fingers clean, washing them would be a waste of hard manufactured product and no one wants to do that.

She would be lying if she said her life’s efforts weren’t counterintuitive. Her strict exercise schedule of dog walks every morning and a quick workout at her building’s gym every evening combined with her totally random diet of chocolate, chocolate cake, and chocolate hazelnut cake. Even with all the sugar, she manages to have an ass that pops, a waist that dips, and hips that bounce.

All her life goals: checked off.

With a stretch that fills her apartment with cracking, popping, and frankly worrying, noises from her joints, she stands from the couch and washes her plate with the least amount of effort possible. She slips lazily into her room, exchanging her oversized t-shirt and underwear for skin-tight, performance-enhancing leggings and a sports bra that matches. Tying a lightweight jacket around her waist (twice, she’ll kill herself before risking losing over something this expensive) and grabbing her earphones and phone, she whistles sharply.

Fleetfoot, still asleep like the lucky dog she is, immediately perks up, eyes opening wide, ears lifting slightly. The nimble dog jumps from her bed and barks eagerly, spinning around Aelin. With exhausted, slightly shaking hands, Aelin finally manages to clip the lead to Fleetfoot’s collar and gives a few tugs to ensure that it’s secure.

Locking up her apartment, Aelin takes in the fresh air, the quiet sounds of the wind in the trees, the subtle hum of cars on nearby roads. She feels like her senses are muted like the world has gone a little quieter, a little less busy, a little more subtle today.

Just for her.

Even Fleetfoot isn’t barking up a storm this morning, even her stupidly wild, ridiculously idiotic eight-month-old puppy isn’t causing a racket, and Aelin can’t help but be grateful. Can’t help but send a little ‘thank you to The Lord of the North.

Instead of her usual hyperactive, wickedly annoying and yet still adorably endearing routine of spinning in circles and trapping herself in the lead, and needing to be untangled before shitting a quarter of an inch from Aelin’s trainers, Fleetfoot sits quiet and calm by Aelin’s feet until the key clicks finally, and it’s pulled from the lock and tucked safely and uncomfortably into her sports bra.

Without music in her ears like usual, her only company are her loud thoughts, scratching against the double padlocked boxes she had placed them in all those years ago. Nails digging and etching in the material, whines and groans echoing through her and they try to rip her apart, trip her up, pull her down under, make sure she can never get up.

Her mind flashes with images, of red hair and redder blood, of haunting and healing touches, all about the sharp whispers and the harsh screams. Cracking whips and gunshots firing. She’s lost to it all, feet hitting the pavement, that freakishly straight nose and the red hair—hair that never seemed out of place, her heartbeat speeding up, shaggy brown hair that always fell into those golden eyes.

She tries to focus on the light bending through the leaves in the forest she’s managed to run to, she tries to count her breaths as they come from her, she tries to take note of the different bird calls she hears, she tries to count how many colours she’s seen so far on her run, tries to taste the way forests smell on her tongue, she tries to feel the bark against her fingertips.

She tries.

She tries, and she tries, and she tries. Grasping for every rope she can find, only to have it crumble in her fist. Tries to find footholds on this cliff face, but her feet keep slipping from them.

She’s trying, and she’s failing.

She’s slowing down, she’s finding it hard to breathe, she’s finding that her vision is blank, her ears can only hear television static, her nose can’t smell the wild berries that bloom in all corners of the forest.

She’s stopping entirely, she’s feeling dizzy, a little lightheaded. Her breathing isn’t right, out of time and coming out too harsh. She’s not exercising herself too wildly, if anything she’s been taking it easy this morning. Usually, she’s digging holes into the soles of her shoes with how hard she hits the pavement.

Fleetfoot has stopped, standing still, not tugging on her lead like she usually would if Aelin stopped. Big brown eyes stare up at Aelin, filled with concern in the way only Fleetfoot can. Her dog is visibly concerned for her, and Aelin knows something bad is going to happen.

Fleetfoot had been trained as a therapy dog before failing out of the program because o her constant energy and inability to keep calm at crucial times. She knows that Fleetfoot still understands her training, still had those practice sessions in her mind.

Aelin knows something is wrong with her right now.

Her knees are shaking, her breathing has gone from quick, harsh pants to shallow, barely their inhalations. She is a little woozier than she was before. She carries herself on wobbling feet and shaking, crumbling legs to a tree, scraping her back down the bark as she sits down. Her head hits the tree, her eyes falling closed on the impact.

The last thing she knows, the last thing she can take note of, are Fleetfoot’s panicked barks, the soft, wet nose nudging at her hand, Fleetfoot’s beyond bad breath blowing over her face.

oakwald forest, mid-morning.

Rowan Whitehorn is what one could call a health nut, a fitness freak, really fucking fit because he needed an outlet for his anger and annoyance and there happened to be a gym just down the road from him.

His runs every morning are brutal, hard-hitting and far too long for anyone with a normal level of feeling in them. But Rowan has too much feeling in him, can’t seem to forget the feelings in him either, which makes his runs the perfect solutions. It doesn’t hurt that the ‘emotional support’ dog his cousin, Sellene, bought him two years ago has grown to be the size of a fucking horse.

Introduced to Pixie when she was about the height of a hand and the width of a head, he had no clue the little angel would grow to be fucking massive. On her hind legs, the Doberman Pinscher is nearly six-foot tall. When she’s on all fours, her head is brushing his elbow, even with his six-foot, four-inch height.

Halfway through his run, he and Pixie are both energised, still running faster than anyone else on the trails in the woods. Maybe he’s feeling better because he knows somewhere within him that Lyria and his parents are in a better place, maybe he knows that his friends are happy, and maybe he knows he’s got a dog that’ll take the covers from him and maybe he knows that it’s all he really need for a smile to be on his face.

For the first time in years, he isn’t struggling to get out of bed, he isn’t slow and groggy as he walks, he’s got a clear head. Maybe he is due for a haircut, and maybe cleaning up the edge of his stubble is something he can do, but he feels the second he starts changing shit around him everything going to hell again.

He doesn’t want to think anymore, it’s half the reason he runs.

To clear his head, to let his thoughts fall away, only allow himself to know the trail he’s running, the time of day, and how securely Pixie’s leash is gripped within his hands. He sees the green as the trees rush by, he wonders if his eyes really are pine coloured when compared to actual pine needles. Dips his head slightly as a woman runs by, not wanting to appear to be staring at her. He takes in the rocks underfoot, the grey and brown of the mud and the gravel so boring compared to the blooming scenery to his left, to his right.

He's too deep in his head again, too gone to his thoughts, too gone to every impulse he’s in therapy to stop. His overthinking is what killed his self-esteem, what killed the easy-going smirk, and the loud, obnoxiously so, laugh he used to give out like dentists give out stickers. It’s what killed Rowan Whitehorn, the outgoing guy who’s everywhere, and it’s what created Rowan Whitehorn, the recluse who’s dropped off the face of the earth.

Mind blank, as much as it can be at least, he’s more in tune with Pixie and the way her head can’t quite stop moving around, her hard-to-pique attention, thoroughly piqued. Her nose is going wild, sniffing the air and searching for something, her face switching from facing east, to north, to south to west, stopping at different variations of the compass points before settling on dead ahead.

She lets out a whine, tugging a little on the lead that is still wrapped firmly around Rowan’s hand. He’s strong, but when a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound, seven-foot-tall when on its hind legs, Doberman Pinscher takes off running at full force, full speed there’s little more you can do than hold on tight and stick along for the ride.

Adding some slack to the strong, sturdy lead, Pixie makes headway, continuing. Keeping his feet moving, and taking off his headphones, he keeps his eyes open and his ears interested. They edge forward on the path, Pixie going slow so she can listen out for anything and everything, rowan so he can pull Pixie back at any sort of hint of danger.

It’s a while before Rowan picks up on it, the loud barking, shrieking yips, and worried whines. It’s a dog, and no wonder Pixie is so hot on its trail, she’s weirdly hard-wired as some sort of rescue dog.

Weirdly, because she hasn’t seen a day of search and rescue training, nor any other type of training beyond that of Rowan’s. Her paws hurry along the muddy floor, the light getting thinner as they delve further and further into the thicket of Oakwald Forest.

A flash of fur, blonde and streaked with mud, and Pixie is off, and Rowan Is hurrying to catch up. An aggravated bark escapes pixie lighting up the forest as the birds shift on the trees at the volume and the force behind it. He’s always had to tell people her bark is worse than her bite.

The other dog doesn’t stop, barking and barking. It’s soul-crushing, the desperation in the limited language it speaks, and it tugs on heartstrings that Rowan never knew existed. It plays on every single one of his emotions and trips every single instinct he’s ever had to save someone.

Because… if a dog is barking like that, then someone is guaranteed to be hurt.

It reminds him of the scene in I Am Legend, not that he’s seen the movie any more than once. There were a couple of scenes that had him in tears and a couple of scenes that had him calling his mum. Even thinking of the scene has him close to tears.

The second that pixie’s strangled barks join the blonde dog’s; Rowan is called back to action. He’s standing a little straighter and his legs are a little more steel-strong than weed-weak. He steps forward, further into the trees that the dog runs through, turning his head, left, right, left every few seconds.

It only takes a few steps in the right direction to the sneakers that a peeking out from behind the tree up ahead, and to his right. A couple more and he can see black leggings, covering the legs of the dog’s owner.

Two more and her blonde hair is visible, hanging down one side, arms limp and dangling against her sides.

Three more and he’s facing her. Her head tipped to the side, eyes closed, mouth open, brow furrowed. Her hand is clasped around her phone on one side, a lead for a dog. Her face is covered in a sheen of sweat, a few droplets clinging to her hairline, and her jawline. Her skin is pallid, a little icy just looking at it. Her veins are incredibly blue around her eyelids.

His phone buzzes in his hand, a text message he assumes. The buzzing reminds him of the number already typed into the keypad, eyes hastily tracking to the dimmed screen in order to press the call button. Leaving the phone on speaker, lying next to his feet on the dirt, he presses the back of his hand to her forehead.

To the touch of his hand, her forehead is burning up. He doesn’t care for the way she looks, hates the way it makes her look half dead. His haze of sadness for the young woman is interrupted when a voice crackles through the muffled speakers of his phone, “911, what’s your emergency?”

He doesn’t answer, busy making sure she’s supported by the tree and that she’s safe for the moment: so that he can place his attention on the phone call, not the fact she’s slipping sideways.

“Hello, can you hear me?” says the same voice, still muffled by the grass surrounding his phone.

“Hi, yes. I’m here. Right, I’m in Oakwald Forest at the moment. And I’ve come across this woman, she’s passed out a tree trunk and she doesn’t look injured but she’s sweating, and her veins are blue under her skin and her dog is going mad.” his words rush out of, the concern that has magically bubbled up in him for this literal stranger, takes him by surprise.

He has no time to ponder his sudden bout of compassion and need to care for every suffering soul (canine or human) he comes across.

“Sir, can I ask you to describe your location to me first, so that I can send an ambulance to you. Afterwards, if you could keep describing her situation, that would be appreciated. Now, where exactly are you in the forest.”

Settling opposite the woman with the honey-gold hair and the frantically worried dog, he pats the grass on his left for Pixie to come and lie on and hooks a couple of fingers into the Labrador’s collar before encouraging it to sit on his right side.

“I’m on the east side of the forest, maybe two miles from the entrance,” and so he began the task of describing his location very carefully, pointing out what he could see and where his phone’s GPS placed him within the mass of trees.

It wasn’t long before an ambulance crew were hurrying down the pathway, a stretcher between them and trousers that seemed muddier than they should be. With his fingers still hooked around the dog’s collar, and pixie stood to attention by his side, he recited everything he could think that had happened, and anything he might have seen to them, hoping it would give them the ability to treat her quicker, more efficiently.

He stands there watching as the ambulance crew rushes off, reassuring him that they’ll take care of her. Reassuring him that he’ll be allowed to visit her at the hospital when he’s permitted. Reassuring him that they’ll do everything in their power to help her.

Rowan thinks that if someone were to question him right now, he’d just walk off. If someone asked why he was so connected to this girl, this woman, so quickly; he thinks he might just bail on life.

Because Rowan hasn’t given a single fuck about anyone except himself, his dog, and his friends in far too many years. He hasn’t had the love in his heart to see a woman as more than an outlet for his sexual energy and left up frustration for too many years. Enough years that he’s ashamed to utter the number of years he’s been single for.

the hospital, three days later.

To his utter horror, three days ago, Rowan had thought the most embarrassing thing he’d have to admit to anyone, ever, was that he’d been single for far too long despite the numerous women who were all too happy to take on an emotionally unavailable man and try to love him enough to heal his heart.

He is now aware that it isn’t even that bad. How many other people in the world currently, or throughout history, have been single and have neglected the dating prospects that stand right in fucking front of them?

Many. Several. A chunk of the population.

The better, more important question? That one… is rough.

How many people in the world have come across a girl in the woods who is passed out against a tree, with her dog going mad ad barking up a fucking storm, and then proceeded to call the emergency services, watch as she is carried into an ambulance, kept her dog with them for the past three days, and are now going visit said girl in the hospital, as she has woken up from her in-and-out state of sleep and hallucinations?

Just Rowan? He thought as much.

His hands feel unnaturally empty without the leads gripped between his fingers of both his wily Doberman and this mystery woman’s hyper-energetic Labrador. His arms almost crave the tugging that never ends, and his ears almost miss the barking that was forever loud in his house. Never before has been so glad to have spent his inheritance on a detached house in the countryside of Orynth.

“Hi, I’m here to see Aelin Galathynius, brought in three days ago, passed out. Blonde hair, might be tall, might be short. I’ve only seen her sat up and lying down. It’s difficult to tell. She might have mentioned something about a dog. Because I’ve been looking after her dog. I was the one who found her passed out in the forest—”

“—Excuse me, sir? Miss Galathynius is in room two-one-four. Floor two. Room fourteen. If you head down to left, you’ll the elevators. Take one of those to the second floor, and turn left, continue along that corridor until you reach the door.” The nurse’s voice is soft and lilting, a delicate tune that holds firm and strong in the loud din of the lobby. Her eyes are kind but well-worn. The kindness makes them seem innocent, but their depth tells anyone who pays attention that she’s seen more sitting in this chair than most soldiers have seen at war.

Following her instruction to a fucking t, he finds himself standing just beyond the door to her hospital room. In all his excitement to finally meet this girl, he found in the forest. It hadn’t occurred to him yet, but what if she doesn’t want to see him? What if she wants to forget and he’s just a painful reminder?

Ignoring the roaring doubts that are now flinging themselves around in his head, his brain feeling like it’s ratting in his skull from the force of violent claws trying to scratch holes in his confidence, he places a faintly shaking hand on the doorknob and twists, revealing a sweet-smelling room, and quite frankly the bluest eyes he’s ever had the pleasure of getting lost in.

Great line, his inner flirt comments.

Try cliché, he reminds himself, remembering to reign in the smirk he uses to get a woman in his bed, and the bedroom voice he tends to drift off into when he’s in the presence of someone quite so stunning as Aelin Galathynius.

her hospital room, seconds before.

Waking up in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange building is something Aelin is used to. What college graduate isn’t used to it, those were prime one-night-stand years. And gods be damned, Aelin had never wasted the opportunity to get wasted, and get very fucking laid.

Sometimes a little high as well, but no one needs to know that.

Footsteps down the hall draw her attention, it has her heart speeding up a bit, skipping a beat once or twice if she’s being really honest with herself. And she’s trying to be (new year’s resolutions, you know how they go).

She knows who those footsteps belong to, she knows that carry the body of the finest man she’s ever had the distinct pleasure of laying her eyes upon atop them. She wonders if he’s in sneakers and his gym kit today, or whether he’s in his work clothes with the Chelsea boots underneath the hem of his suit trousers.

Or maybe he’s in jeans and a graphic tee, maybe he’s got converse and sweatpants on, maybe he’s wearing a kilt. Aelin is beyond caring what he’s wearing, he could show up in a bikini with thigh highs on and all she’d do is have a party in her brain—just for being in his presence.

The door creaks open, revealing a strong, veined hand gripping the doorknob, and as the door opens wide: the body of the man who’s been staring in all her daydreams and all her fantasies for the last few days.

Crooking a finger in his direction, creating a come-hither motion by doing so, she urges the new object of her affection and obsession towards her. His smile widens infinitesimally when he catches sight of her fully lucid, changed, and sat up in bed looking more alive than dead for the first time since he’d picked her up off the forest floor.

“Aelin, I’m glad to see you looking alive. I cannot express my joy at being able to see those turquoise irises in full clarity.” His voice is smooth, deep, and very slightly accented in a way that tells her his dirty has to be perfect and filthier and filthy.

“Oh yeah? And why is that, Rowan?” her voice shouldn’t have that seductive note to it, shouldn’t be verging on teasing, but it is. And she can see the second that Rowan registers her flirty tone, the suggestions that her words make for her.

“I can’t very well drown in those turquoise waters if your eyes are shut, can I?” Aelin knows the line is old and used up, a little on the cringe side of things as well, but that doesn't stop her heart from beating out of her chest when he says it.

She can’t help the way her future seems to brighten up in the split second since he’s uttered those words, she can’t help that she’s lying down in this bed, while all she wants to do is jump in this man’s—ridiculous, tattooed, muscled, and veined—arms and have him hold onto her forever.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #my fic #tog #tog fic #my writing #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #llyncooljones' writing

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spooky-z · 5 years ago

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College Françoise Dupont’s talent show [4.1/5]

• 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 4.1 • 5 • 5.1 •

I put links on Mari, Chlo and Kami's clothes because I suck in description. It has a link to the ring too.

@ozmav @maribat-archive

The big night had come.

Nervous, Damian had been sitting on the Dupain-Cheng's couch since arriving with his family.

The whole Wayne family inside the little house waiting for Marinette to finish getting ready with Chloe's help.

He already felt suffocated even though everyone was scattered around the house.

Bruce talked quietly with Tom, Sabine and Alfred looking at old family albums (Dupain-Cheng), Jason and Tim playing Mecha Strike, Dick with Kori on the couch with Damian, trying to calm down the brunette.

“Damian, calm down, man. I know how you are feeling right now, really, I've been through this. Trust me, everything will be perfect. She'll say yes.” He puts his hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There's no way Minette can refuse. That girl is crazy about you and you know it.”

"Surprisingly. For a while I thought she had a screw less." Kori adds solemnly.

"Kori..." Dick scolds.

But Damian ignored them both, as the hatch in Marinette's bedroom opened softly and Chloe came down, in a long, tight transparent dress with sapphire blue details all along (which looked like lace), a small belt of the same color to accentuate the slim waist.

Her hair was tied in a high, princess-style bun and the makeup on her face was minimal, the only highlight being the black cat eyeliner.

Damian couldn't see her feet from the dress, but he was sure she wore a heel of at least four inches.

He gets up quickly from the couch.

“Go Wayne, Tikkie is distracting her. This is your chance.” She says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, “Don't ruin things. Remember: Kami will be on the neighboring roof on the left, ready for when it's time.”

“Okay.” And he climbs the stairs quickly, barely hearing the others wishing for luck.

He passed Marinette's room, which was practically empty, not sparing a second and up the stairs leading to the bed, then up the hatch.

The sight that greeted him as he climbed up was breathtaking.

The balcony was decorated with fairy lights, the vines with blooming roses, and the clear sky, sprinkled with stars.

Marinette never lived up to the nickname angel as much as she did that night.

She was divine in a sapphire blue dress (she, Chloe and Kagami would go with the pieces she had made for her debut) of lightweight fabric (which resembled Diana's suit and the Amazon or Greek gods), her legs naked every time she moved and the top with a triangular neckline supported by a kind of belt decorated with beads, two or three shades darker than the dress.

To complement the Greek theme, she wore blue lace-up heels.

Her hair (which had grown so long it almost reached her waist) was shaped into loose curls, framing her small face. A thin golden tiara in the middle of the head.

Her makeup was a little more flashy than Chloe's. In addition to the baby blue cat eyeliner around the eyes, there was a dark cherry tone to her lips. Highlighting them.

Damian felt his mouth dry.

“Look at the time! I have to… go, Chloe is calling me!” Tikki before disappearing downstairs.

"What-Tikki!" Marinette called. She mouthed to say something more, but stopped when she noticed Damian.

“You look stunning, Marinette. Wonderful.” He says coming out of his stupor, but still frozen in place.

"You look wonderful too, Dami." She approaches, the lights making her more surreal. "I still think Chloe exaggerated a little..."

Damian finally moves, catching her halfway. His hands automatically reaching her face, stroking softly.

“So… are you going to tell me why our friends and parents have been weird lately? Something tells me you know why.” She says quietly, her face slightly tilted so she can look him in the eye. Despite her high heels, she barely reached his nose.

He placed a small kiss on her forehead before pulling back and kissing her on the lips quickly.

“Marinette, Angel. When I met you, I didn't think we could get to where we are now. Meet you, meet Ladybug, your parents, your friends... It was the best thing that ever happened in my life.” He says softly “In two years together, we had so many good, amazing, bad, worrying moments… But nothing managed to shake what we have. I'm here, I still love you, maybe even more than in the beginning and I intend to have you with me until I can no longer. I want to be by your side always. Be fighting crime or just deciding whether to eat pizza or dine out, then-” Marinette, who smiled sweetly, widened her eyes as Damian knelt before her.

“Damian what-” she choked out as he pulled a small black velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you give me the honor of becoming my wife?" He opened the small box showing the ring.

The ring was a pink gold, a larger diamond in the center and four smaller ones around. Marinette was in love.

“Dami! My God! Damian!” She sobbed “Of course! I do! I love you so much!!” And pulled the brunette to kiss the life out of him.

"I can't believe it... God, I love you." she says as she steps back.

“I love you too, Angel. You're my life.” He whispered. “Here, give me your right hand.”

She pulled back and reached out, her manicured nails painted in a nude tone, her heart beating so fast and hard that she could feel the pulse of blood in her ears.

Damian slid until the ring fit comfortably on the finger.

Marinette admired the ring, still not believing. She was engaged. Bride of the person she loved. She didn't know she could be any happier. Damian pulled her back in a kiss.

“Sabine, she accepted! They are kissing now! Ahh my little girl is getting married!” The two are startled by Tom's loud voice and turned in time to see Sabine pulling her husband back to Marinette's room. Tikki in his head with a dreamy smile.

The movement on the roof of the house also caught their attention.

“DAD?” Damian calls incredulously. “Tim? Wait- Why is everyone on the roof? Even Kori!” Noting that his father was not alone.

Marinette starts laughing when Bruce nods in approval and disappears into the shadows taking the four (Tim, Jason, Dick and Kori) with him.

Tsukuyomi on the next roof, also leaves leaving the two alone.

"... So I think I'll need help getting down with those heels and the dress." Marinette says breaking the moment "I may not be the clumsy 13-year-old, but I don't want to test my luck."

Damian smiles mischievously before scooping her up.

"Lucky for you I came prepared." And he jumped with her toward the limo parked in front of the bakery.

“Damian!!!”

••••••

Lila was absolutely furious. If Hawkmoth was still active, she would have been akumatized at least four times.

She still couldn't believe Adrien had the courage to reject and push her in front of everyone. In front of Dupain-Cheng.

The mayor's daughter's despicable laugh still echoing in her ears and the class's incredulous expression glued to her eyes.

She had arrived early at the theater to avoid any questioning of the idiots. She was also hiding in one of the entrance pillars watching the doors trying to catch any glimpse of Adrien.

There were few people, but the situation was changing ever closer to the school schedule.

Last night she had a plan to get the blonde to apologize for what he had done in front of everyone, thus clearing her path with the class. And if by chance the plan resulted in everyone pitying her and forcing both of them together (perhaps breaking the baker's daughter's heart) she would not complain.

Lila had dressed to impress. A long orange chiffon dress with lace at the hem and sleeves, black heels and striking makeup. Her hair was loose.

She wanted highlight and attention. She wanted Adrien at her feet. She wanted the meticcia humiliation.

So she waited.

The first person of the class to arrive was Alix with her family. Lila wrinkled her nose at the girl's ridiculous outfit.

Who would go to an event at a prestigious venue wearing denim shorts and Jagged t-shirt?

The others were arriving not long after. No one at Alix level, but not as neat as Lila. This until Adrien appears.

The lobby was crowded with students, family, and guests, but she was still able to see him enter. His bodyguard right behind.

Even wearing a simple button-down shirt, dress pants, and polished black shoes, he could still stand out from the crowd.

Lila almost ran from her hiding place to reach him, but stopped when she saw Alya and Nino pull the blonde to talk in a far corner. Their parents and brothers right behind with the bodyguard.

"Shit."

Now she would have to wait until the last second and make a triumphant entry.

••••••

Ms. Bustier's class had found a way to meet among so many people.

The conversation went well, but a tense mood hung over them. No one brave enough to go after Adrien asking what had happened onstage the night before. No one had seen Lila yet and everyone wondered if she would still show up after the embarrassment.

All calm until it was not.

The people closest to the entrance were in a frenzy. The barely muffled whispers, some pointing, others shocked. Everyone moving closer to the doors to see whatever it was.

The class looked at each other confused trying to understand what was going on.

Kim and Ivan, the tallest in the class, followed by Adrien, tiptoed up to see the reason for the confusion, but unfortunately failed to get a good look.

Alya, who could never keep her curiosity in check, patted Kim on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Get me up. So I see and say what's going on.” She says “We won't be able to get through this crowd or see from here. ”

“Okay, I'll give you a boost and you sit on my shoulders.” He replies.

"Be careful, Aly!" Ms. Cesárie asks.

“I'm always careful, Mom!” And there was a general roll of eyes. “Now let me see wha- MY GOD THAT'S BRUCE WAYNE?!” She shouts.

Alix gives a shaken jump. “Bruce Wayne? Like Bruce Wayne? The tech mogul? This Bruce Wayne?”

"Of course! Is there another Bruce Wayne that I don't know?” Alya snapped angrily “Wait... Is that in Bruce Wayne's arms--- MARINETTE!?” She almost falls off Kim's shoulders in shock, but the boy is quick to hold her.

“Marinette?” Lila says, appearing out of nowhere beside Adrien who was still as confused as the class.

Max looks at the frowning newcomer "Why are you so..." he rethinks the word. “Dressed?” Lila might be the best girl in the world, but he couldn't help noticing that she dressed very badly. Very tacky.

She looks at him, eyebrow raised, not even trying the innocent facade, but looks back at Ladyblogger for an answer.

“Oh my god, it's true! It's Bruce Wayne with Marinette.” Alix exclaims sitting on Ivan's shoulders. “Man, I didn't know Mari was so hot.” She whistles in appreciation.

“Alix!” Rose, Nino, Adrien and Nathaniel exclaim in horror.

"What? It's true!” She replies “You should see this! Let’s go! Put me down, Ivan! We will open the Red Sea.”

The boy did as she asked, Alya who was still frozen on Kim's shoulders was poked by Nino. “Aly, let's go. Alix will try to get us there.”

She gets scared but goes down numb.

This was not the Marinette she knew.

"OK! There we go.” Alix says “Sorry! Oops It was bad!” As she pushed people out of the way, the class right behind her.

Lila and Adrien also following the rest. One out of curiosity and one... Well, Lila didn't know what else she was feeling right now except hatred and contempt.

"... And we arrived!" The girl says, her cheeks pink with the effort.

"Oh my god!" They gasp as they understand Alya's shock. And we are not talking about Bruce Wayne. By the way, it was really him.

No. The disbelief had a first and last name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“Marinette…?” Adrien called, not believing his eyes.

And she, who was talking to Bruce, turned in surprise for the class. Her eyes firmed only briefly at Adrien, before turning to another person entering the hall.

He was a tall man, black-haired, well built, dressed in a black suit from head to toe, the suit obviously designer. Short hair combed and styled to the side. Green and cold eyes. His hands automatically going to Dupain-Cheng's waist as if it were normal and routine between them.

The class seemed even more surprised.

“Dad, Jason is trying to kill Tim and Dick in the car.” His voice coming out cold. “Angel, your parents were kidnapped by Jagged. Something about a tour.” Adrien notices the change in tone as he talks to the girl, the way his eyes soften and the corner of his lips curves slightly.

Bruce Wayne also seems to notice the change in behavior because he says nothing before leaving to solve the said problem.

“Is Jagged here? He didn't even warn me he was coming.” Marinette says ignoring the eyes poking holes in her head.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I forgot-"

“Of course he forgot. That wasn't because he wanted to see you freaking out.” Kagami, who was arriving with Chloe in tow, says sarcastically. "Hello Damian, Mari." She nods.

The brunette wore an all-black suit, gold trim at the edges and sides. The jacket fully open at the front, closed just enough to cover the breasts. Her hair was artfully styled in a mess and there was a ruby lipstick on her lips.

“Kami!” Marinette jumped toward the girl. “I missed you today. Chloe used me like a doll all day. ”

“I've been busy getting everything ready.” She responds “By the way, congratulations. To both.” She adds.

"Thanks," Damian replies simply.

“Where, let me see this diamond!” Chloe pulls the brunette's hand evaluating the ring. “Wow, I didn't think Wayne would have good eyes for jewelry. Good choice.” She winks at Damian and releases the brunette's hand.

“I think it was exaggerated. It's beautiful, I loved it, but if it was a little less flashy…” Marinette doesn't finish, but the others understand what she means.

“Only the best for you, Angel.” Damian caresses her hand, then bends to kiss the ring.

Bruce returns with four other people, three men and one woman. The eldest of the three immediately jumped up to Marinette excitedly.

“What did you think of the ring, Minette?” He asks. “Damian was so concerned about not getting the proper engagement ring. You had to see it! All red and boring. He looked eleven years old again.”

What? Who were those people? Why did Marinette, Kagami and Chloe know them? And the guy who would not let go of Marinette? And Minette? Wait. Engagement Ring?

“MARINETTE GOING TO MARRY?!” Rose screams.

And the group finally looks at the class, noticing them. In Marinette's case, seeming to remember that they were there.

"Wait! Who is this guy, Marinette?! Why did I never knew you were dating someone?!" Alya sputters possessed.

Damian, already annoyed by the ladyblogger, pulls Marinette close to his family and stands in front, staring directly and coldly at the class.

"And who are you?"

“II am Ma-marinette's best friend! Alya!” She fumbles at the words.

Damian smiles humorlessly “Oh really? Interesting.” He says “Marinette and I have been together for two years and I've never heard of any Alya.”

Alya seemed to have been slapped at his words and shut up quickly, with nothing to talk about.

"You never answered the question." Lila says, taking the lead in the group. Damian raised an eyebrow in question, "Who are you?"

“Me?” His smile turns sour. “I'm Damian Wayne, fiancé of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one who won't think twice about crushing you if you try anything else against her… Lila Aloisi Rossi.”

[tag list]

@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna @iglowinggemma28 @crazylittlemunchkin @lunaraquaenby @maude-zarella @mooshoon @kuroko26 @littleredrobinhoodlum @fanboy7794 @shadowberrybinch @k-rena-k @captainmac6 @clumsy-owl-4178 @tazanna-blythe @vixen-uchiha @zebrabaker @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @artxyra @ellerahs

#maribat #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian #daminette #ml salt #talent show au

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goodtimingz · 5 years ago

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dreaming you would come true

intro. pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4. pt5.

AN: i’m writing these everynight instead of writing my essay. plz feel free to send in your relationship goal prompts c: i’ll write them in this universe or i can do it for another idol!

tags: studentlife, jae day6, fluff, college!au

: the one where you meet jae in your second year of college and it’s basically love at first sight. just little excerpts of what i think a relationship w jae would be like c:

1.7k words

Hi, hello. Every time I say hi to you it makes my heart flutter.

It was Saturday night and finals were over.

On any other day you'd be celebrating, out with the group for drinks like everyone else was. But tonight you just weren't feeling it. Maybe it was the chicken you'd ate at dinner, the fact that you hadn't slept enough or the fact that finals being over meant you had no more reason to meet Jae.

You missed his laugh already, and the way his elbows hit yours when you wrote notes beside eachother. The bee line for the boba shop that shut at 11pm on Fridays, and waking him up after watching him fall asleep from a 20minute online lecture. You missed him and you felt under the weather.

Wonpil had been hesitant to leave you, your close friend and classmate. You both lived in the same dormitory building and had met on the first day of class. "Y/N are you sure you don't wanna join us?" he had asked pouting, hand already on the door handle. You had to reassure him that you were fine and come up with some lie about needing to call your mom. This was a time to celebrate and everyone deserved a break, including Wonpil who had worked his ass off and probably got all A's.

Your mind wondered to Jae, picturing him out at a bar with his mates. He probably forgot about you right? Maybe he'd been hanging out with you for the past 2 weeks because you helped him study better... (not sure about that since you'd always bother him with deep questions related to your psych class just to hear his voice abit more.)

Stuck in your thoughts, the knock on your door almost sent your soul out of your body. Ever since you were woken up by the staff during a false fire alarm the knocks had always made your heart race. You hauled the heavy ass door open with a sigh, expecting your drunk best friend or another random drunkard knocking on everyone's doors.

Instead you came face to face with Jae. Well, more like chest to face since he was ridiculously tall.

"Ayee Y/N, you didn't think I'd skip a day without you right?" His playful voice and the sweet words were like music to your ears .

Without a second thought you smiled at him and every worry went away, replaced with burning red cheeks. "What brings you here?" You questioned bashfully, opening the door wider for him to get out of the hallway.

"I was thinking you'd be boring and stay in tonight, so I asked your friend Wonpil what room you were in. You know he's in my Music class right?" You roll your eyes and nod at him as he places a plastic bag on your desk.

You couldn't lie, you were beyond surprised and happy he'd come. But it was more surprising to watch as Jae pulled out three bottles of soju and searched your shelf for cups.

"How about we cheers? You've been working your ass off and I need to drink to forget how bad the last exam went. Leshgoo!"

Your eyes widen before you realised you were laughing. "Jae do you honestly think we can finish 3 bottles? I heard from your friend Younghyun that you're a light weight as heck!" Coincidentally (or not), the day after you met Jae, Younghyun had sat beside you in one of your stats classes.

Since then you had been sent a handful of snapchat's of Jae sleeping in awkward positions, so you assumed Younghyun had heard about you through Jae.

Jae looked at you sideways, fiddling with the lid of Soju. "Ehh Younghyun's a machine that's why. Anyone is a lightweight beside him." He was already pouring you both a drink and before you knew it 3 bottles were gone. You were a light weight too, so that was definitely not a good decision.

Jae looked so cute. You're not sure how you got here, sitting on the floor of your bedroom cross legged, facing the cutest guy, but boy were you glad to be.

"Y/N, you always look so pretty, I wonder if I can see you when you don't look panda-ish." Jae mumbled, his eyes smiling sleepily. He was a sleepy drunk, or maybe that's just the 8hrs he slept for the past week. He sure loved the panda idea, and had even drew a panda on your notebook during one of your study sessions.

You laughed at his sweet expression, pushing him softly on his shoulder. "Try again in a month, but I might blind you with my beauty. You should know I'm just like the 9-tailed fox when I’m not sleep deprived."

Yeah, you were drunk, in fact you both were. You tried your best to send him a sexy wink but you ended up laughing at yourself because no matter how drunk you were, you were still shy.

"Does that mean you'll eat my heart? I did not sign up for this!"Jae's cute eyes turned to slits with a suspicious scowl. (You took a mental picture of it, saving later for a rainy day.)

"Only if you let me..." You sent him a suggestive look and laughed as he covered his chest. Anyone looking in would probably think you two were insane. You weren't sure what time it was, and if it hadn't been you're own room you probably wouldn't remember where you were either. There were boxes of chinese food you’d ordered and random things everywhere around the two of you.

"I don't think the 9-tailed fox asked her victims for permission Y/n..." He had a point. "Okay then, mind if I just-" you reached out to his chest, pretending to cut a slit with your nails and reach in to grab his heart while he giggled the whole time.

"WOW, with that precise cut you should've been a surgeon!" Jae teased, his cheeks were so flushed and you took both of his hands in your own.

"You should know that is what I always dreamed to do, but here we are, 2 years into a psychology major. Thank me later when you have identity issues next, I'll be your certified therapist friend." You found the most dramatically serious voice you could while thoroughly drunk, and sent another wink Jae's way before lazily reaching for his hair.

He dodged your hands feigning offence. "OUCH, you friend-zoned me? Well, I guess you won't be able to dye my hair pink anymore, that's saved for my girlfriends."

"GirlfriendS??? As in plural? Wow Jae I should be the one surprised, I didn't know you were a player... But I guess it makes sense since you're so cute."

Friend-zoned? Who was talking about friend-zoning here? You weren't. Jae loosely put his hands up in defence, "Your homeboy is loyal to the day he dies!"

You move his hands out of the way shuffling so your knees were touching. You already knew he was loyal, he had a niche personality that could vibe with others but you never seen him disrespect a women.

"And why would I friend zone you? You're so cute, Have you seen this?" Cheek pinch. "And this?" Nose boop. "And these!" Your fingers brushed his lips, unknowingly a pout had formed on your face. "It's not fair that you always look cute. Save some for the rest of us Jae."

Jae felt his heart beating faster as you moved closer to him. The way you touched him with that smile and then the pout, it was enough to sober him up. He reached out to hold your face with both of his hands, watching as your hands dropped to your sides and your expression grew bashful.

"I think you're one to talk Y/N" He spoke so softly, noticing just how close you were. You looked so adorable, he could swear your lips called his name.

Who was he to deny it?

He leaned forward, gently kissing your lips. They were soft and tasted like peach soju. He could only think of you, if after this you never talked to him, slapped him or acted like it never happened he would accept it. But he liked you, and he couldn't stand denying it anymore.

To his surprise you kissed back softly, tentatively as if you were afraid.

When you pulled away his eyes searched yours, afraid he would find regret. "Will you remember this in the morning?" He asked you nervously.

"Jae, I'm pretty sober right now, and I like you." Your words were so sure and the shy smile you sent his way sent a wave of relief over him. Thank gosh.

"10 points! that's exactly what I wanted to hear because I like you too Y/N." Okay, his pulse had definitely increased to double speed and his hands were sweaty. Even though he knew your feelings now, it still felt so nerve-wrecking to confess. He tried hard to keep eye contact because some dating advice website said it was important, but it was hard.

You let out a breathy laugh before it turned into a genuine one. Was that so hard? Hell yes it was, your heart was beating out of your damn chest. Anyone with ears could surely hear it, which meant Jae could surely too.

"So... we good?" You managed to find words but it felt like trying to speak another language. Suddenly the room looked a mess and you got to your feet, starting to clean. "Of course we're good Y/N, we always are." Jae spoke comfortingly, a bashful smile resting on his lips as he followed your acts. Perfect. You nodded with a grin, taking the bottles from his hands to throw away.

When you turned back to face him, he looked so shy smiling at the ground. He was so Jae, so cute, so your type. You could not resist resting your hands on his neck and pulling him down for another kiss, this time you were sure to let him know you liked him.

When your lips touched everything except Jae left your thoughts. The way his lips moved against yours felt so right. When you two separated his hands rested on your waist and you never wanted them to leave. Up close Jae was so beautiful you couldn't help but smile.

"So... can I dye your hair now?"

Jae laughed at your asking eyes, nodding as he pulled into a tight hug. With your cheek resting on his chest and his chin on your head, a buzz of excitement rushed through you. The future suddenly looked less black and white, and more blue? Yes, rather than pink you think Jae would suit blue.

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palletmachinebot · 4 years ago

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and 165" in length plus girth. Anything that exceeds this sizing becomes a freight shipment. They are kept stable by using a stackable pallet and also by being loaded correctly. Stackable pallets can have runners on the bottom, perimeter frames, picture frame bottoms and more. The pallets are 96 by 125 inches (2.4 m by 3.2 m) and up to 120-inches (3.05-m) tall. For shipping horses, there are special containers called airstables that connect to pallets and fit in the cargo hold.

Labels – Clearly label all shipments for identification purposes. You should also label any packages that have special handling requirements such as tilt sensitive or fragile items. LTL shipments should have the carrier pro number attached or written on them to assist in identification should the shipping label be damaged or lost in transit. The next step is to properly orient and stack your freight onto the pallet.

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chloegami · 5 years ago

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stand and face me (chloe/kagami one shot! fwb mutual pining type gig)

AO3 link

“Do you want to come over tonight?” Asks Chloé, leaning against the car like it’s her’s and not her dad’s and also chauffeur-driven. Even though it’s a question, and a very fucking loaded one at that, she phrases it like she’s asking Kagami for nothing more than a gal-pal sleepover.

Kagami sighs, adjusting her fencing bag. “Sure.” She gives Adrien the slip, saying Chloé’s going to drop her off home instead. The boy just says he’s glad the two of them are friends now then smiles widely, which Kagami echoes, because Adrien is so perfectly, blissfully, eternally oblivious. It’s why she finally picked up and moved on from him. It wasn’t her job to teach him how to notice her flirting.

Chloé picked it up much quicker, and was much more reciprocative.

The car ride is silent. It usually is. Sometimes, when they’re tipsy from a party, Chloé will pull up the partition and they’ll hardcore make out instead. It shrouds the back seat in awkwardness and an emotion Kagami refuses to pin down as yearning.

They refrain from touching as they walk through le Grand Paris’ crowded lobby and hallway. Kagami’s pretty sure the entirety of the hotel staff have figured out what Chloé gets up to with her new friend, but that doesn’t mean Mayor Bourgeois, who surpasses Agreste in terms of total lack of situational awareness, needs to know why his daughter still hasn’t gotten a boyfriend.

As Chloé shuts the door, it’s like a veil lifts. Kagami likes to tuck things neatly away in nice, clean, compartmentalised boxes and whatever it is she has with Chloé is the same. Once that doors closed, and until that unseen fog of pretend falls back on the two of them, Kagami is allowed to indulge in Chloé without feeling bad or having to think too hard about it.

Kagami shoves Chloé against the wall, receives Chloé’s hard kiss eagerly, and lets herself melt into her.

The fog falls, and Kagami wonders whether it was a smart or stupid idea to pretend to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to ask Chloé whether she should move to the sofa.

They have rules, unspoken as they are. They kiss, because kissing’s great, but only once the metaphorical (though usually literal) door closes. They never stay over at Kagami’s, but Kagami can stay over at Chloé’s when Audrey’s not visiting. None of their friends can know, except Marinette figured it out, but she also knows Kagami doesn’t like to talk about it so there’s no worry of ever having to acknowledge anything.

They do not speak about whatever arrangement they’ve created. Not ever. They ask whether the other is free, they ask whether they want to come over, but never any details. They don’t discuss what it is, or what it means, or what it entails, or what responsibilities they have now.

That’s don’t need to talk. From the first moment, when Chloé had laced her fingers in Kagami’s and leant in, there had never been words. They just knew. They knew what they liked, they knew what they wanted, they knew.

Or, Kagami likes to think she knows. It’s easier that way.

It’s easier than obsessing over every word, easier than worrying how much she’ll spill just by opening her mouth, easier than having to confront feelings and confront Chloé.

She wonders if Chloé thinks the same.

She knows she doesn’t.

She likes the think she knows she doesn’t.

She falls asleep, tossing and turning and hoping the bed is large enough that she won’t end up clinging to Chloé during the night.

“Put that down. It’s disgusting.” Chloé leans over her balcony, thin ribbons of smoke curling into the air from her cigarette. Chloé rolls her eyes. “Who are you, my mother?” She scoffs, but Kagami notes she doesn’t put it back into her mouth. She’s glad, even though she doubts she’ll be kissing her again anytime soon. It’s a dangerous time, two hours past midnight. A part of her wonders what woke Chloé up. A part of her aches to ask.

But the bigger part of her, the one that recognises how thin the thread their relationship hangs from is already, and that if she doesn’t want it to snap she should keep her mouth shut.

Paris is beautiful. The Eiffel Tower, kitschy as it is, glows with such brightness and she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t be content to sit at the balcony and just stare out over the city till she falls asleep. Kagami misses Tokyo and she doubts she’ll ever truly feel at home in France, but Paris has its beauty.

But maybe it’s the little things that make her think that. Maybe it’s all those outings to the Eiffel Tower with her friends, maybe it’s the stupid parties they throw that makes the city glow for her, maybe it’s Chloé that makes her want--

“Are you going to Alya’s thing tomorrow? Or today, whatever time it is. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I’m going.”

Chloé takes an edged breath. “Do you want to come over tomorrow night? After the party.”

“I can’t.” She doesn’t bother softening her voice. Maybe she should. It’s easier not to. “Okaa-sama’s only letting me go if I get home before ten.” She’s already saying too much. The thread threatens to snap.

Chloé shrugs. ��Whatever. I’m going to bed.” She flicks her cigarette off the balcony with a sharp finality. Kagami might chastise her. It might make Chloé stay outside with her.

She doesn’t.

The bed is wide enough that Kagami would have to stretch her arm out to reach Chloé, and even then she might just wake up to it empty.

She’s thankful her mother’s gotten more lax about her having friends, though she wishes it hadn’t taken an akuma to teach her that maybe her daughter should be allowed to have a social life. She likes parties, contrary to what people think. She’s not much of a drinker, never quite fell into the casual drinking of Parisians or teenagers. It varies amongst her new friends.

The Designated Sober Friends are Marinette, because she really is the mother of the group; Adrien, because his dad forbids all fun; Luka, because he’s the only one with a driver’s license and Juleka, because Rose is such a lightweight she needs constant supervision. Everyone else drinks to some capacity. Alya and Nino are prone to drunken karaoke, Alix and Kim spend most of the night competing in drinking contests (which Max supervises, even though he gets just as plastered as them) and Ivan and Mylene are affectionate drunks, forming into one really hug-y creature until Alix loses it and shoves them into a closet so they can have some peace.

Kagami drinks so she feels less guilty about wanting Chloé. If she’d drunk when she stares at her, she can blame it on the alcohol and not consider any sort of introspection.

Chloé drinks, though Kagami doesn’t let herself speculate why. That falls to close into admitting she cares about her.

They’ve fallen into that portion of the evening when languidness takes hold. The air hangs thick, mainly with the smell of nicked vodka and beer. They’re half-watching some teen drama Rose squeals about, and everyone’s fitted nicely into some niche. Marc paints Nathaniel’s nails, Marinette pretends she's not stealing glances at Adrien, Juleka’s smiling at Rose as she tells everyone to keep watching because the third season’s gay, and Chloé lays in Kagami’s lap.

Chloé likes to be cherished, and Kagami likes Chloé, so of course she indulges her.

Chloé has soft hair and it’s fucking infuriating. It’s so feathery and luscious and it makes Kagami insane with longing. Every time she’s in its general vicinity she wants to comb her fingers through it, and what's worse is Chloé loves it when people ravish her and practically melts in Kagami’s hands whenever Kagami shoves aside her rationality and lets Chloé lay in her lap so she can stroke her golden locks and pretend she isn’t imagining what it would be like to do that as a girlfr--

“I need to throw up. Kagami, you’re holding my hair back.” Chloé’s bluntness used to shock her, the cultural clash hitting her like a ton of bricks, but it very, very quickly became one of Kagami’s favourite things about her.

She follows her into Alya’s bathroom, and has to suppress a yell when Chloé closes the door by pushing her against it.

“Since you can’t come by tonight,” is all Chloé says by way of explanation. “But keep quiet and be fast, this house is so fucking small--” and Kagami cuts her off.

If she tugs Chloé’s hair in the middle of it all, and watches Chloe’s pupils dilate as she tries to stay silent, then no one can really blame her for tucking that away for future consideration.

“We should go back,” she says, every word harder and harder to say. Chloé pouts, but shrugs. She doesn’t let go though, and the thread pulls ever thin. “Do I look like I threw up?”

She looks beautiful.

“Sure. Splash water on your face.” Chloé doesn’t. She stays where she is, with their legs laced together. Chloé watches her curiously, flushed, in a way Kagami can’t interpret and doesn’t want to try. Her companion breaks out from her reverie and gives her a kiss, so lightning-fast Kagami doesn’t have time to react. And then she’s up like that was nothing.

Affection for the sake of it isn’t something they do. Kagami’s lips burn.

“Come on. Adrien will have figured it out if we stay here any longer.”

He doesn’t, but Kagami’s pretty sure Juleka gives them a once-over. Chloé notices it too, Kagami’s sure of it, but it doesn’t stop her from putting her head back in Kagami’s lap. If Kagami were to die like this, her hands in Chloé’s hair, she’s not sure she’d be too upset at that.

“I can’t come over,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. They’re waiting outside Alya’s, both for their respective rides, since Nora came home early and kicked everyone out.

“I know,” Chloé replies, “You said.” Her voice is harder than usual, and it doesn’t sound like it’s from the vodka.

“Or the next three weeks. We’re going back to Tokyo for a little.”

Chloé is silent, until she isn’t.

“You should have told me.”

It comes out like a stammer, which is something so alien to Chloé that it nearly knocks Kagami back. She doesn’t know how to reply. Apologise? That assumes Chloé is missing something with her leaving. Offer to skype? That establishes there’s something.

She’s saved by Chloé’s car pulling up. Or she’s not, because Chloé pulls her in for the longest kiss they’ve ever had, and it’s soft and sweet and Kagami’s world is crashing down and she doesn’t even care, because Chloé Bourgeois is kissing her like nothing else in the world matters.

And then it’s over, and then, like a fucking idiot, Kagami pulls her back in and kisses her till she’s sure her mother will comment on her lateness. Then she drops her hands from Chloé’s waist and stalks off, because she’s a fucking idiot.

Kagami shoves her stupidity to the back of her head, and enjoys home. Paris has nothing on seeing her grandparents and cousins and fencing practice in Ueno Park and seeing the fireworks at Sumidagawa, but Paris has Chloé and that’s more than enough for her to be thoroughly ready to swim her way back to Europe.

They get back, swimming unnecessary, but Kagami restrains herself from immediately hopping a cab and driving her way to the hotel and climbing the balcony like she’s some poor lovesick fool in a Shakespearean tragedy. She imagines Chloé would push her off if she tried.

So she goes about her week like normal, not thinking about honey-blonde hair or her fingers through it, not snippy remarks or the pink lips that say them, not of blue eyes and bee combs and goddamn Chloé Fucking Bourgeois.

It’s after fencing class she finally sees her. Kagami had probably gone a little hard on her peers today, and so she’s panting and distracted as she walks out of the school, only to be practically barrelled into by a flash of blonde hair. She registers arms around her, registers the smell of Chloé’s perfume, registers that Chloé’s now kissing her--

Adrien makes a noise between a squeal and a whoop, which brings Kagami and Chloé back to Earth. Adrien blushes. “Oh...um...I’ll...I suppose Chloé’ll drop you off?”

Chloé glares. “And why do you suppose that?” She doesn’t stammer, but she sounds a lot on edge. She tosses her hair behind her hair. “Ridiculous.” And then she’s gone, not wasting another look on Kagami.

Kagami would leave, but Adrien’s her ride home. They step into the Agreste car, because the Gorilla waits for him outside fencing class because who knows what nutcase might come by and try to abduct him. Adrien coughs, breaking the awkward silence. “So...are you and Chloé together? I feel a bit dumb now.”

“You are dumb. We’re not together.”

“O-oh. Okay. Um, sorry?”

She was sorry too.

Chloé didn’t bring it up, didn’t treat her any different. They slipped into a closet at Alix’s party, met up at Chloé’s on Kagami’s free day, went back to the hotel like usual after fencing, and not once during any of those did Chloé hint at the incident.

Kagami wasn’t sure if she wanted her to or not. She wondered if she should.

They sat at the balcony, one past midnight this time. Chloé had lit a cigarette, but Kagami chastised her and she only holds it. They sat in silence, until they didn’t.

“Do you ever want to come out to your mother?”

It was so out of left field Kagami had no choice but to be honest. “Yes. But I won’t.”

“Me neither.”

“Your mum’s in town?”

“Yeah. Came by last Monday.” Kagami pretended she wasn’t counting back the days. It would have been during her trip away.

“I’m sorry.”

Chloé shrugged. “Whatever.” She tapped her cigarette on the railing, pausing to watch the ash fall. “Do you want to go out tomorrow? We can see a movie together.”

They didn’t do things together, besides the obvious. It was only in groups. Doing things like this was too close to a date, and Kagami would never in a million years have suggested that. The thread was frayed enough as is, and she wouldn’t risk it for anything.

“I have a tournament tomorrow.” It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one.

Chloé shrugged again. “Whatever.”

She lost the tournament. It was tied, and her opponent won by priority.

Her mother didn’t come, which means Kagami has to call her. She stares down at the contact. Tsurugi Tomoe, Okaa-sama . She can feel her eyes prickling with tears. She can already see the disappointment practically radiating off her mother.

“Hey,” calls a voice from behind her. “Kagami, hi.”

“Chloé.”

“Are you...are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I watched the tournament. Adrien wanted me to go. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You did really good.”

“I lost. My mother will think I’m a failure.” Kagami doesn’t know what makes her say that out loud. Stupidity, probably. Delirium.

“Then your mother’s an idiot,” says Chloé, her voice so firm Kagami believes her. “I watched the whole thing, it was totally unfair. if your mother had actually been here she’d know that.” Kagami hadn’t realised Chloé knew fencing, and she tells her as much.

Chloé laughs. “Yeah, I picked it up after watching Adrien. You don’t really know much about me though, do you?”

That was unexpected. Kagami shrugs. “Do you know much about me?”

Chloé is quiet a few moments. “I know what matters,” she says finally. Kagami can feel her cheeks redden. If Chloé notices, she doesn’t show it. “Look, I know you’re an amazing fencer. Don’t worry about what your mother thinks, she’s not you and if she can’t see who you really are then who gives a shit?”

Kagami wishes she had Chloé’s total confidence in herself, but something about Chloé makes her feel just a little like everything will be okay. She wants to reach out and thank her, but vulnerability is not her strong suit.

Chloé turns back to her so suddenly Kagami jumps a little. “I’m getting a milkshake. Wanna come with?”

“What?”

Kagami thinks she sees Chloé’s smile falter, but it’s probably wishful thinking. “Do you want to come or not? Christ.” Chloé kicks at the ground. “Screw your mum. She’s gonna be mad either way, right? Why not have some fun first?

That’s the stupidest logic she’s ever heard.

But then again, Kagami’s well and truly whipped.

She nods as nonchalantly as she can manage. Can you nod nonchalantly? She hops her nod doesn’t convey how much she’s freaking out over how beautiful and adorable Chloé is. “Sure, why not?”

It’s less awkward than Kagami freaked out that it would be. They’re friends already, they talk at parties, but a social gathering with a gang of friends is different to sitting across from the girl you definitely aren’t head over heels for, so close you’re touching knees which shouldn’t be that crazy because Lord knows how many times you’ve seen her naked but it’s different somehow, so different.

A good different.

A great different.

Kagami was worried she wouldn’t know what to say. She still hadn’t got the hang of friendship and social interaction. She cringes at how she acted around Marinette at first and she’s gotten better, but she’s still barely halfway there.

She needn’t worry, because Chloé talks enough for both of them three times over. She can make a complaint out of anything and back it up with ten arguments and have you just as convinced of it as her, from the intensity of the fashion industry to whether pain au chocolate or chocolatine is a better name. Kagami listens to everything, because she’s getting better at that and because she’d listen to anything Chloé says.

Yin and yang, she thinks and then suppresses, because she’s pretty sure Chloé would laugh at her for how cheesy it is and because that’s dangerous thinking.

Not that all of this isn’t dangerous. She’s still not sure how she’s supposed to be addressing this. Is she supposed to ignore their rendezvous? Is this an escalation of them? Is this just another one, with less handsiness?

She does talk a little, when Chloé asks her about fencing and her mother. Chloé listens too, which surprises Kagami. When Kagami had first started hanging out with Adrien and Marinette’s friends, Adrien had warned her that Chloé could be prickly and was rather set in her ways, and even Marinette, who was the epitome of goodness and kindness, had said that though Chloé was much better than she used to be, she could still be quite aggressively assertive.

Chloé was confident and commanding, but Kagami had never found her to be aggressive or prickly. She had been prepared to hate her. Marinette had told her a little of how Chloé used to treat her and it broke Kagami’s heart but Chloé was nothing like she’d expected.

As she watched Chloé lazily blow bubbles into her strawberry milkshake, golden hair practically glowing in the afternoon sun, Kagami thought now was as good a time as ever to admit she was madly in love with her.

They walk down the Champs-Élysées together, with Kagami dopily listening to Chloé complain about American consumerism and the influx of annoying tourists, and it’s something that might be romantic if Kagami were naive enough to think Chloé might like her back.

She tells her mother when she gets home, who grounds her for three weeks and forbids her to speak to her friends.

The days are agony. And not just because of Chloé, Kagami does in fact have a life outside of her. She can’t see Marinette. She can’t go to Juleka’s birthday party. Her mother accompanies her to her fencing lesson, scrutinises the entire time and makes it clear in no uncertain terms that if she talks to Adrien she’ll be punished.

By the second week, she’s done.

She’s fresh out of a lecture from her mother about how much of an awful influence her friends are and how dare Kagami sully the Tsurugi name and the moment they can they’re leaving this godawful country and frankly, Kagami’s such a mess of anger, tears and boredom she’s the perfect target for doing through with a really dumb idea.

She watches the window. She could do it, it’s not like her mother’s cruel enough to put bars up.

She can’t go to the Dupain-Chengs’, because Marinette’s really weird about people going over to her house unannounced, especially at night, and Tomoe took Kagami’s phone. Going over to Adrien’s would be a death sentence, both because her mother would kill her for embarrassing them in front of Gabriel Agreste and she’s pretty sure the Gorilla wouldn’t appreciate someone trying to sneak into the Agreste mansion. Everyone else is crossed off by virtue of them only really being friends via Adrien and Marinette.

Which leaves one person. One person who she really fucking wants to see.

But by God would it snap the thread.

That stupid fucking thread that does nothing but stop her from doing what she wants, no better than her mother, and put in place by her own damn self.

It’s possible she’s being dramatic, but it’s easy to be dramatic when you’re scaling down your building in nightwear and a coat at 11:00pm on a Monday night.

This is a stupid idea, she repeats to herself as she tracks her way through the streets to the Grande Paris. She gets a few looks but most Parisians have been desensitised to oddities, and a teenager frantically bolting from the 16th arrondissement to the 8th in a jinbei is hardly the weirdest thing they’ve seen.

It really is the dumbest thing she’s ever done, but somehow, in the twenty minutes or so it takes to run to the hotel, not once does Kagami think of turning back. She does wonder, though, if it is cowardice or courage.

She doesn’t run through the doors, because the doorman is very nice and she doesn’t want to upset him, but she does start running when she gets to the hallways.

She halts when she reaches Chloé’s. She knocks before she can start regretting her decisions.

“Mother please, just leave me...oh my God, Kagami?” She cuts her off by falling into her arms and embracing her.

“I needed to see you,” she breathes, by way of explanation. Chloé hugs her back.

“I’m glad. I...I missed you.” She pulls back, leaving Kagami cold. “Did you run all the way from your house?”

“Yes,” she says, because she’s never been one for lying. Denying the truth, certainly, but never lying.

Chloé barks an uncertain laugh, before pulling her back in. “That was a stupid idea. Your mother’s going to kill you if she finds out.” She only holds her tighter though. “Thank you.” She whispers, so quietly Kagami can’t be sure whether she imagined it.

Chloé finally pulls back, her face flushed. Kagami can’t pin why. “Come on, you should shower. I’m not kissing you when you’re like this.”

She lays content in the afterglow and doesn’t notice Chloé watching her until she turns to soak in her last image of her before Tomoe grounds her for the rest of her life. She paints her ocean eyes, her rose blush, her shell lips.

She’s being dramatic, but it’s easy to be dramatic when you’ve run half an hour to your hook up’s hotel because you’re madly in love with her because you’re a dumb bisexual who can’t just sit tight for three weeks until you see her again.

“I should go home,” she mumbled into the pillow, not wanting to ever leave. She wants to hold onto Chloé’s hand and grasp it and never let go.

So she does. She reaches out and laces her fingers through Chloé’s.

She waits for Chloé to pull back, to laugh, to sneer.

She only gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“Stay a little longer.” Her voice shakes, and Kagami remembers with guilt that Chloé too has her own problems, that she doesn’t just materialise into existence every so often. She wonders what had happened earlier to have made her say what she said about her mother when she opened her door. Kagami wants nothing more than to make Chloé feel confident again.

She pulls Chloé’s hand to her lips and kisses her, and hopes it conveys more than her words could.

It apparently doesn’t, because Chloé sits up and pulls away as quick as lightning. “I can’t do this.”

Her heart sinks.

“Oh.”

Chloé must notice her crestfallen expression, which only makes her wince. She can’t even keep her stupid emotions to herself.

“No, no,” Chloé croaks, rubbing her eyes. “I just...I don’t know what any of this means, and I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean what I want it to.”

“Oh?”

Chloé groans, flopping back down. She turns to Kagami, expression unreadable. “Why did you come by tonight?”

“Because I love you.”

Kagami is not one for lying.

She does reconsider this when Chloé’s eyes go wide.

“I just...I just mean…” But that is what she means, and there is no other way she could phrase it.

Chloé makes a joyful babbling noise as she moves to straddle Kagami and hold her bewildered face in a soft hands, kissing her frantically all over her, her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, her jaw, her nose, her lips.

Kagami understands why Chloé likes to be ravished.

She pulls away, but only to ask, “How did you not already know I was in love with you? All I do is stare at you.”

“Adrien told me I needed to stop assuming things of people.” Chloé’s voice is serious, but soon she snorts. “And anyway, like you’re any better than me. How many times did I kiss you in public? And when I straight up asked you on a date?”

Oh. Chloé laughs at the utter astonishment that must be Kagami’s face.

Chloé smiles down at her. “So. Girlfriends?”

Kagami laughs at the bluntness. She loves that about her. “Yeah. Girlfriends.” She furrows her brow. “But if Tomoe wakes up and I’m not there she’ll probably...what is it? Rapunzel me. Put me in a tower, never let me out.”

Chloé’s laugh could light up the world. “I’d save you. Knight in shining armour.”

“Knight in a striped unitard, antennae and a spinning top.”

“Don’t diss my miraculous! It’s a great outfit, philistine.” Chloe pauses. "You know, you're the only person I know who noticed I started smoking and told me I should stop."

Kagami kisses her. "Well, I'm telling you again to stop. It's gross, you'll ruin your lungs."

"Already the nagging wife, huh?" Chloe laughs between kisses.

She sneaks back home and Tomoe wakes none the wiser, though Kagami still has a week and a half of her punishment to go.

Sneaking out to make out with her new girlfriend does make it alright, if she does say so herself.

(title is a sappho quote! “stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes.")

#chloegami #chlogami #chloe bourgeois #kagami tsurugi #miraculous ladybug #ml #fanfiction #fanfic #ml fanfic #my stuff

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robbyrobinson · 5 years ago

Text

Doctor Sleep: Birth of Evil

Everything has its origin.

Hundreds of years ago in the country of Hungary, a young girl found herself in a tight fit. A foreigner from another country orphaned at an immature age, she snuck her way onto a ship heading for this new land. She got in through the goods shipped for Hungary. She hid in a box of rice and remained in the box until the ship officially made land at the docks. As the box was getting lifted out, one of the crew members noted how the box felt lighter. "Sir, do you feel that there is something peculiar about this box?" a crewmate asked another.

"This is just a box of rice, nothing more, nothing less."

The girl kept herself deathly quiet. She was able to breathe through the small holes in the top of the box. The two men inquired more on the now lightweight box until they were informed that the nobles were waiting impatiently for their deliveries. Lest they faced spending a night evolving to weeks in their "torture chamber," they had better forget their complaints on the box and go. The girl was tossed here and there around the empty box. She felt herself getting picked up and tossed onto the back of a carriage. With a whipping of the rope and the horses' neighs, she was off.

The journey was long and bitter. The post-digested rice within the young girl's stomach sloshed around, compelling her to almost vomit up the contents of her bowels. There were a few pitstops on the way. While the men were distracted, the girl quietly abandoned the box to steal crumbs of food and to relieve herself. There was a time when she was so blocked up from the non-nutritious food, she almost missed the carriage's exit. Sleeping inside of the box was bothersome and discomforting, but to her, she thought it was better than sleeping in the dead of winter in alleyways with hardly anything to cover her for warmth.

The time for the permanent delivery came short of 1 PM in the evening. Sunlight peaked into the minuscule holes, tickling the young girl's eyes. During one of their pitstops, the girl had collected a small knife and tentatively carved a hole through the box around a time the traders were distracted. The sights fascinated her. In front of her was a castle. It was one of the Gothic build popular at the time and unspeakably massive. It had a long history behind it: before its remodeling, it had a horseshoe shape and a Romanesque style. The men stopped at the entrance of the castle and began unloading their massive hauls.

"About time you had gotten here" a feminine voiced rang out with a clear hint of malice.

The men gulped nervously and placed the packages in front of the woman. Their fingers flailed around from the anxiety, but they started to open each one. One box contained silk. Another one contained tea that was shipped in from one of the neighboring countries. The last one was the box of rice. The men wrapped their fingers around the lid of the box, pulling on it slowly. The girl reacted immediately firmly holding onto the bottom.

"What is this!?" one of the crewmates yelled. He and his partner wrestled with the lid, but the girl refused to allow the box lid to budge. They both situated themselves on opposite ends of the box and gave it one, bold heave-ho. The girl was forced out of the box, landing on her face. The men and the noblewoman stood there in surprise.

"You!" the second crewmate yelled, "you ate her rice, hadn't you!?" He took hold of the girl's black hair, bending her neck backward. She writhed from his grip.

"No, no, please, sir," the girl begged, "I was just so hungry!"

The noblewoman held her hand up, alarming the men. She gave them a deadly glance as toxic as the worse of known poisons; worse than any cyanide. They shivered and released the girl. The girl was frightened by the noblewoman as well. But when the woman made a motioning gesture for her to get at her right hand, she obeyed her order wordlessly.

"I relieve both of you from your duties."

She sent them away back on horseback. She gazed at the young girl, eyeballing her curiously. The young girl felt violated by the noblewoman, even if she was simply observing her. After what felt like endless sessions of quietly interrogating her, a half-smile formed on the woman's face. "You must have come from such a far land," she finally said. Some of her servants walked into the room, and she ordered them to stage a grand feast.

"Do you have a name, if I may inquire of you?" she asked again.

"My Mom named me Rose after her favorite flower," the girl said. She was being directed into the dining room by the servants.

"Delighted to meet you, Rose," the woman said, "you must be starving after such a long journey." She sat Rose at the foot of the dining table. Huge slabs of meat were flopped down in front of the young girl alongside large vegetables like potatoes and beets. Rose found herself salivating at the mouth. "Well, eat up; I'm more than happy to have you in the family."

The woman identified herself as the countess Elizabeth Bathory and throughout a few months, she raised Rose alongside her other children. Rose found herself playing along with her stepsiblings in the courts of the Čachtice Castle and growing to enjoy the good life. Oftentimes, she saw Elizabeth send for peasant women to attend her massive feasts or to become employees at her castle. But for the faintest of reasons, Rose never saw these women again. Dozens of young virgin women would be invited to the castle with the promise of employment that they hoped to use to provide for their families. And yet, Rose never saw them during the day nor did Bathory's staff ever acknowledge that they were missing, Hundreds of women couldn't have just vanished overnight? Could they? It lasted for about a year until Bathory decided to fill Rose in on her secrets. Rose was around 12 at the time. She was fondly looking out of a window at the water across when Bathory entered the room. Rose's eyes lit up.

"You're saying that there's a secret room that you wanted to show me?"

Bathory nodded. "I believe that you are ready for it."

She took her down into the basement; a rusted lock was firmly placed on the door, forbidding entrance into it from anyone other than Bathory. She moved her hair back and drew out a key from a necklace. She held the key in front of Rose's face. It was a golden instrument. Bathory inserted the key into the keyhole of the lock and turned it clockwise. A small click emitted, and the room droned open. A putrid smell leaped out of the room assaulting Rose's nostrils. Bathory smiled. "Welcome to my personal playhouse."

Inside the room, several of the peasant women that were promised jobs were hanging from chains. Multiple women were strung up, getting vivisected with their guts and entrails being exposed. One such woman was a 16-year-old whose lower intestines were wrapped around a spinning wheel. Attached was a crank that from the slightest push, the woman's entrails would be ripped out painfully and as slowly as Mrs. Bathory pleased.

Other women had the skin of their backs ripped off because of nail-laced whips. The crudely placed nails glistened in the sunlight from the remnants of blood that did not dry. The faces of 10 women were grotesquely removed along with other segments of their bodies. Rose looked at Bathory with closer inspection. A tinge of red was on her bottom lip.

"Rose," Bathory began, "what if I were to tell you that there was a way to live forever?"

Live forever? Everything felt like a dream sequence from here on out. The women were moaning in pain, with some strange vapor rising out of their mouths. Bathory walked over to one of the women. Seeing that she had a wound on her arm, Bathory knelt and pushed the wound in. The woman screamed again in pain. More ghostly vapor flowed from her mouth. Bathory hungrily lapped up the substance as the woman's eyes illuminated. The woman's cries gradually faded before she crumbled down into a bloodied heap. "This, Rose, is the secret to a long life."

Rose was intimidated at first, but she was also intrigued by the whole notion of living forever. Bathory beckoned her to lie down on the floor while she walked across the room with a jar in hand. It also contained that gaseous substance. She got on top of Rose and opened the jar.

"You see, Rose," she said turning the jar counterclockwise, "I delight myself in torturing these women because my society devalues them making it easier for me to spirit them away and indulge in my sinful habits. When one of my servants got her accursed blood on my hand, the blood reverted my aging body. From that day onward, I devoted myself to achieving eternal beauty."

She tipped the jar onto Rose's lips. "These women had this strange mental power when I killed them. I found myself accidentally ingesting the vapor and my body felt alive. To my knowledge, no one else made this life-altering discovery, and I proudly call it 'steam.' " Rose breathed in the steam. The pain was excruciating as she felt her body contorting between the past and the present. She felt younger while she was still mentally 12. Lady Bathory was right: she felt invigorated. "Repeat after me, Rose," Bathory said. She recited some cryptic words apparently; she came up with on the spot:

"Lodsam hanti, we are the chosen ones. Cahanna risone hanti, we are the fortunate ones. Sabbatha hanti, sabbatha hanti, sabbatha hanti. We are the True Knot, and we endure. What is tied may never be untied."

And then it was over. Bathory removed herself from Rose allowing her to regain composure. As they exited the room of horrors, Bathory grabbed hold of Rose's arm and leaned her close to her face to meet her at eye level. "I want you to succeed me, Rose, but I will inform you that if you as much as to share what I have done with anyone else, I will not only call you a liar, but I will condemn you to the same pain and torment those women downstairs have faced at my hands. Understand?"

Rose gulped and nodded fervently at her demand. She and Bathory spent years luring women into the torture room and killing them in ways indescribable. There was one that was like Rose in that she was also an orphan who was strapped to the spinning wheel.

"Please, let me go," the orphan sobbed, "I just want to live."

Rose looked at the woman in observation. She knew what it was like to be alone and having to rummage for scraps. It was something that she would dear not to even consider reliving that nightmare. And yet, Rose slashed her throat with a brandished knife. The blood gushed out like a geyser. Fresh blood spewed in her face. Rose licked the blood around her lips. "Cherry," she thought.

While most of her assisting Bathory was largely under the threat of death, Rose found herself enraptured by the idea of living long and eating well. Soon, she found herself being elevated above mankind, much like in Bathory's case. It remained that way until one eventful day.

Rose was in the town when news got out about Bathory's actions. She had gotten lazy with her murders and in her hunger, she targeted noblewomen. In 1611, Bathory was found guilty of over 80 murders yet escaped execution by getting locked away in a room of her own castle. Rose had vanished during the sentencing, remaining gone for three years. Bathory was slipping away because of her deprival of steam. Food was still being served to her, but nevertheless, her dreams of eternal life were botched.

Sitting in her empty room, Bathory's eyes grew heavy and she began to drift off to sleep. A clicking stirred her awake. The door opens, she saw her adopted daughter Rose standing there. At first, she was relieved. "I've been waiting for so long, Rose," Bathory exclaimed, "free me and together we will rule all."

Rose shook her head. "Sorry, but I have better ideas for you."

A scream sent the guards running up the stairs. When they got there, they saw Bathory as a pile of dust. Rose had since vanished back into thin air.

(More to come)

#doctor sleep #doctorsleep #rose the hat #Elizabeth bathory #True Knot #true knots #stephen king #the shining #evil #Bathory #fanfic #Resurrection of Rose

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thesportssoundoff · 6 years ago

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Everybody is winning except us

Joey

October 7th

Of all of the ways this could've gone, I'm really surprised I didn't figure this would be the EXACT way it would go.

You can't predict Khabib going feet first into a melee outnumbered like 5 to 1, you can't predict Conor McGregor having a "Greedo shot first" moment by actually throwing the first punch (although in his defense, as he scales the cage, someone else is scaling it and I would've assumed anybody from Khabib's corner is going to be after me or my team at that point), you can't predict riots or a full on culture/nationalistic war.

You can always predict chaos in MMA. You can always predict the WORST CASE SCENARIO in this sport.

If you think of all the positive aspects from just the fight alone, you could be here for a while. Conor McGregor took two years off of MMA, came back to fight the scariest dude and had an actually not half bad performance given the stylistic match up, the rust factor and his natural shortcomings as a fighter (quick twitch high reflex muscle memory guy with poor cardio). If anything he could have/should have been applauded for taking the risk and we'd all be asking how a run back goes with an additional six-ish months of training. For Khabib, he once again answered another litany of questions and for the most part aced the toughest test of his career. For the UFC, they put on a tremendous fight card without a hitch, made massive money and set themselves up for another run of successful fights for both guys including a rematch. Everything could've been positive.

But this is MMA. The Worst Case Scenario more often than not will rear its ugly head at the most inopportune time. There's no point in step by stepping anybody through the brawl. What's done is done, what happened happened and everybody and anybody has their opinions on it. We all gain nothing from replaying it over and over. It's more about how we leave this entire fiasco with perceived egg on the faces of everyone involved.

I feel like we have to begin with Khabib Nurmagomedov because at the end of the day, he's the guy here who took this entire joke to the next level. You can't go and fight dudes at the cageside area. That's basic common sense stuff. The problem is that this isn't the first time Khabib has been involved in utter tripe before and maybe this is just who he is. To me, nobody has had their public perception hurt the way he has over the past few weeks from the homeless guy push ups to the presser comments to the open work out fiasco. If "gotten to" is a deal then Khabib epitomized it this entire weekend. Even his brief press conference was a trainwreck as he went from contrition for his behavior to wondering why it was a big deal and dare I even say, attempting the tried and true Whataboutisms that ultimately lead down a road to nowhere. It takes great skill to talk for a minute and reveal you still don't quite get why you're going to be a in a world of trouble.

Now if you believe in the receipt then Conor McGregor's been way overdue for one. This is an act that's spiraled out of control since his KO of Jose Aldo (and perhaps maybe even a bit before that happened) with an eventual "Oh Shit" coming at some point. You don't continually win in shit situations of your own making before something eventually backfires on you (unless you're Jon Jones) and Conor's last two years have exposed the very worst of the act. The Andre Fili/Artem Lobov situation, the Bellator incident, bar fights, speeding tickets of a dangerous sort, the ENTIRE Mayweather-McGregor fight lead up, the bus incident and the presser that was basically a collection of "Too far!" material in an already "Too far!" situation. Conor's gone for it on 4th down a lot recently and every situation he's either scored or gotten a penalty bail out from the bad decision. Eventually those do catch up with you and here we are now. Again, the erosion of SBG; it's image as a gym full of average dudes accomplishing great MMA shit evolving into the world's biggest collection of fake McGregor's has to be mentioned. What do you do when King Midas' left hand turns everything to gold but his right hand turns everything to shit?

Of course we can also bundle up everybody else into one neat and tidy paragraph here; the UFC for being a business first and not a common sense machine second. The bus attack was part of the story in my opinion and couldn't be neglected BUT somebody with a hint of common sense should've said "tone it down" to Conor and Khabib about religion, this that or the other thing. Instead they played it fast and loose, like they did/do with DC vs Jones, without realizing that Jones vs Cormier was a really personal rivalry about two people who for the most part kept it at two people. Hell taking it one step further, we can say that the UFC should've told Conor to tone it down in 2016 or 2017 or 2018. This is what happens when a fighter gains power and becomes TOO big to say to no to. You get this. Conor should've been told "No!" faaaar sooner than this. How about SBG and Khabib's cohorts who seemed to want to interject their asses into this as much as the two fighters themselves. We can also turn a sarcastic thumbs up to the majority of the MMA media; the ones who bloviated "Conor's back!" as he poured out his presser best but not once stopped to ask if maybe this whole religion/nationalism/family feud was going a bit too far. The same ones who refer to last night as a disgrace (which it was) without stopping once along the way to ask if we were heading into this situation by virtue of nobody wondering if this was spiraling. The ones who are SO reliant on MMA (and ergo the UFC and ergo Conor) to do well that they, like the UFC, allowed anything to go in the pursuit of the traffic. Lastly and perhaps most painfully? Us as fans. When the things that sell are always the worst, the bar is always raised. As consumers we have the ability to dictate what we receive and if what works is the dirt worst? Well that's on us, no? If we ascribe to the "We fight in a cage, nothing is bad for the sport" mantra then we wear this. We may not have asked for THIS specifically but that's neither here nor there because we've asked fore more of the bad shit. We ASKED for this.

And ya know the sick part? Everybody wins here really if you think about it. Assuming Khabib isn't suspended for life and incapable of getting back into the United States? He'll have a Conor McGregor rivalry for years to live off of. The same goes for Conor who has mastered the "losing the fights where you have an out" approach. Vs Nate? Well that was on two weeks notice at 170 lbs! Vs Floyd? First fight in boxing! This one? Two year layoff vs the world's greatest wrestler! Once Dana White gets over his personal shame and disappointment? The business man is going to make him realize that he'll have general wealth for every generation he's ever going to have with a Khabib vs Conor rematch. The folks decrying this as shameful will playfully bite their nails and play the "Who knows what's gonna happen!" gimmick at every presser, every face off and every single day leading up to the rematch. Those who shout about how "passionate" these fanbases are will continue to do so while also saying "they're not ALL like that!" when confronted with every social media clip of fans brawling and fighting outside the venue. Even Dillon Danis, a less self aware Robert Drysdale who fashions himself as a bootleg Conor McGregor, has basically made himself into a household name now. Everybody wins because so long as consumers want it? Business ALWAYS wins. That's the nature of the game. It's MMA at its dirt worst and there's perhaps no other place MMA shines then when it's at their dirt worst. Be it boxing or MMA, business booms at the dirt worst level. This is seemingly where the sport actually wakes up and decides to perform.

There are basically just two losers here really. The first is the lightweight division which sure looks like it's careening towards yet another stripped champion. And potentially yet another interim champion. And potentially yet another year of question or determining just what the hell is going with the most loaded weight class in sports with fighters stuck on a broken elevator that's going neither up nor down. We have the most blessed division in the history of this weird sport and right now we have a champion who's about to be suspended, a former champ who is probably going to chase "money fights" now and the real champion who seems one poorly timed stunt away from ripping everything on the lower half of his body. The world's most talented division is about to get its dick buried in the dirt again for no reason other than the guys at the top of the helm can't control themselves. The other loser? Those of us who cling to the hope that one day this sport won't be like this. At the end of the day, we need to stop assuming MMA's going to one day grow up and just resign ourselves to the knowledge that it is what it is. For those of us who believe this thing is going to clean itself up? Probably not happening. The idea that one day in the not too distant future fights will be able to sell on the basis of being great fights and we won't need to squeeze every bit of juice out of it by resorting to the dirt worst (be it DC referring to Jon Jones as a junkie, anything Colby Covington does or the latent ethnocentrism used to sell this feud) should be dead now. As much as we all want MMA to treat itself like a sport, what the people want---and seemingly what EVERYONE involved in this sport wants---is this. We built this sport on it and now we gotta own it. All sports have brawls/fracases but they're not the drawing point to drawing people in. We WANT this. We OWN this.

If you don't believe me, wait until Covington vs Woodley to confirm it all over again. Prepare yourself for the worst case scenario.

#MMA #UFC #UFC 229

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rajeshiv · 2 years ago

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fusionaudiopost-blog · 6 years ago

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Making Acoustic Treatment

Sound likes to reflect around whatever space it's in. It's main mission is to transfer around the space. In an amphitheatre this is ideal and allows for natural amplification of the source. However, whether you're in a recording studio, edit suite or dubbing stage, it's really important to control the sound otherwise your audio mix will never translate properly to the listener, whether in their lounge, car or especially a cinema!

Yes, egg boxes on the walls have remained in our consciousness, it's often said jokingly, but I have met more than a couple of people who would classify this as a real option - while it can offer some help, this is not going to be an effective solution. This is where it gets a little more complicated... Humans hear a range of frequencies (or pitches) from really low rumble at 20Hz to the almost (and genuinely for over 12's!) Imperceptible 20,000Hz. Dealing with high frequencies is relatively easy, a lightweight cotton material will help with echoes (as will egg boxes dare I say), but the low mids and low frequencies are a lot harder to deal with. There is one thing that is key here - Mass/Density. The more dense an absorptive material is the better it will be able to trap lower frequencies. So, with that little bit of context, let's get on with the build.

You don't need any specialist tools or expensive materials to make these, just some patience!

Tools List - Tools:

Power Drill

Saw

Staple Gun

3mm Wood Drill Bit

Sandpaper

Iron

PPE - Gloves, Mask, Goggles (Fiberglass)

Materials List - Materials:

Wood planks for the frames

Rockwool Insulation (more on this below)

Hessian/Acoustically transparent covering fabric

Wood screws - Different lengths

Hanging brackets

Rookwool/Insulation

One of the first things you are going to need to decide is how thick the absorbers are going to be - this relates directly to the ability to absorb low frequencies, so the bigger the better generally. I went for 75mm thick RW60 Rockwool, RW60 is dense in Rockwool's range so it should be ideal, I'd of gone heavier if not for the extra cost. Other insulation can be fine, but try and get the most dense you can. It can be useful to look at the absorption co-efficient diagram for the material you are going to use, this will give you an idea of how much of a frequency band is absorbed (the scale is from 0 - 1. 1 is 100% absorption & 0 is 0%). Below you can see the chart:

Absorption co-efficient for Rockwool types

So for our RW60, it absorbs approx 95% of the 250Hz frequency, not bad at all. But notice how the efficiency dramatically improves when it is mounted 300mm off the wall - this where we can really save some money! I mounted all of mine 100mm off the wall, as 300mm was far too intrusive, but if you have a bigger room it may be worth going all the way to 300mm. But as a rule, the larger the room, the less problems there will be with low frequencies anyway. In summary - we are mounting 75mm RW60 Rockwool 100mm off the wall.

Building the Frames

To keep cutting of the Rockwool down to a minimum (to reduce horrible fibreglass particles and save time) I opted to build the frames around the existing sheet size, which is 1200 x 600mm. I wanted a tight fit to avoid having to fix them in the frame, so I made the external size of the frames 1220mm x 610mm. I used softwood for lightness - my timber was 22mm wide and 75mm deep to match the Rockwool. To reduce cutting time I got the timber yard to cut the timbre to 1220mm lengths, so I just needed to cut them in half to make the end pieces. I made 12 of these in total and therefore had 36 lengths - at my local yard it was only 78p a meter!

Start by cutting the lengths ready to construct the frames. I held these in place when assembling with a nail in each corner to hold it ready for screwing together. I drilled a 3mm pilot hole for the screws, which was fine for the 4mm thick screws, I'd have used a 2.5mm drill bit if I had one, but the 3mm worked fine.

Once assembled, I removed any roughness from the outside of the frames with 120grit sandpaper so that the fabric might catch on, I left the inside rough to help keep the Rockwool in place. That's the hard bit over.

Covering with Fabric

When choosing fabric to cover the frames and insulation, use something that sound can pass through otherwise they won't work! I found it quite expensive to buy speaker cloth, as I needed nearly 17 meters! So I found dyed jute/hessian fabric instead, it's also great as it's available in a range of colours - I used orange as it's my company's house colour. It comes in 1 meter wide lengths, which is ideal for covering our 610mm wide panels. When working out how much you need, make sure your account for the depth of the wood as you'll need to staple it to the back of the frames. So for our frames, I worked out that each frame requires at least 1400mm (1220mm frame + 2x75mm end depth + 50mm for safety/stapling). I got mine from eBay.

When it came to the fitment on the frame, there were a couple of important points - keep the fabric parallel with the frame, as the hessian I used had clear lines and would look wonky otherwise. Also keep the fabric tight at all times - I found it useful to a) get help from the Mrs. when she was around or b) keep the edges between my feet and work from one end to the other. I found it best to start at the longest ends first and then do the sides.

The most difficult part here was folding the edges over so they looked neat, when I started it took a few goes, but it became second nature after a while (small caveat from experience - avoid trying this after a pub visit!). I ended up using a lot of staples - probably at least 40 in each panel, but this was necessary to keep it from creasing or sagging at the edges. I got 1000 staples for £5 so no probs there!

Finally, I just pressure fit the Rockwool (use gloves if I were you, the fibreglass is super itchy and irritating).

I also used an iron with lots of steam over the front and sides of the panel, as I found that there were creases from shipping that were still visible even after stretching. It also helped reduce any fuzzy bits from the fabric.

Hanging/Fitment

This is the part that I had to plan/fiddle/replan the most. I originally was going to screw them onto a frame 100mm from the wall, but then realised there was no way that I would be able to get the screwdriver around the back to actually fit them. So I decided to hang them and re-purpose some old brackets I had.

I'd advise to drill the pilot holes for the bracket/fixings when you make the frames, otherwise you'll have to take the Rockwool out and risk tearing the fabric.

Then it's just a case of cutting a slot in the top of the mounting wood on the wall - this will allow the metal mounting bracket to slot into cut and hang away from the wall. I then added some staples to keep the wood from splitting (just in case). All that is left to do is put the Rockwool in the frames and then iron the fabric and then hang them!

Share your pictures of your build and let me know how you get on in the comments!

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