#Video Review: Silent Places Dissolve The Floor

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (39) Remembering

I just want to say thank you to everyone for their reviews. I can’t respond to all of you because I just don’t have the words. But thank you! I read each and every one, and they keep me going when times are rough. Over all, reviews have been kind. I was expecting some ‘omg you’re a terrible person and I hope you die’ but that never came. You guys are just awesome and I appreciate you so so much!

I didn’t expect this story to be so long, and I’m kind of losing steam to pump it out so fast. I’ll finish it of course, but some chapters take time to figure out what’s happening. I have most of the story planned out, but the ‘when’s and ‘how’s are a little fuzzy. You guys have been very patient and I appreciate it. I just wanted to keep you informed. I think you all deserve it.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

You would think that since Adrien and Marinette were finally allowed to be together, things would be smooth sailing.

But it wasn’t. It was awkward.

Which was completely unfair in fact. She was finally with Adrien, but never alone. And he couldn’t talk. They were just out of arms reach from the other, and even if he could speak, what would they even talk about? Small talk? Surely not about the time in the catacombs.

Did he know what she did? Did he remember being an akuma? Did he know how they got out?

So many days passed in that room in silence. They watched feel-good movies one after the other. Nino and Alya would come to visit and share stories of uplifting things that had happened.

They learned of their trending hashtag. They watched the interviews with Nadja. And they got to watch the benefit concert.

“All that money was put into a fund for you guys,” Alya explained. “That way, you don’t have to worry about supporting yourselves. You are taken care of for life!”

On one hand, yes. Wonderful. Finding work and going back to school were two things that Marinette was afraid of doing, afraid of failing at. Like two giant boulders she’d have to pick away at with a tiny hammer. So to know they had a large safety net was a relief.

On the other hand, it was kind of disgusting. They were real people being tortured, with no granted privacy. Everyone had seen both of them naked, in their most vulnerable moments of weakness, crying, panicking, even hallucinating. And people were just watching it. And they got invested and wanted to know more, like they were characters in a show and not people actually suffering!

Taking donations? Fine.

But making a concert out of them like some sort of spectacle? Disgusting.

Watching the interviews, it became apparent that everyone knew about Marinette’s debilitating crush on Adrien. How awkward she was around him, how she embarrassed herself.

There was a reason she had a secret identity. So that Marinette would be safe. Marinette and her family.

What did she have left of her own?

“What was the point of that?” She asked as Jagged’s ‘Exit Music’ faded out.

“Girl, it’s a benefit concert.” Alya quirked her head to the side, like she had no idea what was wrong.

“The benefit of who?”

“Of you two, of course. What else would it be?”

“Did you plan this?”

“Well…yeah? Most of it. It was Jagged Stone’s idea though.”

“Did you pat yourself on the back afterwards? Thought you picked a bunch of really vulnerable moments to really drive the emotion up?”

“What? N-no…”

“You know what I saw? A bunch of people singing a bunch of useless songs to make themselves feel better. What was even the goal? To bring awareness to our suffering?”

Alya huffed. “Don’t be like this, Marinette. Jagged brought the idea to us because there was nothing else he could do. He’s a musician. So he wanted to play music to help you somehow. I’m sorry that my video choices upset you. I thought they were funny and captured the person you are outside the suit. I wanted others to see that person.”

Marinette didn’t have a response to that.

“And you know what? Maybe we did want to feel better. What good does it do anyone if we all sat around feeling hopeless?”

“Yeah, like I didn’t know how that felt.”

Alya exhaled hard. “That’s not what I’m saying. If everyone lost hope, who would even bother to save you? If there was no chance?”

Marinette glared at her. “Well, I hope Hawkmoth really enjoyed the concert, since he was the only helpful one.”

“He wasn’t—“ Alya growled, but bit her lip. “You know what? It’s not my place. I’m sorry. I legitimately didn’t know this would hurt you.”

Marinette turned her gaze away. “I’m sorry for snapping. Thank you for putting the concert on.”

“Nah girl, you can thank Jagged when he comes to visit. He was really worried. And you might thank Luka too.”

“I’ll try.”

—

For his own part, Gabriel was practicing the art of holding his tongue. Some moments it was difficult, but he had to tell himself it was an emotional response to seeing his only son in pain.

In this time of quiet observation, he watched Marinette and Adrien, studying the changes in behavior. Noting was setting them off in anger, and what they were okay with. His goal in the next several months was to push those boundaries.

There was no reason for Adrien to hiss at nurses that were touching Marinette.

Besides this, he was also trying to consolidate Chat Noir and Adrien, and Marinette and Ladybug. It had been a chore since the beginning, but it was still so hard to piece together.

And now with their changes in personalities, it was impossible.

He hadn’t really known Marinette. The few times he met her, he’d describe her as small. Timid, shy, unable to have eye-contact, and incredibly clumsy. From Adrien and Lila, he learned that she had a lot of people that trusted her and was easily liked.

Ladybug on the other hand, demanded attention and respect with her very presence. She exuded confidence that he had found annoying, if not respectable. Though they had been enemies, she was certainly a formidable opponent. Calm, calculating, and creative.

New Marinette was none of these things. Closed off, bitter, quiet, and volatile. Words were like pouring salt on her bare back, some grains fell in open wounds, and it was impossible to predict what would set her off.

Adrien used to be polite, graceful, and wore his emotions on his sleeves, no matter how hard he tried otherwise.

Chat Noir was obnoxious, reckless, and larger than life. He came off as a goofball, but Hawkmoth could tell he took his duties seriously.

New Adrien was impossible to read. Silent, watching, calculating. Completely stoic unless someone touched Marinette. There was no way to tell how he was coping, other than to assume he wasn’t.

The doctor was right, they were unrecognizable.

The only saving grace was the softening gaze Adrien had when looking at Marinette. She was the only thing that seemed to pull him out of his abyss.

“Good morning,” Dr. Boucher stated early one day. Adrien was awake, but Marinette was still sleeping.

“Good morning,” Gabriel returned for his son.

“Well, things are going great, I’m really thrilled with the progress both of them are making. We’ve avoided every complication, quite Miraculously. So I was hoping to do one more procedure on Adrien while he’s still admitted.”

Adrien glanced at the doctor, seemingly listening.

“Your vocal nodules. It’s a really easy procedure, we won’t even put you to sleep. Just numb the area and use a tiny laser to remove the growths. Shouldn’t take too long at all.”

Adrien turned to Marinette, whimpering in the back of his throat.

“I promise you won’t be gone long. Might even be back before she wakes up.”

“I’ll let her know if she does,” Sabine spoke up from Marinette’s side of the room. “You might as well get this done now, Adrien. Then you don’t have to come back.”

“And they’ll only get worse as time goes on.” The doctor added.

Adrien screwed up his lips and gave a stiff nod.

“That’s a good boy.”

—

Marinette awoke to Dr. Boucher speaking. “Now, in order for your vocal cords to fully recover, I don’t want you to speak for two weeks. After that, you can gradually start speaking softly. No yelling for a while. Okay?”

Marinette raised her head to see the doctor was talking to Adrien.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“See, I told you you’d be back before she woke up.” The doctor smiled. “We just got done removing Adrien’s vocal nodules, so he should be able to speak within the next few weeks.”

“That’s wonderful.” She said softly.

“And how are you feeling?” He asked her.

She frowned. “Gross. I want to take a bath.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t. But we can give you a sponge bath and wash your hair.”

Oh.

Oh.

Huh.

What a strange trigger.

One moment, she was safe in the hospital, the next, she was standing in the rain, a deranged Chat Noir next to her. They were looking in the window of a salon. Then she was in a chair, staring at her own horrible perverse reflection.

“Can I wash your hair? Give you a trim? It might make you feel better.”

And then…

Blood. Everywhere. Salo’s lifeless face dissolving into ash. Gunshots ringing in her ears. Adrenaline pumping. Bodies of her tormentors laying all around her.

And Chat smiling with blood in his mouth.

“Marinette?”

Alya’s little sisters hiding and crying. Chloe, terrified and cowering against a shelf. A man dangling over the edge of a building by his neck. Dozens of men being eviscerated, torn to shreds. A whole building worth of angry thugs laying on the floor and writhing in pain.

“Marinette!”

Bodies hanging from the Arch de Triomphe. A fight with Hawkmoth, and Chloe, and Nino.

“Alya!” Her own voice screamed. “Come out and face me! Face judgement for your neglect and betrayal!”

Over and over. Blood. Screams. Death.

Because of them.

Because of her.

A stern hand grabbed her arm. “Speak to me Marinette, what hurts?” The doctor was speaking, but Marinette wasn’t listening.

She turned to look at Adrien, who was only staring at her wide-eyed, tears of his own streaming down his face.

Gabriel was right there with him. “He’s upset too. What did you do?”

“I don’t know! I thought a sponge bath was a fine idea!”

Marinette was reading the look on Adrien’s face wrong. Her own anxieties fed her lies and told her that the fear she was seeing was directed towards her.

And to be honest, she was a little afraid of him too.

He had torn out throats with his teeth, and then laughed about it. He had enjoyed their murder spree.

And so had she. Justice, she said. They were setting things right. Doing what others were too cowardly to do.

But violent revenge wasn’t that far off from what Salo had been after.

In fact, theirs had been much much worse.

“I’m just like her…” Marinette sobbed. “I’m just like Salo.”

“Honey no.” Sabine demanded. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not an idiot!” She choked. “I know what I did! I know the whole story! I remember all of it! I’m disgusting!” And she turned away. Away from her family, away from Adrien.

But she stood firmly facing her guilt.

It was a veil being lifted. A fog rolling back to reveal memories that were aching to be noticed. Deep primal instincts that thundered inside. There was no ignoring it, and it was only a matter of time before the truth became known.

“I can’t take this,” stated Tom, who had been quiet since Marinette awoke. In quick strides, he was across the room and scooping his daughter up into his arms.

Marinette allowed him, and clung to his shirt as she wailed. Sabine came up behind her and petted her hair patiently, silently.

Adrien had his back turned from them, and trembled in his horrified shock.

How could he?

How could he be so cruel and demented? How could he enjoy murdering? With his bare hands no less?

Was he so loyal to Ladybug that he’d kill for her? She hadn’t even asked him to. Was he so depraved that that felt like the right thing to do?

He was a monster. An absolute monster.

Shakily, he took off his Miraculous and tossed it blindly, hearing it ping against the linoleum.

He didn’t deserve to be a hero. He didn’t deserve to live.

“Adrien,” Gabriel said as he crouched next to him. “You should hold onto this.” The ring rested in his palm.

Adrien shook his head, burying his face in his pillow.

Gabriel watched his son sink into himself, swallowed into a dark abyss. One he feared he’d never make it out of. But how was he supposed to help? A pat on the head? ‘There there’? Comfort was so out of realm of his expertise.

Still, there was hope for him yet if he realized there was a problem and wanted to fix it. Looking to the Dupain-Cheng’s, he found Marinette snuggled against her father. The scene was so sweet if he hadn’t known the context.

Gabriel looked to Dr. Boucher. “Can he be moved?”

“Uh, yes. I think that’d be alright.”

Coming around to the other side, Gabriel slid an arm under Adrien’s waist and forced him to sit up.

His head flopped forward and rested on Gabriel’s collar bone.

“Come on, Adrien, it’s alright.”

But Adrien just sobbed against him.

“Adrien,” Tom stated firmly. “Come here, son.” And he held out his hand.

Adrien lifted his head, his chest rising and falling with erratic breath. He looked Tom in the eyes, trailing down to his outstretched hand. That was something he wholeheartedly didn’t deserve.

“You can go,” Gabriel assured. “It’s okay.”

After a split second of hesitation, Adrien staggered to his feet and fell the last few feet to reach Marinette’s bed. Tom caught him before he hit the ground and swept him up onto his lap.

There were tears, there was repentance, and shame. It lasted far too long as the 12 hours of memories roared like a debilitating hurricane in their minds.

And then soon, it started to feel good to cry. It wasn’t great. It was exhausting and draining, but in a good way, like after running a race.

“You remember how it ended, don’t you?” Sabine asked softly. “You gave me your earrings, and I did Miraculous Cure. They’re all okay now. Maybe a little scared and confused, but they’re alive.”

Marinette sighed with a shutter. “I have to apologize.”

“If it will help. But I’m sure they understand and don’t hold it against you.”

Gabriel mimicked Sabine’s comforting motions on his son. “You were both akumatized. You know better than anyone else that akumas are irrational. They embody the very emotion they felt when they are transformed.”

“You remember when I turned into Weredad?” Asked Tom. “I trapped you in a tower, and beat up Chat Noir. You know I’d never do that. I want to protect you, but I also want you to enjoy life and make your own decisions. It was irrational.”

“And you remember when Nonna turned into Befana?” Asked Sabine. “She wanted to hurt you, Marinette. And she turned your father into coal. Grandma would never want to hurt you.”

“You see Marinette,” Gabriel continued. “A lot of akuma’s hurt, and some even kill. They petrify, and turn people to ice cream. But life goes on. Paris heals. You are just unfortunate enough to remember it.”

“Why?” Marinette whispered. “Why did we remember?”

Gabriel frowned. “I think Hawkmoth might be the only one to know the answer.”

“But that’s something to worry about later,” Sabine interjected. “You have plenty of emotions to sort through as of right now.”

Marinette nodded sagely and wiped her cheeks.

Then her eyes flicked over to Adrien.

He managed the smallest smile for her, the fear disappearing from his eyes.

It sent a spark to her heart, and her face heated up.

#longest night #ml #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #fanfic #adrienette #ladynoir

[aittiadf]

chapter 2

My eyes felt like screws after the seventh hour of manning the reception desk at New Ocean Hotel. My shift was almost over and every minute dragged itself over the slow blue sky. I went into the back bathroom, sat on the toilet and took a few hits from my vape pen. The high smoothed me over. I looked down at the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor and pulled out my phone. Samantha had texted me saying there was  someone she wanted me to meet. This guy from her church who drank with her had just seen the lights for the first time. She described him as a sheepless shepherd who wandered around praying to a higher power. Aren’t we all sheepless shepherds I thought but then I realized maybe people had more meaningful ways of understanding their life. 

She told me this guy was looking for a job and needed a place to stay. I didn’t really know how much I should care. Nothing really happened here and if some person wanted to be by the beach alone with an easy job then sure, he should come and stay for a while. If he had seen the lights at the very least it might give him some space to calm down. For me though it was boring. I’d worked here for over a year and only stayed because it gave me time to work on the free coding academy I had recently enrolled in. What I really wanted was to get out of this hotel and work for one of the startups in the bigger town to the south. 

The only time the hotel got busy was during the summer. But even then, when tourist season was in full force, none of the rooms would be filled. But there was always a two-four week span when the fires forced people out from the valleys or the mountains and the rates would spike higher than they were the rest of the year. We would be filled to the brim during that time, having to deny people and everything. It was cruel to raise rates during an environmental crisis. Supposedly there was an algorithm that decided the prices for all the hotels in a thirty mile radius so the rates were always the same and there wasn’t any real competition. So it was all blameless. The mechanized blasphemous rate spiking that occurred when people’s houses were burning to the ground could be attributed to the cloud or some other unknowable piece of technology whose existence could only be hinted at and never named. 

    I walked back to the front desk and sat at the computer trying to decipher an error in the coding assignment I was working on. It was useless. My brain was fried and I wanted to walk out the door and go home. I couldn’t, so I booted up youtube instead. Fifteen minutes later, I was on my fourth video of this guy who had a hydraulic press. The niche of the channel was that he exclusively pressed food. Lately it seemed he’d been going to a lot of fast food restaurants. I stood there transfixed as I watched the steel metal cylinder pulverize doritos locos tacos, double doubles, fish filets and atomic chicken wings. 

    My manager walked in from checking on some of the rooms in the hotel and I told her to come and take a look. She sat there dazed for a while as well, occasionally offering some commentary. 

“It's crazy to see food transform into such unrecognizable shapes” 

“This is making me hungry”

“That actually looks kind of good”

I liked her. She wasn’t sympathetic to the owners. They directed most of their nastiness onto her and she remained nice to the employees. Sometimes though the stress from the owners overflowed onto us. But there was this mutual understanding we seemed to have of the hotel’s emotional economy. Which is to say that we were aware the owners were some real cretinous fiends who cared about nothing but the rates and money and caused people to teeter at the edge. 

I think she knew I smoked in the restroom and she probably assumed I jacked off in there too, which wasn’t untrue. I indulged in what I was able to get away with. There was even this time me and this customer who I’d been chatting with locked eyes in the lobby when I came into work one morning. He and I went back into the bathroom and did all sorts of stuff. I think she knew about this too because we had security cameras but between us there was this tacit understanding that if you don’t have a big house with lots of dollars the coast in California is just a place where you go to dissolve into the sunset and burn off. 

    I told my manager I had a friend of a friend who needed a job and if she knew if we were hiring. She told me we weren’t but had seen that the steakhouse across the street was looking for servers. Both of us thought it was stupid that there was a steakhouse in this tiny little community. Apparently some silicon valley investor had got it in his mind that the real estate in this area would explode. The idea was that by developing some businesses and property in the area the energy of the coming boom would surge directly into his net worth. He had opened this all glass steakhouse, the type of building with exposed steel beams inside. So now, amid aging victorian homes and fields of wildflowers there was an all-glass restaurant that looked more like it made napalm than served ribeye. Maybe the meat was cloned. Either way, it had good reviews on Yelp.

    I told Samantha that if her friend was really looking for work that it was available here at this pretty stupid steakhouse.  We had this weird friendship that congealed around this time we did acid when we were seeing each other years ago. It was late and we were bored and awake so we decided to take a tab each and walk the couple miles down to the beachfront where we lived in central California. When we got there we took our shoes off and waded up into the ankles in the ocean. The wind was strong and the cold ocean water on our bodies began to feel like needles. There was this dingy beach motel by us with an iron gate that was rusted from the ocean breeze. It opened easily and we decided to take refuge in the stairway of the motel.  

All night we stayed awake feeling the euphoria from the acid and having the full force of California beach kitsch weigh on us. I remember taking solace in eating a bag of popcorn we bought and staring at this dead fly on the windowsill. When the sun rose we walked outside and I remember Samantha made fun of me when I took a picture of the sunrise. I told her not to be an asshole, nobody is better than the sun.

 On the sidewalk walking home we passed by subarus and lending libraries and stopped to look at the sky. There was a series of six orange lights high above us, moving fast and leaving a small streak of light behind them. We stood there walking with our heads fixed above. We watched them fly across the ocean and over the hills until they were far out of our sight. We didn’t even say anything to each other, we just kept walking by early morning joggers and freshly manicured lawns afterwards, staring at the sidewalk silently. 

That was so long ago now and certainly before I came out and she became a Christian. We just had an unspoken understanding that we needed to head in different directions. So I moved further up the coast here and she got some tech job in the Bay Area. I remember getting these weird emails at the time from this place called Excelsior Corp about test piloting this hardware VPN product. The emails just had one line of text: “Looking for test pilots hardware VPN now” and pictures of this big black box I assumed was the hardware you would have to install to access their VPN. I always sent the emails straight to the trash but somehow they always bypassed my spam and ended up straight in my inbox.

But after some time not talking to Samantha I reached out. I was smoking my wax pen on my porch one night when I saw a bunch of shooting stars shoot over me in rapid succession. I thought of Samantha. I sent her a text asking how she was doing. She told me she’d been well but had been having these weird things happen to her. She mentioned all these emails she’d been getting and that she’d started seeing drones in the sky and lights every few months. I hadn’t seen the lights but I’d gotten the same emails. She was telling me about it and she sounded scared but also she said she was doing well. 

“I’ve got a stable job and you know I go to church and stuff, and there are some really wonderful moments, just now I saw all these incredible shooting stars.” 

She sounded anxious and I was worried for her. I asked her if she liked smoking dabs. She’d never tried one. 

“It’s really chilled me out since that time we took acid.”

“I like my church and alcohol.”

 I was happy though because despite her nervousness she seemed happy. I let her know I’d seen the same shooting stars and she was ecstatic. Since then we’ve texted and called about strange stuff we see, about weird things happening in our phones, about plans for the future, about her theories on the Greeks, about my times engaging in public sex, about the hotel, about god, and about other things. We were friends and I enjoyed hearing about her world, from the far reaches of the front desk of the New Ocean Hotel. 

On the computer screen a wad of Chick-fil-A waffle fries were being squashed into potatoey dough. Me and my manager sat there watching until the steel cylinder had fully flattened the fries and the video faded to black. 

My manager gestured at the steakhouse, “What do you think it's like working there? Surrounded by glass for everyone to see? I could never do that. When I worked in a restaurant the kitchen’s used to be closed off from the eyes of the customers. Now they leave it wide open, I feel like I’d go insane.”

I thought of the owners of the hotel lording over me and reprimanding me every time I looked at youtube. “I’d probably go insane too,” I said. 

“I definitely would.” 

    When my shift was over I walked home and  stopped at the convenience store to buy a pack of gummy sharks.  I chewed on them while thinking about Samantha. I imagined her in church, with some ridiculous outfit on, sitting with her friend. I imagined them both listening intently to the words of the sermon, and getting up from the pews afterwards to fraternize with the other church members. I thought of how all that seemed impossible to me, making conversation to other people in a church. Maybe if I tried hard enough I could imagine it. I tried and my mind thought of being submerged in water. I thought of being in the womb. I thought of what it must be like to feel full. I thought of being in a congregation. What singing with others must feel like. I started to imagine myself there, sitting among the pews unable to join in with everyone’s song. I imagined what it would be like later on during the service, when the pastor gave his sermon. In my mind I listened to him while a stranger next to me reached for a bible on the shelf on the back of the pews and turned to the book of revelations. He placed the bible on my lap while I unbuttoned my pants and unfolded myself hard, smack dab in between the pages that talked about angels, blasphemy and a new Jerusalem. Then I imagined him stroking me while I listened to the sermon, my mind cascading through illuminated halos, until all that remained was a gold blur and me hooing softly like an owl, letting myself leak onto the thin paper pages and onto the carpet below. 

    It was funny to me that after that time taking acid Samantha started going to church and I got a hold on my sexuality. Too much of my life could be periodized around that trip and sometimes I felt at the brink, torn between the life I lived before and the life I was living now. But there was no actual break between the two, and they were both happening at the same time. I knew that in reality my life prior and my life after bled into each other, with experiences since then coloring the way I read the past and my life prior shaping the way I read the present. But a long black fissure stood there in my mind, dividing the two lives while they tried to congeal around the edges of the abyss. From that fissure too came not just me but Samantha, and maybe anyone else who had seen the lights. We sprouted out of it in different directions like vines, crawling out of black depths and over the grey plane of our existence, stretching into the bright orange line of the horizon. 

     My teeth smushed the blue-white body of the gummy shark in two. I chewed one piece and stared briefly at the shimmering half body of gelatin I held in between my two fingers. It would be possible for Samantha’s friend to find a job here. I even had an extra room in the converted apartment of the old Victorian house I rented. Then what? I suppose nothing, I would continue with my life, trying to learn to code and working at the hotel. Who knows what would happen when we met. There was this sensation I had though, that everyone who me and Samantha came in close contact with was somehow also sprouting out of the abyss, extending themselves over that grey plane and trying to reach the sun.