#and he really is just SO pushable and it's one of the few things where he's not bothered by it at all lmao

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Remember when Grian and Zed swapped bases and Grian messed with the void button? He did get out, but what if he didn't have the situation under control?

I wish Grian and Zedaph would collab more asdfghjkl also I love “what if” scenarios based on actual HC events so this was great fun to write! :D

...

  “This is Grian’s cave of contraptions!” announces Zedaph, gesturing to the dim interior of his cave. “It’s jam-packed full of all the craziest, wackiest contraptions your brain could ever imagine, so uh… be careful is my advice.” 

  “Okay, okay.” As he stares all around his new home, Grian’s mind is already racing with ideas and plans. Every corner of this undetailed cave is calling to him to work his magic and turn it from just a cave of contraptions to a beautifully decorated cave of contraptions. “And I’m free to do whatever I want?”

  Zedaph nods. “You can push any button, pull any lever, press anything, do whatever you like.”

  Grian’s eyes widen as he registers just how many pushable and flickable items are dotted around the cave. His fingers are already itching to interact with them all. “There’s so many buttons… and levers…!” 

  Zedaph giggles, sensing the impulsiveness rising in his friend. But his laughter quickly dies down as he realises exactly where Grian is standing. “Oh, that thing right in front of you? Be very careful about that, it’s a void hole.” 

  “What, down here?” Grian flicks open the trapdoor and hops into it immediately, but something stops him just two blocks down. 

  “Yeah, it takes you to the void.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “It will if you press that red button,” says Zedaph, indicating the button in question. “Please don’t do that though. You’re not meant to be able to fall into the void in the overworld so I’m not sure what’s gonna happen if you-.”

  But Grian isn’t listening. Already overexcited and running on pure impulsiveness, he presses the button and drops. 

  “Grian!” Zedaph shouts after him. 

  Grian stares down as he fully realises that there is indeed a hole to the void directly below him. Chuckling to himself, he tries to fly up.

  His wings are too large for the tight tunnel.

  Trying not to panic, he activates his elytra and a few rockets. 

  He keeps falling. 

  A scream escapes him as he plummets, grabbing wildly at the walls of the thin stone hole. Zedaph’s words have finally sunk in, and he has no idea what’s going to happen to him if he falls into the void here. 

  Finally, he manages to catch hold of the edge of a mined-out block right at the very bottom of the tunnel, his entire body hanging over the void. 

  “ZEDAPH!” he screams. “HELP ME!”

  Far above him, a panicked Zedaph jumps from foot to foot, staring down into the hole as he tries to think of something he can do to help. “Um…! Okay, okay…” He raises his voice to a yell. “Hang on, Grian! I’ll get help!” 

  He rushes towards the door and bursts out onto the sand. To his surprise, he immediately bumps into Tango, who steadies him with a grin. “Oh hey, Zed. I was just coming over to-.”

  “I need you to go get X!” Zedaph gasps out. “Quickly, it’s an emergency!”

  “Wh-What?” Tango blinks, registering Zedaph’s red face and panicked state. “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

  “I can’t explain now, just go! Quickly!”

  Tango frantically takes off with his elytra, soaring into the sky at top speed. 

  Zedaph turns around and rushes back into the cave. A couple of blocks away from the void hole, he starts digging down with his pickaxe, ignoring the fact that he’s not technically supposed to dig straight down. He keeps going, desperate to reach his friend. 

  Finally, he reaches bedrock. He digs forward until the hole is exposed, with Grian still clinging on. 

  “Zedaph!” Grian gasps. “I can’t pull myself up!”

  Zedaph rushes forward and takes hold of Grian as best he can, strengthening his friend’s rapidly weakening grip. 

  “I can’t hold on much longer.” Grian’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry!”

  Zedaph quickly shakes his head. “You’ll be okay, Grian. Help is on the way.”

  As if on cue, he hears a voice yelling very faintly from far above him. “Zed! Where are you?!”

  “DOWN HERE!” he yells. “QUICKLY!”

  “We’re coming down, Zed!” Tango’s voice yells back. “Hang on!”

  Feeling a burst of courage at knowing help is coming, Zedaph manages to lift Grian up enough that Grian is no longer holding onto the bedrock. Grian gasps in fear and grips Zedaph’s arms so tightly that it starts to hurt. 

  But as he’s trying to pull Grian up, Zedaph’s strength rapidly drains away and they both slip straight through the hole.

  They both scream, clutching each other tightly for a meagre amount of reassurance as they fall towards certain death. As they get lower, they start taking damage, wrenching the two away from each other.

  Then all of a sudden, they stop falling. They hang suspended in mid-air, as if an invisible force has reached out and caught them. 

  When Grian finally dares to open his eyes, he finds himself lying on the ground in the cave, several blocks away from the opening to the void hole. 

  He can see two people nearby: Tango and Xisuma. The former is bending over Zedaph a few blocks away but Xisuma is standing over him, arms folded. “What did you do?”

  ““Are you okay, Grian?”” Grian mutters bitterly, imitating Xisuma’s voice. “Yeah I’m fine, X, don’t worry.”

  “Grian, I had to do something just now that I haven’t done in many decades, so I’d appreciate less attitude right now,” snaps Xisuma. 

  Grian hangs his head. “I fell into Zed’s hole to the void. It was fully my fault; I was being stupid. Zed tried to save me. Is he… okay?”

  “I’ll let you know when he wakes up,” Xisuma responds coldly. “He’s sensitive to the void, you know. He wasn’t just risking death to save you, he was risking his whole existence.”

  “Th-Then why did he build a hole to the void in the first place?!”

  “He wasn’t planning for some idiot to jump into it!” Tango snaps suddenly. “He put two safety measures in place and I’m pretty sure they didn’t just happen to fail RIGHT when you arrived!”

  Grian winces, knowing that his friends are right. “I’m sorry. I thought I had the situation under control.”

  As Tango opens his mouth to angrily say something back, his best friend weakly catches his wrist. “‘m okay,” he rasps. “I’m okay, Tango.”

  As Tango helps Zedaph sit up, Grian has to stifle a gasp as he notices that Zedaph’s face is extremely pale and almost invisible silver lines are snaking up his neck, stopping just under his chin. 

  “Thanks for saving us, Xisuma, Tango.” Zedaph gives a weak smile. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  “How DID you save us?” Grian ventures. 

  Xisuma shoots him a stern look. “A command I really don’t like using. Pray I don’t have to use it again.”

  With that, he turns and storms off towards the exit, slowing briefly to pat Zedaph on the shoulder as he passes. 

  “You mind leaving me and Grian alone a second?” Zedaph asks his best friend.

  Tango slowly nods, still scowling at Grian. “Sure thing. But come find me later, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Zedaph waits until both Xisuma and Tango have left before turning to Grian. But before he can speak, Grian blurts out, “I’m so sorry! You warned me and I didn’t listen and now you’re hurt and we both could have died and-.”

  “Okay, okay, stop.” Zedaph can’t help laughing as he quickly interrupts his friend. “Stop. Dude, it’s okay. You made a stupid decision but honesty, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing in your position. I don’t usually listen to warnings and stuff either.”

  Grian sits back on his heels. “It’s still my fault. What’s with the… um…?” He gestures to his neck. 

  “Oh, this happens when I get too close to the void,” says Zedaph, tracing the line on his own neck. “Don’t worry, it’s not painful and it fades after a few hours. Dunno why it happens really, but I got it for days at a time when I was actually working on that thing. Gotta say, it was a pain to explain to Impulse when he was here breaking the bedrock. I- Wait, are you crying?”

  “No.” Grian clears his throat and turns away. “I just don’t know why you’re being so nice when I almost got both of us killed, maybe permanently.”

  “Well, I mean…” Zedaph gives a carefree shrug. “We didn’t die, so no need to dwell on the past. Lesson learned, huh?”

  “Normally I’d say no but in this case, I think it’d only be possible for me to learn this lesson harder if you or I actually died.”

  “Exactly!” Zedaph rises to his feet, ignoring the sting of pain coming from his lower back. “C’mon, let me show you the rest of the cave. I’ve got some epic stuff in here that will only kill you in normal, minorly painful ways.”

  Grian lets out a quiet laugh. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Zedaph helps him up and the two start further into the cave but Zedaph stops. “Wait a sec, I just need to do something quickly. Go explore a bit, I’ll be right back.”

  As Grian walks away, Zedaph heads back towards the hole. He mines out the iron trapdoor and replaces the first three blocks inside the hole with stone, including the block that used to hold the trapdoor, then he removes both the lever and the button, nullifying the redstone. He can replace them later, once they’ve swapped bases back. 

  After all, there’s always another void hole, but there’s only one Grian.

[oblivious-embodied]

Sneak Peak to Chapter 2 of my ML ReWrite AU (unfinished)

“Claws Out?” Adrienne watches as Plagg spaghettifies as the tiny cat gets sucked toward the ring on her finger, and when Plagg makes contact, there is a blinding, green flash of light. 

When she regains her bearings, she looks down at her hand and holds back a gasp. 

Not only is her hand covered in a black substance, but her entire body is too! And the ring, the Black Cat Miraculous as it’s called, it’s all black, with a neon green paw print on the face. 

Looking at the rest of her body, she notes that she’s got bulbous things (possibly guards or safety features?) on her wrists. Tthere seems to be some padding that has been riveted to her forearm, as well as on her shoulders. 

There’s some black tubing running diagonally inward toward her heart from the middle of her deltoid to just above her peck, back down under her arm, up to her shoulderblade and back to her deltoid. 

She’s got a zipper up the front of her chest, with a bell hanging off the zipper lever. She’s got some pockets too! 

A black belt is wrapped around her waist that wraps around itself on the back to become tail-like, and it swings in lazy curls. Like a cat’s tail would. It seems almost curious in the way it curls in on itself, hesitating to touch Adrienne’s body. 

She’s got some sort of steel-toed boots, but they’re skin tight and the steel toes are incredibly large and resemble cat paws. 

Adrienne pokes the substance covering her skin curiously and bites back a yelp when a claw shoots from her finger, bouncing off the body suit before retracting. “Plaaaaaaaaaagg?” Adrienne calls out cautiously, unable to take her eyes of the suit that is laying on her body. 

When she hears no response from the genie-kwami-cat, Adrienne takes a look into the mirror and her eyes blow wide as she tilts her head in curiousity. 

Her hair has become longer by a good 2 inches, at least, and has become the literal embodiment of “bed-head” hair. It also seems to have a slight green hue to it. If her father ever saw her hair like this, he would ground her for a week and send her through a week and a half long powerpoint lecture of model hair care. 

Again. 

Then, when the initial shock of the new look wears off, she notices something that makes her heart warm. The new hairstyle frames her face incredibly well, it makes her almost want to look at her face. Makes her want to be happy looking at her face. 

She’s… never really liked looking at her face. It never looked right. It was never what she thought, what she felt her face should look like. Even when she was a kid, something was off. 

She’s still in the same body, the same wrong, male body, but it feels so much better than before. And she has absolutely no idea why. 

What makes her smile even wider are the cat ears sitting atop her head. They’re small and cute and absolutely adorable and the way they smoosh the hair underneath them makes them look all that much cuter. 

Then, she makes eye contact with herself and is instantly mezmerized by the neon green cat eyes sitting where her human eyes should be, framed by a black domino mask. 

She tilts her head to the right, to the left, she spins around and around and around and the eyes in the reflection still follow her. 

Then she realizes that those eyes in the reflection are hers. 

Taking a shaky breath, Adrienne takes a moment to calm down. Plagg said that he-- it??-- can grant her the power of... destruction was it? She can’t remember. 

But Plagg also said that she’ll have a partner, “the wielder of Creation”, whatever that means. She should go find her partner. 

Shaking her head, Adrienne takes a closer look at this new suit-clothing-thing covering her body, (it reminds her of that american superhero comic villian, she believes the name to be Venom? She’ll have to read up on it again) and determines it to be some sort of leather based off the way the material has subtle spiderweb cracks in it. And the way it smells. 

It’s a weird smell. She’s smelled leather before, the musty, almost new car like smell, but this is different. It almost burns her nose to smell. And… cheese? 

Shaking her head again, she takes a step back and straightens up, (when had she been hunched over? Father would kill her for having such horrible posture!) and lets out a low moan as her entire body *Cracks* and somehow she feels incredibly energetic. Like she could run the whole of the Périphérique twice over in an hour and not be out of breath! 

Taking a moment, she quickly calculates that running the Peripherique twice over in less than an hour would mean she could steadily run at 72 kilometers per hour, which means she could run even faster! 

And if she thinks she can do this *easily* that means that she can go even *faster!*

Watch out Paris, there’s a new thing coming to town, and she is *fast.* 

...And strangely cat themed.

Adrienne rolls her shoulders and finds that her entire body flows with it, like she’s dancing to a rhythm her brain has yet to register. 

As she bounces up and down a little bit, she notices that the soreness she feels in her shoulders, heck her entire body, that is usully there due to her job as a model for Agreste Fashions, is no longer there. 

Usually that only happens after a long nice massage. 

This is so strange. 

She rolls her head and works her jaw, which makes a popping sound in her ears and-

*crack!*

“*Ow!* That *hurt*” she cries out, slapping her hands over her ears in an attempt to keep the pain away, falling to her knees as she does so. 

Then all the noises flood her ears. 

She curls inward on herself, clutching her ears with tears in her tightly shut eyes as she can *hear* the electricity from the tv, the computers, the security system, the arcade games, her phone, from Everything in her goddamn *house*. 

She can hear the clicking of Nathalie’s keyboard, the breaths she takes, the footsteps of the kitchen staff. She can hear the electronic ringing of the lightbulbs, the honking from cars that comes from every concievable direction. She can hear the slamming of doors, shattering glass, the shrieking of metal, crumbling of concrete, cracking of bones and-

She screams, curling even tighter in on herself, which only makes her ears hurt more, but it’s something to keep her mind off of the Noise of Everything Else. She takes deep breaths, trying desperately to calm her rapidly beating heart (which she can *hear*) and her muddled thoughts. 

After a few seconds, she somehow manages to pick out the rapidly approaching footsteps from the utter cacophony of sounds drowinging her senses, and panics. She screamed bloody murder in her own house, of course people would come look for her. 

She looks her door. If they open that door, Nathalie will rush in. Nathalie wont recognize her, they’ll attack and she’d be the worst hero to ever exist.

She’d also get attacked by at least 6 grown adults, and possibly charged with something, and grounded and all that. 

She scrambles upward on wobbly limbs, trying to block out everything she can hear, and frantically looks around her room for something to do. 

Then her eyes lock on the window. 

And Adrienne does the only sensible thing. 

She jumps through the window, sailing through the tempered glass (tempered. Frickin. glass.) and onto another rooftop across the street where she stumbles behind a chimney. 

She didn’t even get cut. There is not a single cut on her body. What the hell *is* this thing? 

After a minute, when she’s finally calm enough to not be in a state of utter shock, she registers something hitting her leg and looks to see what it is. 

What she finds is a silver cylinder about 26 centimeters long, with a green paw on it, like her ring. 

With a curious tilt of her head, she unclips the cylinder from her belt with one hand, keeping her other hand to her ear to try to block out the noises wreaking havok on her ears. She finds that the neon green paw print on the cylinder is flickering like a lightbulb about to blow. 

She squints at the paw print, her eyesight slightly blurry from overwhelming noises, and with a half baked theory in mind, she puts the paw on her ring to the paw on the silver cylinder. 

….Nothing happens. 

Disappointed, she grabs the cylinder in both hands and glares at it. 

“What do I do with you…?” she grumbles as she squints even harder at it. 

…That big pad in the middle looks like a button. Buttons are meant to be pushed. 

It looks like a very pushable button. She should push it. 

Her right thumb twitches, but she doesnt make any moves to push the pad. 

It’s a simple display, it wont do anything if she pushes it. She shouldnt touch it. It wont satisfy anything. 

But she wants to. 

With the way the light catches on it, its like it’s daring her to push it. 

Which makes her want to 1) not push it out of spite, and 2) push it to mess with it. 

She takes a moment to pause and reflect on her thoughts. Is she going insane? Is she so overwhelmed that she’s literally fighting herself on touching a simple paw print display? 

...yes, yes she is. 

And without any futher diliberation, she touches her thumb to the paw pad. 

And promptly *shrieks* as the cylinder, which was previously only about 26 centimeters long, is suddenly *a meter and a half long*, making her jump back, slamming her head into the bricks (which does *not* help her headache) behind her and throw the cylinder thing, which, admittedly, is now more like a pole, onto a rooftop across the street. 

After another minute of deep breaths, she looks behind herself (she’s certain she slammed her head into the bricks, why isnt her head hurting? Well, aside from the intense headache) to the chimney and balks at sight of *shattered brick* in the shape of her head. Her hands shoot to the back of her head and 1) finds it doesn’t hurt to touch and 2) there is no blood whatsoever. 

She isn’t even wearing a helmet, or a hood or anything, how is she not bleeding? 

If she hit that chimney with enough force to *shatter brick*, she should have a major concussion, and be knocked out cold, but *apparently* the little cat-genie names Plagg forgot to mention a few things. 

If she can survive shattering bricks with her head and soaring through tempered glass, that means that her suit likely has some sort of kinetic energy absorbing properties. But it still doesn’t explain why the back of her head, which is completely unprotected, is unscathed. 

It also doesn’t explain how she was able to slam her head into a brick chimney and shatter brick. 

She needs to talk to Plagg about a lot of things once this is over. 

...What is she supposed to do again? Go find her partner? 

That seems like the best option. 

Adrienne turns around to look for the silver cylinder/pole, but slaps a hand to hert forehead when she remembers that it’s on a rooftop across the street. 

…Maybe she can jump the gap? 

How’d she get into this mess?

                                                 ———— 

Once Marinette can see again, she’s left dumbstruck, staring at her eyes and hair. 

She... her eyes are blue now, a vibrant, light blue. A very, very captivating light blue. As blue as a clear summer sky. And the red and black polka dotted domino mask framing her eyes only serves to make her eyes stand out that much more. 

She doesn’t like it. She wants her normal eyes back. 

And her hair... it’s blue. Her black hair has been replaced with navy blue hair, as black at the midnight sky, as though someone had dyed it in the split second she closed her eyes. She finds that it’s been tied up in her regular pig tails, but the hair ties are long red ribbons. They don’t seem like the most effective way of holding her hair up, anyone could grab hold and yank them out. 

She tentatively looks down at the rest of her body and is horrified to find that she’s wearing a ladybug styled *onesie*. 

...Maybe she was knocked out and it’s now the future where girls wear skintight, ladybug patterned onesies and have blue hair and wear domino masks and everyone has been genetically modified to have blue eyes and-

Gods she needs to calm down. 

Taking frantic breaths, she starts to rub her thumb in circles along her palm, focusing on the feeling of her thumb on her palm, imagining the tingling sensation that usually is the result of the action. She’s okay, she’s safe, she isn’t hurt, she isn’t in pain, she just looks different. It’s all okay. 

The world isn’t collapsing into utter chaos, nothing is wrong, she’s in control, she’s still Marinette, she’s okay. 

After a few moments of repeating this mantra, Marinette calms down enough to register the screaming outside and has to bite down the bile threatening to rise up her throat. 

There is a rampaging stone monster outside that is destroying buildings and property and monuments and is very likely- very likely hurting thousands of people. Not to mention, this means that she really *had* just been talking to a floating creature of an unknown race, unknown origins, made up of some sort of biomass that no one knows about, and this alien being can talk and can grant powers and all sorts of weird fairytale stuff, and is somehow able to conjure a suit made of magic that looks like a toddler wanted to dress like a ladybug for when they want to sleep and dream of flying. 

…Wow, that- that sounds even crazier than waking up in a dystopian future where girls have been genetically modified to have blue hair and eyes. 

She pinches at the suit, hoping to pinch herself, but doesn’t find any hold on it, her fingers sliding and slipping every which way, which irritates her beyond belief. *How in the world do you take this ^off?!^*

“Tikki?! Tikki, I want my clothes back!” She calls out to the alien-- kwami, the kwami, turning in place to look for the being she she getsno response. Marinette’s pinching becoming even more frantic as her heart rate starts to increase at the thought of not being able to take off the foreign suit. 

When she spins around to look in the mirror once more, something catches her attention, stopping her in her tracks. 

Around her waist rests a yo-yo. 

A… yo-yo… 

What in the world can anyone do with a *yo-yo*?

Why the hell does she have a yo-yo?

“Tikki, I’m not going anywhere like this-“

She cuts herself off as Nadja Chamack’s voice sounds from the news again, a hint of fear in her usually professional tone. 

“After wrecking the Shcüttler Tower, the monster is heading toward the Montparnasse Tower. No matter what the police do, the monster is unstoppable.” As she says this last part, the camera zooms in on this rock monster, and some crazy person on a bike chasing after it- wait is that?

“Alya?!” Marinette leans in toward the screen in shock. “What’s she doing out there?!” 

Marinette stares at the screen, dumbstruck as she tries to figure out how her new friend is so crazy, then she remembers what Alya had said just an hour before: *“Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero”*, her phone and in her hand. 

Just as Marinette’s hand is flying to her forehead to leave a red mark in the shape of her palm, Marinette’s maman calls out, freezing her hand milimeters from her forehead. “Marinette! Did you get home okay?” 

This sends Marinette into a state of panic, her arms and legs flailing around like a human amalgamation of medieval nunchucks, a strangles squeak escaping her throat. 

When she is no longer doing her interpretation of a squid in a net, Marinette calls back to her maman, turning around frantically to find a place to avoid her maman, her voice cracking. “*Oh!* Yeah mom, just super!” She can’t help but wince as her voice quavers nervously as she her eyes lock onto her skylight and bolting towards it, her heart beating a thousand kilometers a minute.

Not half a second after she wriggles halfway through the skylight and onto her roof, the trap door to her room opens slightly and her Maman’s voice float’s through the room “Marinette, you in here?” Concern clear as day in her tone. 

Marinette lays flat on the roof, holding her breath and pressing against the side of the wall to make sure her maman doesn’t see her in this ridiculous get up, solely so she doesn’t die of sheer embarrassment. 

After a few seconds, her Maman calls down to her Papa, the trapdoor to Marinette’s room clicking softly “Tom! She isn’t here, you *do* remember seeing her come through, right?” 

Marinette releases a sigh, her shoulders slumping as she turns to look up at the sky. It’s filled with dust clouds. 

This is... the weirdest day to ever happen. Hopefully, oh *gods* she hopes that this is all a dream and she’ll wake up on the first day of school again. 

How would anyone believe her if she were to tell them that someone got their hands on a piece of jewelry connected to a magical being, and now has the ability to sense and manipulate people’s *emotions* so that they can do their dirty work. That someone who was experiencing *normal human emotions* was turned into a literal rock monster that is unstoppable. How is she supposed to tell anyone that she, in her ladybug onesie, yo-yo, and apparent powers to create *anything* and a partner, who apparently has the powers of *destruction* are supposed to get this piece of jewelry back. 

Oh wait, of course, how could she forget, she *can’t* tell anyone. And even if she wanted to, they’d just think she was crazy and throw her into a mental institution. 

Granted, Marinette is pretty sure she has gone crazy. 

All Marinette wants to do is lay down and sleep. Why can’t she just do that? Just lay down on this rooftop and close her eyes and let the world around her melt away. 

Wake up tomorrow on the first day of school and only worry about Chloe being a bully, and not about all this ancient magic and manipulation and the fact that she’s one of the two people who have to take care of it. 

Wait…

Suddenly, Marinette sits upright, eyes blown wide. She’s 13 years old! She just started her first year in college! She’s got a family! She can’t be dealing with magic and ancient rituals and evil guys who are likely looking to kill everyone and are in their 40’s and likely living in their mom’s basement because they prefer shouting at kids over the computer and what if her partner is an adult! Will they just laugh at her and pick her up and set her aside and treat her like a little kid who can’t do anything and possibly take whatever it is that’s in her ears? 

How is she supposed to fight a fricking rock monster that’s 12 meters tall??

Especially with a fucking *yo-yo!* 

She flops back down onto her back and lets out a noise that’s a rough cross of a frustrated, overwhelmed, depressed sob/sigh. Of course, of course this is her life. She gets stuck with Chloe for 4 years straight and the gods decide that that’s not good enough, so they stick her with this. 

Maybe Chloe knocked her out and she’s in a coma and this is all just going to melt away and she can press charges against the bully and be done with her and move on in life?

But, she can hear the screaming of the people below, she knows that people are being hurt, really badly. No matter how badly she doesn’t want to, she has to go. If she was given this, if she was trusted with this, no matter how absolutely crazy that is, she needs to do this. 

“Okay... okay, so I have… I have super powers, and I have to fight a super powered monster.” She sighs again. She was just supposed to have the first day of school, not some... some super power mash up battle! 

She pulls the yo-yo from her waist and glares at it. This little thing is supposed to be her weapon. This little yo-yo that is only just barely large enough that she can’t fit her hand around it. This is going to keep her safe. Because that’s not unrealistic. 

Experimentally she lets it fall down and back to her hand a few times. She was never really good with yo-yos before, so she isn’t really all that hopeful about her fighting skills with it, but it feels really smooth and light, she can barely feel the weight.  

So far, it seems to be really easy to use. Maybe, maybe she could try that trick... around the world, was it? 

She lets it fall to the ground once more, the zip of the line oddly satisfying, and moves her arm back and forth, getting a feel for how it feels while in motion. Then, she tries to swing it up, but instead of flying into her hand, it’is sent flying out to the horizon, a metallic zip resounding from the yo-yo, getting quieter and quieter. 

For a second, Marinette just stares at it, then she hangs her head. Great, now how is she supposed to get it ba-

The string suddenly goes taught, as if the yo-yo has itself anchored around something. 

She just stands there, staring at the now taught string in awe, her jaw open. 

She reaches her other hand out to touch the string, and finds that it feels like a steel cable, strong and sturdy.

She has to try to get her yo-yo back, no point in wasting any more time. 

She hesitantly takes a step back and takes a deep breath before gently pulling on the strin- She’s pulled off her feet, her arm burning at the shoulder, wind whipping past her ears, her eyes closed, and a yelp being ripped from her throat before it’s lost to the wind

Silently, Marinette thinks back through everything she’s ever done wrong and vows to make it all better. After a moment of praying to all the gods she can think of, she opens her eyes and… finds all the buildings rushing by to be soothing. It’s all beautiful in its own right. Like watching the countryside fly by while on a plane. 

Marinette glances upwards again and whimpers as she realizes that she’s hurtling toward a stone pillar at speeds comparable to that of highway traffic. Panic rising through her entire being once more, Marinette attempts to twist herself out of the way, but soon realizes that that is completely useless as she is flung past the spot the yo-yo anchored itself to. But, by some strange miracle that is the universe’s sense of humor, the yo-yo unravels from the pillar, making it so that there is not a Marinette shaped pancake on the side of the pillar. A scream follows her as she flies through the air at speeds no teenager should ever be going without some way to be saved, the yo-yo trails behind like an overeager puppy. 

As she is flying through the air, the ground growing ever closer, her screaming never ceasing, she sees a small, moving black figure. In the blink of an eye, though to her it feels like it is all in slow motion, she’s colliding with this figure, toppling them both to the ground. 

They get halfway to the ground when something thin and strong wraps around them both and they’re snapped back upward, swinging side to side. Marinette finds herself looking into bright green eyes with cat-like pupils that have been blown as wide as a euro cent.

“Well, hey there! Nice of you to drop in!” 

Immediately, Marinette finds every aspect of this person annoying. The voice, the tone, the eyes, the hair, the cat ears, the *puns*. She rolls her eyes and moans. 

Wait, cat ears…

Of course, *of course* her partner ran with the whole animal theme. She just hopes that he isn’t a weirdo. 

But the puns make it hard to think he’s sane in any sort of way. 

She pulls her head back and looks over her partner, who looks to be a boy. 

From the looks of things, he seems to have a better sense of style than Tikki does. His suit is all black, judging from the subtle cracks it seems to be leather. There are boulbous guard like… *things* on his wrists and ankles, but she honestly thinks they serve more as attachable weights than anything else. And, on point with the animal theme, he’s got a belt that seems to be some sort of tail.

But… he’s got a bell on his chest, a large one at that. Who would, who would choose to wear that? Especially with the style of his suit! It clashes so badly.  

Shaking her head, she pushes her feelings aside. He’s her partner, she can’t be holding grudges. Especially ones based solely off of fashion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t do this on purpose.” 

She looks into her partner's eyes and is astounded to see that he… looks lost and confused and slightly uncomfortable with her looking him over, despite how he sounded a second before. But that look is gone in a flash, replaced with the smugness of knowing one is attractive. Her cheeks heat up. 

Not that he is attractive. Especially in that black leather and toned body. Not at all. Her cheeks are red because she’s embarrassed that he thinks she was doing *that*. 

Their swinging is slowing down, and this boy, who based off of what Tikki has told her, is most likely the Black Cat wielder. He raises- lowers?-- quirks an eyebrow. Er, well, his mask moves in a way that suggests he is quirking an eyebrow. It’s hard to tell when you’re nose to nose with someone and swinging and upside down, and their face is covered by a black mask. “While I’m flattered at you checking me out,-”

“I- I wasn’t- that’s not-”

“I’m afraid I have to ask you to rein in your rope please?”

Marinette’s face is as hot as the sun, and she’s sure that she could power her house with the heat, her hands splaying out at her sides as she frantically tries to stop her arms from flailing around. “It’s not- this- i wasn’t-” she cuts herself off as his other eyebrow is quirked. She sighs, defeated. She isn’t going to be going anywhere with this conversation.

Looking away from his all-too-piercing eyes, she maneuvers her hand around to try to grab at the yo-yo string. But in her flustered state, it takes her a few tries to get her fingers around the thin string. Once she has a firm grip, she tugs on it and promptly realizes that she didn’t think this all the way through and both her and her partner find themselves falling toward the ground. 

Marinette lands on her back, staring up at the sky, wondering what she did to the universe to deserve this treatment, all the while, the Black Cat wielder lands on all fours and stands up, dusting off his leather suit like he’s at some sort of high-end bachelor party. “I bet you’re the wielder of Creation that my kwami told me about! You know, my partner?” 

“Oh, ah, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. Who- what’s your name?” she stutters out, silently cursing the way her mouth absolutely refuses to cooperate with her tongue, still laying on her back, staring at the yo-yo silently swinging like a pendulum. Counting down the seconds until she dies from embarrassment. Absently wondering how the yo-yo managed to wrap around the… silver pole, that wasn’t there before! It must be her partner’s doing. 

“Huh, oh, uhh.” He turns from her, a hand moving to his chin as he thinks with a near silent hum. This in turn gives her time to stand up and look more closely at him, absentmindedly trying to get her yo-yo back.  

He’s standing with perfect posture, as though he has a stiff back, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. His suit looks like leather, but it has a subtle hexagonal pattern to it, so it’s clearly not leather. He looks to have some sort of padding riveted to his forearms. 

He’s got some combat boots that are apparently as skin tight as the rest of his suit, and protruding from the boots are silver bulbs that resemble cat paws. 

The belt she had seen before is wrapped around his waist, and is swinging behind his feet in little circles, like it’s excited and curious but doesn’t want to show it and it’s having a hard time concealing it. In her opinion, the tail is entirely too long, if it were completely flat, the last few decimeters would be laying flat on the ground. 

His eyes are pure green, except for black, and his pupils have shrunk and look like cats pupils. A black domino mask frames his eyes, hiding his identity. Unlike hers, which only really covers her eyes and some of her forehead, his covers most of his forehead (or what you can see of his forehead) as well as the entirety of his nose aside from his nostrils.It only serves to make his eyes pop out more, makes them more unnerving. No human should have cat eyes. 

Did his alien-kwami being thing change his eyes or is it the mask or is this just some weird fettish?

The black cat ears on his head look to be made of the same material as his suit, and they twitch agitatedly every now and then, his eyes twitching subtly-

“Chat!” He says, almost shouts, cutting off her thoughts as he whips around to face her, earning a squeak of surprise from Marinette. He’s bouncing ever so slightly in his place, hands balled into fists, like a little kid. “Chat Noir. My name is Chat Noir” He puffs his chest out, putting his hands on his hips, a smug grin on his lips. 

He looks so proud of himself that she decides not to burst his bubble by commenting on how his name literally means “Black Cat”. All she can do is nod her head, and try to hold back her laughter while trying to untie her yo-yo from the metal pole she believes she toppled Chat from. 

What is she going to do with her life… 

“What’s yours?” He asks, leaning in towards her, teasing curiosity in his tone, his eyebrows wiggling. 

“Oh, uh... I’m Ma-” she gives the line another tug and it springs from the bar, unwinding with unnatural speed. She watches in muted horror as it hits him on the head cutting her off as he lets out a yelp of pain. His cat ears go flat as his hands fly to his head. 

“...Madly clumsy... I’m so clumsy...” she finishes as he furiously rubs the spot the yo-yo hit his head, crouched down low to the ground. 

“Are you okay?” Marinette asks, reaching a hand out hesitantly. 

“Yeah, I’m-“ He’s cut off from saying anything as an enraged roar rips through the air, accompanied by a building in the distance crumbling to the ground. Effectively startling them both, Chat Noir jumps a meter into the air, while Marinette’s arms flail as she jumps back. Soon after screams can be heard. 

Marinette turns to her cat-like partner again, and is concerned to see him covering his ears with tears in his eyes. 

“...Chat,” she starts cautiously, taking a step toward her partner. “Are-”

“S-seems we have momentarily forgotten the monster we are supposed to be fighting, no?” He cuts her off, his voice wavering while he struggles to stand upright. It looks like he’s in pain. 

She reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder but jerks her hand back when he flinches. Shit, she hurt him with the yo-yo and now she’s touched him when he’s in pain, she should have known he doesn’t want to be touched, she usually doesn’t like to be touched when she’s in pain oh gods he hates her and he doesn't want to be her partner anymore- She knew this was a bad idea, she should have given the earrings to Alya, she would know what to do, she wouldn’t hurt her new partner.

Chat shakes his head and smiles at her, though it feels forced. He takes a moment to steady himself before he jumps up to grab onto the bar above them. After a second, the bar disappears and he falls to the ground again, a small, 26 centimeter cylinder in his hand.

He looks at her and nods toward where the screams are coming from. “C’mon, lets go save the day.”  He looks better, but she can still see his eyes slightly shining, his ears are flat to his head and his tail is agitated. 

He points the cylinder to the ground and moves his thumb and then Chat is over the rooftops, a 2 meter long pole where the silver cylinder used to be.  

Leaving Marinette angry and confused, staring at her yo-yo. Why does he get a cool tool?  

A second later, his head pops back up over the rooftop, his head tilted to the side, ears flopping with his head. “You coming, Clumsy Girl?”

“Y-Yeah, just give me a second.” 

He nods and turns around. 

Marinette furrows her brow. His attitude gives her pause, he’s coming off as... as cocky and flippant and just... he rubs her the wrong way. But he’s hiding something, something is off about his actions, and by the gods she will find out what it is. 

Marinette brings her yo-yo up to look at. Such a small thing, not any feasible way to fight with it, except for like… flinging it at people and hoping she hits them? But she has crap aim. 

Such a stupid weapon, and yet it carries with it such large responsibility and challenges. “Trust yourself...” she mutters to herself. “Just trust yourself.” 

Reluctantly, she drops the yo-to to the ground, swinging it around to build momentum. As she’s staring at it, the red/pink blur it creates mesmerizes her... until another deafening roar meets her eardrums.

She shakes her head, and throws her arm out, slinging the yo-yo up and over the rooftops. “Just gotta trust yourself, Marinette.” She mutters once again before tugging on the string and is pulled through the air with another yelp.

[13-reasons-ideas]

Can’t Go Back Part 11

A/N: Next chapter is here. This one has some angst. I expected dinner to go longer but the angst felt like it needed to take precedent. There is a slight time jump about half way through the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated!  Trigger warning alcohol abuse. implied drunk driving. 

I was up early again the next morning to start getting things ready for dinner. The counter quickly became a picture of organized chaos. I had ingredients for dessert out on the island, waiting to be made into my mum’s favourite cake. Monty woke up a while later and after a cup of coffee, was ready to help me cook. “Morning love.” I greeted after he finished his coffee.

“Morning you.” He kissed my forehead softly. “What do you need help with first?”

“Can you grab the mushrooms and plastic wrap please? I’m getting ready to start heating the pan for the meat up now.”

“Sure thing. What am I doing with them?”

“Blitzing them.” I stated. Looking up from my cake recipe, I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. He looks so confused. It’s adorable.

“What now? Also don’t do that.”

“Blitzing them. In the food processor until they’re chopped small. Don’t do what?” I asked, coyly, pushing his very pushable buttons.

“You know exactly what. Don’t think I’m not taking note of all these tests missy. It’s going to be a very long day for you in a few weeks.”

“Oh I’m counting on you noting.” I muttered under my breath. He growled lowly and I whimpered. “Mushrooms mister. That’s what you need to be concerned with. Not sex.”

“The mushrooms can wait a few minutes.”

“We can’t have sex and I’m not giving you a blowjob in the kitchen.” I told him as I moved to the stove to turn on the heat.

“I didn’t say anything about blowjobs or the kitchen Addison.”

I paused. Insufferable. “You are such a little shit. Sit down and blitz my mushrooms.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Don’t ever call me that again. It’s too domme-y for me.”

Monty laughed and muttered a retort under his breath. Ignoring his sexual comment and the ever-present sexual tension, I set about getting the cake batter ready.

While the cake was in the oven, I set about searing the meat and getting the prosciutto ready for wrapping. I could feel Monty’s eyes on me as I worked. He gave me the bowl of the food processor and I dumped them into a dry pan, as per the recipe instructions. The meat was seared off and resting on a plate. Everything was going according to plan. I had Monty slather the tenderloin in mustard and wrap it tightly again. “Now it sits in the fridge for a while.”

“I can think of many things we can do to occupy our time.” He smirked, cheekily at me.

“Montgomery. No.”

“Okay, okay. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I grinned at him and walked around the island, over to the laundry closet.

“You can help me fold laundry instead.”

“Oh joy.” He rolled his eyes playfully. I giggled at him and he smiled. Together, we went about folding the laundry on our bed and organizing it into the appropriate drawers. He made the odd lude comment on my underwear and I simply shook my head. My man and his one-track mind.

Once the laundry was folded, we set the table and got a few more dinner elements ready to be cooked. Mom loves mashed garlic potatoes, so I tossed some garlic in oil and roasted it. Soon, the whole house smelled like the sweet aroma of roasted garlic. I had Monty man the vegetables while I went and changed into my red sweater dress. He changed into a dressier flannel and crisp white t-shirt. How can one man make white look so nice? We spent the rest of the day taking care of minor household things and enjoying each other’s company.

My parents arrived at five, with salad in hand. Dad must have told her we were having food. “Hey Mum, hey Dad.” I called from my place at the island. I lit a cinnamon candle a few minutes ago to cover the garlic smell.

“Hi sweetie. Where’s my favourite son-in-law?” Mom joked.

“Right here. Hi Margot. Happy birthday.” Monty greeted her, exiting our room and balancing his crutches to hug her. “Hey Brooks.” He greeted my dad.

“Hey Monty.  How’s the leg feeling? Hey Addy.” My dad asked, hanging up their coats before walking over and giving me a side hug. It was still kind of awkward for my dad to hug me, but I smiled and hugged him back.

“Meh. It’s feeling okay. The pain comes and goes.”

“It feels better when he actually uses his crutches and rests.” I teased playfully.

“Yes dear.” He shot back. I shook my head, smiling, and got the waiting wellington out of the fridge. The oven beeped as I closed the door and put it in.

“Happy birthday mom.”

“Thank you. It smells delicious.”

“Beef wellington and garlic mashed potatoes with steamed assorted carrots.”

“My favourite.” She smiled.

“Babe would you mind filling a pot with water for the potatoes?”

“Sure.” I nodded and went about peeling the potatoes. “Salt?”

“Yes please. Oh, and Justin says happy birthday too mom.”

“Tell him thank you for me.”

“I will.”

The four of us spent the half hour while dinner cooked and rested, chatting about our weeks. Dinner was fairly uneventful, but delicious. Mum loved her new pumpkin vanilla candle and chocolate strawberry tea. Dad and I continued to try and navigate our new relationship. All in all, it was a nice way to end a weekend.

A couple of weeks later, Montgomery was given the all clear to begin physio by Dr. Marcus. Thankfully for both of us, that also meant he was cleared to begin to foray back into “physical intimacy”. Nothing too crazy yet. Yeah right. That’ll last maybe one round. It seemed that he was more excited to get to drive home than to have sex for the first time in weeks. In addition to sex, he was also able to give up the crutches for the most part. It was only if there was a particularly intense physio session, he would use them. He still wasn’t cleared to play sports, nor would he be for quite some time.

Even with not being able to actually play ball, being one step closer to that goal, seemed to help bring him back to normal a bit. Everything was going great for a week or two. He would go to physio three times a week and do his assigned exercises without complaint. He made sure not to push himself too hard. He didn’t stay out very late on game nights, and when he did, he would call or text me to let me know he was okay and on his way home.

I woke up to the sound of something crashing to the floor. In my half-sleeping state, I reached out to Montgomery’s side of the bed and found it cold. Feeling my nerves grow at being alone in the house, I checked the alarm clock beside the bed. 2:24am. I gulped and got out of bed, grabbing one of Monty’s sweaters to wear and the baseball bat he kept next to the dresser. I’ll never give him crap for keeping a bat next to the bed again.

Walking out of our room, I turned a corner and heard a very familiar voice. Monty was standing in the living room, muttering curse words to himself. I lowered the bat and turned on the lamp, causing him to jump, trying to hide what he had broken behind him. I could tell he was wasted just by looking at him. He had to hold on to the wall to keep himself upright. I set my face stoically and stared at him for a moment. It was then that I saw what he had broken. It was the framed photo on our side table, of us on our wedding day. Now I’m a little more upset. “It’s 2:30 in the morning.” I stated with my arms folded at my chest. He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at me with an odd mixture of surprise and guilt. I shook my head and pivoted around to go back to bed, but not before firmly shutting the bedroom door.

The next morning, I woke up and got ready as usual. I walked out to the kitchen and did a double take at what I was witnessing. Shockingly, Monty was up and dressed in clean clothes already. He even had a cup of coffee to drink. I didn’t hear him come in our room. “Morning.” He said, from his seat at the table. He didn’t appear to be nursing that bad of a hangover, shockingly. Still mad, I ignored him, making myself a cup of coffee and getting my bag together for school. I didn’t spare the side table a glance, knowing that if I did, I would snap. His eyes followed my every move, probably internally begging me to speak to him.

“I’m meeting with my English teacher before class so I’m leaving now.” was all I said to him before I left the house.

I left the meeting with Mr. Luft about a recommendation letter in better spirits than when I left the house. It was a short-lived feeling because I spotted Monty brooding from across the hall. I knew he was waiting for me because he had neither a locker nor a class in this building at this time. My anger came back in full force when I saw him. Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I walked straight past him. He followed close behind, hot on my heels. “Addy can we please talk about this?” I didn’t respond. He sighed gruffly, “can you say anything at all to me?” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see my face. When we were away from students, in a less crowded area of the building, he tried again. “Addison, please?”

“I’m not fighting with you in public.” I told him, not turning around.

“We don’t have to fight in public. Will you please just say something about what happened? Are you really this upset about the fact that I broke a picture frame?” Upset that he… seriously? That’s what he thinks this is about? I mean, I’m upset that its broken, but it can be replaced. I’m upset because he came home drunk… again. I’m upset because he didn’t even text me to let me know he wasn’t coming home for a while, if it all. I’m not upset because of a goddamn picture frame.

“Don’t bother coming home tonight.” I ground out before walking away.

My friends were surprised when I walked over to their table at lunch and put my bag down, rather aggressively. “Hey Addy.” Tony greeted.

“Hey.” I replied, trying to keep the shortness out of my tone.

“How’re you?” Alex asked, digging around in his lunch bag.

“Fine. But let’s not talk about me. How are you guys?”

“Right. Fine. Uh… I’m good.” Justin said, giving me a cursory glance.

“I’m good too. Justin learned not to throw food at me in bed this morning.” Clay added.

“Justin don’t throw food at your brother. It’s rude.” I told him, shaking my head.

“Or keep doing it so we can give Clay a hard time about it, your choice.” Alex laughed. We carried on for a while, my friends bringing a smile and some light to what had started as a very gloomy day. The light shifted again when Scott approached our table.

“Addison, can we talk for a minute?”

“About?” I asked casually, as I dipped my cucumber in salsa.

“Why Monty is eating fruit snacks, fruit snacks, and sadness for lunch?”

“I had a meeting this morning.”

“Okay. What about the fact that he said you told him not to come home tonight?” he implored. My friends froze.

“Yes.” I stated.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to discuss it with you. It’s our business.”

“Addy. He’s my best friend and he is upset. It is my business.”

“What happened Addison?” Justin asked, reaching across the table for my hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I muttered, feeling like I was being backed into a corner and struggling to find my way out. I pulled my hand out of Justin’s reach. He’s the one who screwed up here. Not me. Stop making me feel like garbage for needing some space for one day. Scott shook his head, in disbelief.

“Well you’re going to have to talk to him. You’re stuck together now. Or did you forget about the whole ‘better or worse’ part of your vows?”

That got my anger going again. “I am not discussing my marriage with you Scott Reed. Especially not in a room full of people who are just counting the days until we decide we made a mistake and file for divorce. This is an issue between my husband and me. Not my husband, me, and my husband’s best friend. And never insinuate that I do not take my vows seriously again.” I whisper-yelled, standing to walk away. Justin stood up too.

“I just want to help. He’s my best friend and you’re my friend.”

“You can help by giving him a place to crash tonight.” I said, walking away.

Justin followed behind me with my bag, which I left at the table in my haste to get away from the situation. He pulled me into an empty classroom, and I felt hot, angry, sad tears fill my eyes.

“What happened Addy?”

I tried to respond but all that would come out were gasps and squeaks. Justin pulled me into his arms and embraced me while I cried in his chest. The frustration of the last thirteen hours had finally reared its head and I couldn’t stop the floodgates from opening. A knock on the door made me remember where we were, and I stepped away from my best friend. Scott opened the door a bit and poked his head in the room.

“Can we talk about this now?”

I didn’t respond but Justin waved him in the room and motioned for him to shut the door. We stared at each other for a solid three minutes before I spoke, “I told you I’m not discussing my marriage with you Scott.”

“If he is going to spend the night in my parents’ guest room, I think I deserve to know what actually happened to cause it.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked, sighing.

“That he broke the picture from your wedding last night. But you wouldn’t be this mad about a picture frame, so there has to be more to the story.”

I laughed humourlessly. “Yeah. Try ‘broke it this morning’ when he came home at 2:30 so wasted he could barely hold himself up. And couldn’t call or send me a fucking text message that he would be out late. I was up until 12:30 worrying about him, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.” The boys gaped at me. “Left that part out, did he?”

“Uh… yeah. He did.” Scott paused briefly. “I thought you guys talked about the occasionally overdrinking. And it was basically a non-issue now.”

“It was until last night.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Justin offered. “From what you’ve said I don’t think he’s an alcoholic by any means, and NA is different than AA, but the basics are the same.”

“I don’t know. I think I need to talk to him first and see if he will tell me what’s going on. This can’t become a thing.”

“A thing?” Scott asked.

“What is the one thing Monty is afraid of aside from me leaving him?”

Scott thought for a moment. “Becoming his da-. Oh. Yeah that can’t happen.”

“Exactly. So, I will talk to him tomorrow about it when he comes home. In the meantime, try to keep him occupied please? I don’t need him spiralling and making things worse.”

“I will. Might have to give him hell first though.”

“Okay. As his wife, I give you permission to do that.” He hugged me before leaving Justin and I on our own.

“Do you want me to come over tonight to keep you company? We can watch stupid movies.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I think I need to be alone to think for a while.” I hugged him, “thank you. I’ll text you or call you if I need you.”

“You’re welcome. If you need me to come over, I will. Just say the word.” I nodded as I pulled out my compact. My makeup didn’t look too bad considering I had cried. Taking out a tissue, I wiped underneath my eyes and touched up a little bit. Just as I finished, the bell rang.

Coming home to an empty house wasn’t unusual, what with Monty’s sports schedule and other things in our lives, but there was something different about this time. I told him not to be here. I didn’t want him here. He wasn’t in our home because of me. For some reason, that made the house feel a little colder and a little less like home tonight. “Well, I guess I should make myself some food or something.” I muttered into the quiet house. Working quickly, I whipped up a pita pizza and some veggies, before opening up my laptop to work on some more essays.

A few long, lonely hours later, I turned off my computer and went to change. Unconsciously, I went into Monty’s dresser and grabbed a shirt to sleep in, along with a pair of my softer pyjama bottoms. Curling up in my spot on the couch, I turned on the tv and checked my phone. Justin texted me about an hour ago, as had Scott. There was a couple of apologies from Monty that I ignored. Seemed pretty clear that I didn’t want to talk to him but sure. I swiped to open Justin’s text first.

Hey Addy. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. Do you need anything? This is me reminding you not to work on your essays for too long and not overthink too much. I love you.

Hey, I’m okay. A little lonely but I think I need it tbh. I’ll try not to think too much, but we both know how my brain works. Scott’s texts were next.

We got home safe. Mom and Dad are a little concerned about him but other than that, it’s all good. I’m still giving him hell for you.

Thanks Scott. Make sure he eats something of actual nutritional value please. Monty’s texts remained unopened.

I eventually turned my attention to the end table and the broken picture frame. Carefully picking it up, I examined it. The frame itself had broken in two places and the glass was shattered. Thankfully, the photo was still intact. “Time to dig through our stuff for a new frame.” Finding one was easy enough. They were on sale a while ago at IKEA, so we bought a bunch. Soon the picture was back in its rightful place on the table. At least one part of this mess was taken care of.

By ten thirty, I was ready to go to sleep and forget about the stress of the day. I went about the ninety-seven thousand things I do before bed as usual. I crawled into the large, cool bed and curled up in the same position I usually did, in an attempt to help myself fall asleep. It turns out, sleep wasn’t going to be easy to come by. I rolled onto my back, and then onto my side. When those positions weren’t comfortable, I rolled onto my stomach and then back to the other side. I tried turning Monty’s pillow longways so I could cuddle it. It smelled like him, which was nice, but it was too soft and didn’t move like he was breathing. I put the pillow back in its normal position and tried to stretch out. That didn’t help either. You know where he is. It’s not like he’s in danger. You can go to sleep. He is safe. Just sleep. The tossing and turning and racing thoughts went on for at least another few hours, before I decided I needed to take a sleeping pill. I had to get enough sleep, in order to deal with the argument that would most likely occur tomorrow.

I was awake at the ungodly hour of six am on a Saturday, lying in bed, trying in vain to get at least a couple more hours of sleep. By six thirty I gave up on that plan. I dragged myself out of bed and made a very large, very strong, cup of coffee. Deciding it was probably time to bite the bullet and read Monty’s various apologies, I took a deep breath and opened his messages.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I screwed up Addison.

Please don’t be mad at me. I love you.

I love you.

Please talk to me. I know I fucked up, but this silence is killing me.

Addison. Baby. Please.

I need you.

Please just tell me how to fix this?

Addy, please talk to me. I’m really fucking sorry.

Okay, Scott says if I don’t stop texting you and go to bed, he’s throwing my phone in the garbage. I love you and I’m still sorry. I couldn’t stop the urge to roll my eyes at the string of pleases. He made no mention of what he actually did. I sent him a quick text, knowing he wouldn’t answer at this hour.

We will talk at home. Tell Scott and his family thank you for letting you stay there for me. With that arduous task completed, I puttered around the house, tidying the nonexistent mess.

I was lounging on the couch, reading a book, when I heard the door unlock. I didn’t look up until I had finished my page and Montgomery cleared his throat. “Hi.” He greeted me, awkwardly.

“Hi.” We were silent for a few beats. Neither of us knew what to say to each other. I turned to look at him. He was looking around the room, anywhere but at me. I felt a small tinge of regret and pity at the uncomfortable look crossing his features. You have nothing to be sorry for. He is at fault here.

“Can you just say something so we can get this over with?”

Get this ov- seriously? “Depends. Can you act like an adult take responsibility for your actions?”

“Oh, so that’s how you want to start this?”

“I guess so, yeah.” I shrugged, standing up.

“I don’t see why you are so upset Addison-.”

“I swear to God Montgomery. If you say a word about the picture frame.”

“Scott already gave me shit for fucking up last night.”

“Oh! Okay, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something before? Clearly, we have nothing to discuss here, since Scott fucking Reed already talked to you about it?” I yelled, throwing my arms up for dramatic effect. “Do you even understand why I’m upset?”

“He’s my best friend. I listen to him. Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry I screwed up Addison.”

I blinked slowly at him, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. “You listen to Scott? Because I’m almost certain it wasn’t Scott that had no issue with you getting so drunk you could hardly stand on a Thursday night.”

“Seriously Addison? You are going to bring your issues with Bryce into this?”

“I never said that. You did. But sure, since apparently you can’t take responsibility for what you did, yeah. I’m going to bring Bryce into this, Montgomery.”

“It was one night Addison.”

“This time. This time it was one night. What about next time? Or the time after that?”  

“It’s not a big deal. What are you going to do, tell me I can’t be friends with him? He’s my brother.”

“I am your WIFE. I am your family. You need to realize your actions affect more than just you now.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He crossed his arms.

“I don’t want to tell you that you can’t. That is something you can decide on your own.”

“That’s you politely saying yes.”

“No, it isn’t. If you want to take it that way, you can. Are you ready to discuss the real issue now? I don’t put even a quarter of the blame on Bryce.”

“Mhmm. Sure, you don’t.” He muttered, aggressively.

“You decided to get wasted at a party. You decided not to let me know where you were, or if you were okay, or if you were coming home. You decided to drive home.”

“I didn’t realize you needed to know where I was at all times.”

“I don’t.”

“Really? Because it sure as shit seems like it.”

“Sorry for wanting to know if my husband was okay or not.” I yelled.

“You knew I was at Bryce’s. I was fine.”

“Fine? If you think this is fine, you need to re-evaluate that idea really fast. You could barely stand up. It’s a wonder you didn’t get pulled over or hit anything. Or anyone.”

“I didn’t. I got home in one piece and everything was fine. Until you decided to throw a hissy fit about it. And newsflash, my leg is fucked, so I can barely stand up to begin with.”

“It is not fine Monty.”

“You keep saying that but aren’t giving me a reason or explanation why.”

“You mean aside from the obvious?”

“Yeah.”

“You need to realize that it isn’t just you anymore. You need to understand that you have a family to be concerned about now. I get that it’s not something you are used to, but you do.”

He scoffed. “I understand that perfectly well Addison.”

“Do you though? Because I don’t think you do. You don’t act like you do.”

“Because I went out with my friends for a night? You are going to question my commitment to you because of one night?”

“No. I’m not questioning your commitment to me. And I have no problem with you going out with your friends. I have an issue with you coming home drunk off your ass. Again. I have an issue with the fact that you do it and then we talk about it and then you go on like everything is fine for a while. And then you do it again.”

“It’s not like I do it all the time. Don’t make it sound like I’m just coming home drunk every night.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying that this is becoming a pattern. A pattern that I, for one, am not okay with.”

Monty stared at me incredulously. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, catching sight of the replaced frame on the end table. “I see you fixed your precious photo. So, there is no reason to be mad anymore.” He muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

“Seriously? It was never about the goddamn picture frame. It was about you. Do you honestly think I would make you spend the night at your friend’s house over a picture frame breaking?”

“I don’t know Addison.”

“Well clearly we aren’t going to get anywhere today then. Since you can’t seem to accept that your actions have consequences, and I can’t force you to understand my point.” I shook my head. I couldn’t keep going around in circles with him. If he wasn’t ready to have a mature discussion about this, then there was no point in trying.

“I guess not.” He said.

There was nothing more to be said anymore, so I walked back to the coffee table from the kitchen, where we had ended up in our fighting. Grabbing my book and phone, I stalked past him, half hoping he would reach out and grab me to apologise. When he didn’t, I went back into our room and closed the door. I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Instead, when I shut the door, I slid down to the floor and laid my head on my knees. My tears left little dots on my leggings and stains down my cheeks. Luckily, I was able to hold back any sobs that tried to break through.

After a while, I could hear Monty in our room. It sounded like he was opening and closing drawers. For a moment, I could hear him breathing on the other side of the door. It was like he was trying to decide to knock or not. I held my breath. A moment later, I heard his footsteps pad away from the door. Roughly an hour or so later, I decided I had hidden in my own home long enough. I stood up and splashed my face with cool water. I quickly changed into a pair of dark sweatpants and a comfortable t-shirt, with my favourite grey cardigan over top.

“I’m going out.” I stated as I walked out of our room and grabbed my purse.

“K.” Monty replied, not bothering to up from the playbook he was reading on the couch. I raised my brows sadly at his lack of response. My drive to Justin’s place was unusually silent. I normally drove with the radio on or AUX connected. I parked in front of the house and walked around back. I knocked on his door firmly a couple of times. While I waited, I unconsciously wrapped my arms around myself protectively. Justin opened the door not long after. He took one look at me trying not to cry and curling in on myself and stiffened.

“Clay, get out.”

[ulfwolf]

Marie

I was working as a computer operator in Stockholm, and had done so for a couple of years at this point. This, by the way, was at a time (1968) when 256K RAM took up pretty much the entire floor of a medium-sized office building (true statement) and when Bull and General Electric were co-marketing a mammoth mainframe called Bull/GE 301 where the operator’s console, instead of today’s keyboards and screens, comprised several rows of eight pushable, rectangular buttons, each row a byte, each button—which lit up when pressed—a bit.

By pressing the right buttons we’d write numbers (usually memory addresses) or letters in binary form and so talk directly with the computer’s memory a few numbers or letters at time to tell it what to do, say read a magnetic tape to boot a program, or begin reading the punch cards from the punch card reader. Once we got good at doing this, and after a couple of years I could do it in my sleep, watching us speak through these buttons, which as I said, lit up when pressed, was like watching wizards at play (another true statement).

That said (as an aside, really), by now I had grown a little weary of our fair capital city, so when the opportunity arose to move (still with the same company) to another computer center in a smaller town (Linköping) a few hours’ drive south of Stockholm, I jumped at the chance.

Why? though. It bears asking, and I’m certainly asking it now. After all, I had my own apartment in Stockholm, and Stockholm was the largest city in Sweden—if something worthwhile was happening in Sweden, it was happening there. Also, I was fairly well paid (though always broke).

Truth be told, one of Linköping’s truly attractive aspects (for me) was that the town boasted a considerable surplus of girls/women along with a commensurate (sizeable) shortage of boys/men. This, for an on-the-go, nineteen-year-old, testosterone-driven hippie boy, was more than just inviting: it was a no-brainer.

So, I said yup, sign me up, and sub-let my apartment to a friend named Joakim (amazing that I remembered that), and headed south for new, fresh, fecund waters.

As it happened, the first Saturday night in my new home town found me in Linköping’s pretty much one and only discotheque—which was what the music slash dance clubs in Sweden were called before disco music was even invented, this is still 1968 after all. And in that club, dancing with her friend Monica, was the lithe and very beautiful Marie.

I was not really too keen on dancing, to be honest, but a guy I had met just hours before nudged me and said he had a crush on Monica and would like to ask her to dance with him so I had to ask Marie (since they were dancing together); he pointed: Marie was the slightly shorter girl with darker hair. Did I have to? Yes, indeed, I had to, he said, and so I did.

A day, perhaps two later, I was convinced that I had met the girl of my dreams. Girl-rich Linköping had indeed come through and in a very big way.

She became my world. Yes, I know that’s a cliché if there ever was one, but nonetheless true. Thoughts of her took up, easily, ninety percent of my awareness-capacity. I wrote poems about and for her, talked about her (incessantly and much to their chagrin, actually) to my work pals, couldn’t wait to see her again, the whole nine yards (to press another worn-to-shreds cliché into service).

Looking back, though, with my a-little-stunned fifty-one years later perspective: what on earth happened there?

For in hindsight, we were not all that compatible, to be honest. I was a dreamer and a poet and a bit of a technological wiz—someone once quipped that I had both sides of my brain in full swing, very unusual, apparently; she was, if anything, a dancer. Loved, loved, loved to dance. She had the body for it, had the moves, and liked to display them both.

Still we fell very, very much in love—in temporary-insanity caliber love. We could, and would sit for minutes at a stretch gazing into one another’s eyes, just smiling and sighing and melting and loving, loving, loving.

Yes, the physical lovemaking was wonderful, too, of course, but not at all the main course so to speak. We lived in a magical castle. She was my princess and I was her prince. We really believed and lived that truth.

In that frame of mind nothing is wrong. Nothing she does seems wrong to me, on the contrary, she is perfection and proves it constantly, by breathing for example; and nothing I do could possibly strike her as wrong. This was cloud walking, pure and simple and magical.

Now, part of this story is that before I met Marie, I had already decided to move to France to become a poet; had already bought a one-way bus fare from Stockholm to Paris, all set to go come mid-June (as I recall).

She, on the other hand, had, also before we met, already decided to go to London with her friend Monica come early June. They were to work as cleaning maids during the day at some hotel or other (while dancing the nights away, literally).

My plan was to bus it to Paris and from there journey to Nice north of which was a little village called St. André where I could buy a cottage for a thousand dollars or so (so André, a French cook/friend in Stockholm had told me) and where I could settle in and be a poet.

Did I have the money (a) to travel to Nice, (b) to buy a cottage, and (c) to live on while I learned French (which I had pretty much flunked in school) and wrote my French poems? The answer to (a) through (c) above: categorically “no.” Did that bother me? Categorically not in the least. Things would work out, solve themselves, they always did.

My French plans and her London dittos did cast shadows on our bliss from time to time, more frequently as the spring moved along and June grew closer, so in May we decided—to cement our intentions to love each other forever—to marry once she returned from London and I from France. The exact when of this still up in the air. But we exchange rings, drank a little champagne, kissed and embraced in the sunlit, spring-fragrant grass as an engaged couple.

Marie left for London one early, brilliantly clear June morning; I was to leave for Paris a week or so later.

We were still (at least I was) in love beyond repair.

Then the 1968 Paris student revolts shook France to the point where my bus company cancelled the trip to Paris and refunded my ticket.

So now I’m stuck in Linköping while Marie is in London (no student riots there), having, I was sure, the time of her life.

The forlorn boy asks: What to do, what to do?

The forlorn boy has no real answer to that question.

As another aside, word had spread around town that Marie and I were engaged and I discovered that this feat—having landed the very pretty and much sought after Marie—had bought me some notoriety and I was even stopped by a few guys on the street who wanted to congratulate me, shake my hand and all that. Big price, my Marie. Well done, way to go, et cetera.

While this stroked and stoked my ego no end, it went not even the tiniest way toward answering my question: what now?

Poet dreams in jeopardy, Marie in London, jobless me alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Linköping was too depressing to remain in alone.

Time to move on then.

(c) Wolfstuff

http://wolfstuff.com/aod-intro