#why yes I cannot shut up about Amelie

[graciethespeyeral]

Mood of the day: being wo excited to show a friend your OC lore that your excited vibrating is heard from the other side of the ocean

[edendaphne]

"Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 12

TFW your rich AF dad is a stingy SOB who only gives you one shirt to wear 🤣

(And YEP! In this AU Adrien wears glasses! He wears contact lenses for photoshoots/modeling)  :3c

>Read it here on Ao3<

>Read it here on Wattpad<

CHAPTER 12: ANDANTE

Music glossary: Andante - to go at a moderate, steady pace

French glossary: “Les Deux Sots” = The Two Fools/Idiots

(La Dispute (Amelie Soundtrack)- Yann Tiersen)

Marinette was upset.

Not so much upset, really. More like… confused? Frustrated? And not even at Fu, necessarily. It wasn’t his fault. But Fu was the messenger, and therefore, the undeserving recipient of her current mental ire.

With the critical 48 hours of Chat Noir’s healing complete, she’d gone to visit Fu to discuss some of the concerns she had about her new partnership, along with some other pressing questions. The answers were… not quite what she expected (or wanted) to hear.

No, Marinette, he’d said. You must not know Chat Noir’s identity, he’d said. Yes, I know you just want to protect him as a civilian. No, don’t try to figure it out yourself. If you find out too early, you’ll absorb the negative effects from the misuse of his miraculous. Yes, that is always what happens with the Cat and Ladybug miraculouses. Yes, that’s why wielders must not know each others’ identities; not until their souls and energies are perfectly in sync with each other. No, Marinette, you are not in perfect sync with each other. Yes, I know you don’t like it. But that is how it must be. Have a nice day, Marinette. No, I’m not kicking you out. I’m just... going to the spa to get rid of a sudden tension headache. Goodbye.

“Understood, Master,” she’d said. And honestly, yes; she really did understand.

But she still didn’t like it.

The conversation weighed heavily on her mind as she went about her daily chores, and she couldn’t help but stomp around the house as she worked, a perpetual crinkle fixed between her eyebrows.

She just couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Negative effects? Truth be told, prior to this, she’d even almost suspected that Fu had exaggerated that aspect of the miraculouses, in order to keep her on the straight and narrow path and be responsible.

Such matters had been far from her mind while befriending Chat Noir. She’d never even thought to ask him about it. How long would these effects linger on, even after his change of heart and proper use of his miraculous?

More importantly, would the effects ever fully disappear? Fu said that every case was different. Sometimes the effects did fade. Other times, they did not; and in those cases, partners couldn’t ever reveal their identities to each other. In rare instances, the wielders would even have to return their miraculouses to the guardians, because they would never be able to work in proper harmony with the other. Marinette shuddered. She didn’t want to even consider that possibility.

In any case, Hawkmoth was suffering from such negative effects as well. What could his ailments be? Chat had mentioned that he seemed to be losing control of his akumas, and his judgment was becoming increasingly clouded. But was there more?

Frowning, she stuffed folded laundry into her dresser drawers with a bit more force than necessary. She quickly stood up when she was finished, yanking the laundry basket away with a huff as she headed towards her next task.

There was also another question, one she’d had even years ago, when she’d first become Ladybug. One she’d always been too shy to ask, always trusting in Fu’s judgment, never questioning him because of his seniority and experience (respecting one’s elders having been an integral part of her upbringing, particularly her mother’s).

But now that she was older, she’d finally gathered enough courage to ask him: Why hadn’t he revealed Chat’s identity to her years ago? With enough luck, she might have been able to steal back his miraculous when he wasn’t transformed while he was out of the house. So, why hadn’t he told her?

Fu’s answer had been remarkably simple: He’d wanted Chat to have a relatively normal life outside of the mask. He’d always held out hope that Chat would turn away from his unrighteous deeds on his own. Having people around him that treated him kindly and that he could trust would give him the courage to do so. If he didn’t have that, he would have felt that he had nowhere to turn to, and no choice but to remain as he was.

Fu added that if she’d had any contact with Chat, either as herself or as Ladybug, she would have treated him differently, possibly with hostility. Marinette had wanted to deny it at first, but she knew he was right. She would have treated him differently. Probably would’ve avoided him, spoken to him harshly, given him dirty looks from across the street. She might have even tried to convince her friends that he wasn’t a good person, much like her situation with Lila. Not that that had ever worked; that girl was just way too deceptive. After all these years, she’d given up on even trying. Without any concrete evidence, Marinette’s claims that Lila was a rotten liar wouldn’t convince anyone, except thankfully for Alya and Nino; but even they had been skeptical at first.

In any case, Marinette would have most likely become angry, cold, or maybe even embittered towards Chat if she wasn’t able to retrieve his miraculous right away. And Chat would’ve responded with confusion, hurt, and resentment towards both her and Ladybug, permanently eliminating any chance to become partners.

The troubled girl sighed wearily, walking towards the downstairs bathroom with a basket full of supplies for their feline guest, still mulling over her earlier discussion. There just had to be other options she hadn’t considered yet–

Still distracted, deliberating the myriad of possibilities and worrying over every potential outcome, Marinette swung the bathroom door open... only to be greeted by a tall, toned, and very much bare backside, whose modesty was barely concealed by a small towel wrapped around the waist. Rivulets of water coursed down the valleys and ripples of the lightly tanned skin, and her eyes couldn’t help but follow them down their path, gracefully gliding from the tops of the broad shoulders, still rosy and glowing from the shower’s hot water, and disappearing into the edges of the towel, which rode low along the hips. The shock of damp, golden hair gave Marinette the confirmation of who exactly the stranger in her bathroom was. Practically tripping over her feet, she slammed the door shut, a loud screech abruptly escaping her throat.

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH, I AM SOOOO SORRY!!!” she yelled in between pants. “I thought the bathroom was empty!!! I was just gonna drop off some muscles— I mean toilets— I mean toiletries!!! I’ll just... leave them here outside the door! SORRYAGAIN, BYE!!!”

Marinette sprinted all the way to her bedroom and plopped like a dead fish onto her chaise, letting out a long, shrill whine into the cushions. She flopped over onto her back, shoving a throw pillow onto her face, and considered smothering herself out of existence in order to avoid having to face Chat Noir ever again. Maybe she’d come back to Earth reincarnated as an actual ladybug, and she could flee from the city to go live in the country. Cannes was supposed to be nice this time of year.

Before her plans could come to fruition, specifically the one about becoming the insect she already felt like, she sluggishly removed the pillow from her face to get some air.

Only to be greeted by a small, floating… cat??

No, not a cat.

A kwami.

Chat Noir’s kwami.

“Boo,” he said flatly.

Marinette sat up, careful to not bump into the tiny god.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, although she suspected Plagg wasn’t so much staring as sizing her up. Gauging her adequacy, perhaps? He’d worked alongside countless other Ladybugs these past few millennia, so the thought made her a bit nervous.

“You must be Plagg,” she said, concealing her surprise.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Plagg replied with a showy twirl. “I am quite noteworthy.”

Marinette’s eyes crinkled in amusement. That wasn’t quite was she’d been expecting.

She extended her hand with a smile. “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

Plagg took her hand and turned it over, examining her palm. “Hmph, no Camembert?” he asked with obvious disappointment. “Introductions can wait. My stomach cannot. ”

Marinette snickered. She hadn’t expected such an ornery attitude from a kwami; nevertheless, she decided she liked him already.

She tugged open her shirt pocket and said, “Hop in. Let’s go fetch some from the kitchen.”

Plagg approached the pocket and Tikki poked her little head out.

Marinette chuckled. “I’m sure you remember Tikki.”

“Always a pleasure, Sugarcube,” he bowed deeply with an exaggerated flourish that was so entirely Chat-like, she could definitely tell that their mannerisms had rubbed off on each other.

“Hello again, Stinky Sock,” Tikki replied.

“Hey, Camembert is the most amazing fragrance known to man. It’s a shame you’re not enlightened enough to truly appreciate the beauty of fermented foods.”

Tikki rolled her eyes, but nevertheless scooted over to let him in.

Upon reaching the kitchen and making sure the coast was clear, Marinette ushered the pair out of her pocket. She pulled out a plate and made her way to the refrigerator with Plagg hovering nearby, watching her curiously.

Marinette had anticipated that he’d be hungry, so she'd gone shopping that morning after visiting Fu, specifically to stock up on cheese. Even still, she had grossly underestimated just how ravenous the kwami would be; her eyes widened as the pile on the plate grew higher and higher.

Once finished, Marinette set it down on the countertop, trying to avoid thinking too hard about how all that food would fit inside his small body.

“Uhh, do you also want some crackers, or some fruit, or…?” she trailed off, unsure of how else to be of service.

“Nothing more is needed when you already have perfection,” Plagg remarked before picking up a particularly pungent piece of cheese and taking a deep, long whiff.

Tikki’s tiny features scrunched in distaste as she put some more distance between herself and the odorous meal.

Marinette stood beside them, not quite sure what to do with herself or what to say. Maybe Plagg could answer some questions without revealing too much.

Deciding to give it a try, she asked, “So... Plagg. What can you tell me about Hawkmoth? You don’t have to go into any details. Just anything that you think would be helpful to know, so we can figure out a plan to defeat him?”

Plagg frowned, then followed up with an appalled grimace. “Seriously?! Right in front of my Camembert??” He harrumphed. “Let’s talk about that jackass some other time. Believe it or not, I lose my appetite anytime I think about him.”

“Fair enough,” Marinette relented. She puckered her lips, deep in thought as she took a seat on the barstool nearby. “Oh, I know! What kinds of hobbies does Chat have? Maybe I can get him some supplies or other stuff that he likes, so he can relax and feel more at home.”

“Hmm… Well, you already know he likes games, both videogames and tabletop,” Plagg replied in between bites. “He likes to read. The classics, fantasy, sci-fi, fanfiction, comic books...” Another bite. “He spends a ridiculous amount of time writing poetry and short stories. Also…” Chomp . “Sappy movies... Anime.” Gulp . “He’s not a great singer, but that doesn’t stop him from busting into song and dance numbers from his favorite musicals. He is a decent dancer though.” Another gulp, punctuated with a smirk. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

Marinette averted her gaze, a surge of tingles invading her entire body as she remembered that first night together. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet she remembered that evening full of dancing as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Plagg gobbled up the last bit on the plate, then wiped his paws on the napkin Marinette had provided. He followed up with a mighty stretch of his small limbs, sighing in contentment.

Marinette’s posture straightened upon seeing that he’d finished his meal. “We should head back to the bedroom. Chat will be looking for you soon.” She hopped off the barstool and the trio made their way back towards Chat’s bedroom.

Marinette grimaced as she placed her hand on the doorknob and let out a pathetic groan. “I better figure out what to say when I apologize for walking in on him.”

They entered the bedroom and she shut the door behind them. She raised her eyebrows, looking hopefully at Plagg. “Do you think he’ll be furious with me?”

Plagg shrugged off her concern. “Oh, puh- lease . I bet he’d actually be quite pleased that you got a good look at him half naked, if he knew who you really were.”

Marinette could only splutter incoherently, her arms waving around like noodles. “WHAT?! WH-WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??”

Plagg gave her a smug look and crossed his little arms . “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bugaboo , but my boy is majorly crushing on ya.”

“A-a crush…? On me? O-or rather, on Ladybug…?” Heat instantly rushed to her cheeks and all the way to the top of her ears. “I-I wasn’t sure, he hasn’t said anything about it, and, um…”

Plagg shrugged. “Kid’s pretty insecure. Way more than when he first became Chat Noir, thanks to that no-good father of his.” He sighed. “Simply put, he thinks you’re way out of his league and that you’d never go for a guy like him.”

Marinette sputtered, “Out of HIS league?? Have you SEEN him?!” She whipped her arm around, pointing it towards the bathroom door. “He’s more chiseled than a Greek statue! He could be a model!”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s the cat’s pajamas, I know,” Plagg scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, he’s still sorting out his feelings, and definitely too afraid to say anything out loud.” A teasing glint twinkled in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know what it’s like to be too shy to confess to someone, would you?” he inquired slyly.

Marinette felt the heat travel down her neck and towards her back, and she pursed her lips in shame, having nothing to retort with.

“Plagg!” Tikki rebuked, whizzing in front of him. “Whether Marinette can confess to her own crush is no concern of yours!”

“He’s right, though, Tikki,” Marinette admitted. “I guess it’s not always always totally obvious until you actually say it to them. I just… freeze every time I try to confess to Adri– t-to this guy. It’s like I haven’t progressed at all after all these years.”

“Don’t worry, little bug,” the cat kwami reassured her. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words. I’m sure this mystery man knows you care about him.” He rolled his eyes again and added, “Even if he’s too oblivious to realize it’s a romantic attraction.”

Before Marinette could reply, they heard the bathroom door crack open.

“Plagg...?” a familiar soft voice called through the small opening.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Marinette whispered. “It was great meeting you, Plagg.”

“Likewise. See ya!”

With that, Plagg zoomed towards the bathroom and phased through the door, and Marinette quietly snuck out.

Minutes later, a rather sheepish Chat Noir emerged from the bedroom. Their eyes met and he stiffened, his body gluing to the spot.

Marinette leaped out of the couch and rushed over to him, utterly mortified, body trembling, spewing out apology after apology without taking a breath in between, looking seconds away from bursting into tears from remorse.

Chat placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “It’s okay, Marinette, really! I guess I forgot to lock the door. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to traumatize you or anything.”

Marinette’s eyes blew wide open. “Traumatize me?? No way, you are SO FINE! – Umm!!” Her hands shot up, waving back and forth. “What I mean is, I’m fine!!” She composed herself and continued, “Anyway, I just feel really bad about intruding and violating your privacy. So, please, please, pleeeaaase, is there a way I make it up to you?”

Chat was just about to reassure her again, but paused. He gave her a timid smile. “Actually, there is one thing… Could you teach me how to do laundry?”

(Under Paris Skies - Pearl Django)

As he had only one set of clothes, Adrien resigned himself to the fact that it was time to do some shopping. He didn’t want to go by himself, however; it didn’t feel safe. He had no idea if Gabriel knew he was still alive. He might have dispatched people to search for Adrien and... “collect” him back to the mansion.

Plus, he disliked shopping and could use some company.

So here he was, standing outside of Chloe Bourgeois’ room at the Grand Paris Hotel.

He’d scarcely knocked once when the door swung open, a clearly miffed Chloe standing on the other side.

“You’re late!! Where have you been– Oh, Adrikins! It’s you!” Her face softened and gave him a brilliant smile, kissing his cheeks in greeting, then brought him into a tight hug. “Come in! It’s been ages!”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, he was quickly ushered into the room.

They sat on the elegant, pristine couches of her lounge room. Chloe crossed her legs and reclined into the cushions, placing her hands behind her head in her usual carefree way.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, my dearest Adrichou?”

Adrien took a breath and opened his mouth–

“Wait,” Chloe interrupted, holding her hand up, then sat up straight and leaned forward. She took a pause, looking him over. Analyzing. Scrutinizing. She scrunched her face in consternation, brows creasing in the middle. “I know that look,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide and he suppressed a wince. How were all these women able to read him so well these past few days?? He shrugged indifferently for her benefit, mentally preparing himself to attempt to convince her that everything was fine and she was just imagining things.

Before he could say anything though, Chloe interjected sharply, “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, Adrien Agreste. I’m your oldest friend; I’ll know. Tell me everything, or I’ll kick you out.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled. How is she doing this?!

Eyeing Chloe to make sure she didn’t have anything else to say, he began, “Father and I had a... disagreement.”

“I knew it!!” Chloe declared, throwing her hands up in the air.

He continued with a cringe, “And I... kinda sorta ran away from home.” He looked up at her timidly, hoping she wouldn’t yell at him for his recklessness.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” she asked instead, without missing a beat, her voice now serious and full of concern. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Just say the word and it’s done.”

Adrien smiled broadly. Despite all her faults, Chloe’s loyalty never faltered.

“I really appreciate that, Chlo. It means a lot.” He sighed, plopping backwards onto the couch. “I can’t though. Father knows this is the first place I’d go. But don’t worry, I’ve got… housing arrangements elsewhere. So I’ll be fine.”

She sat up straight, scooting towards the edge of the couch and leaning towards him expectantly. “Yeah?? Where at? It’s okay, I can keep a secret–” She stopped herself. “Err… wait. Actually, no. No, I can’t. So don’t tell me or I’ll accidentally blab everything to the first person who asks.”

Adrien chuckled. “Alright. Anyway, since I left in such a hurry, I didn’t bring any clothes with me. So I was wondering if–”

“OOOH, A SHOPPING TRIP!!” Chloe squealed, clapping and practically bouncing in her seat. “Yes, I’d love to join you!”

Adrien gave her a grateful grin. “You would? That would be awesome!”

“Oh one condition,” Chloe said, raising a finger for emphasis. “I get to pick out everything.”

“Wha–?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Everything??”

She casually examined her nails as she answered, "It’s for your own good. We can’t have you looking like a hobo. ‘Cause I KNOW all you're gonna pick is nerdy t-shirts, baggy hoodies, and ripped jeans. And that simply will not do."

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright. I agree to your terms.”

“Wonderful!” she replied, eyes twinkling with delight.

Just then, there was a knock. They both stiffened, glancing at the door, then back at each other with trepidation. Chloe wordlessly guided Adrien into the bedroom portion of her suite, making sure he remained concealed behind the adjacent wall.

She all but tiptoed towards the door, careful not to make the floors creak. Adrien held his breath as he cast a furtive peek from behind the wall, watching Chloe cautiously peer through the peephole. She sighed in relief, throwing the door open and placing her hands on her hips in indignation.

“You are LATE!” Chloe declared, then soundly smooched the person outside the door.

“My sincerest apologies. The appointment ran long,” the guest replied as she entered the room.

Adrien recognized that voice.

Chloe scoffed. “UGH, stop it with the politeness! You always sound like you’re about to make a business deal.”

Kagami gave Chloe an unamused stare. “As you wish... ma’am,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

Chloe waved dismissively with a tsk as she made her way to retrieve her hidden friend. “Anyway, suit up. We’re going shopping!”

“Shopping? What for?” Kagami asked.

“Adrien needs a new wardrobe and he cannot be trusted on his own.”

“Hey!” Adrien objected.

Kagami shook her head. “Oh, I agree, he is definitely going to need help. Otherwise he’ll end up dressing like a hooligan.”

“Exactly!” Chloe gestured wildly to show approval.

“Hey! Not you too, Kagami!” Adrien protested.

“Let’s face it, Adrien,” Kagami replied, folding her arms behind her. “Don’t get me wrong; I know you are perfectly aware of what fashionable clothes are supposed to look like. But your…” she wrinkled her nose, “...geek ‘impulses’–”

"FETISHES!" Chloe included.

“-are just too strong for you to resist. You need us.”

Before he had a chance to argue, Chloe called for them, already opening the door. “Well? Let’s go already!”

The trio exited Chloe’s limousine and made their way into the shopping center. They pointedly avoided the “Gabriel” shop and instead entered the Audrey Bourgeois Boutique.

The girls went straight to business, grabbing and piling clothes left and right, scouring through rows of garments and quickly creating matching ensembles with clearly practiced efficiency. Before long, they had a large pile of outfits waiting to be tried on and modeled on the fitting room platform.

“But Chlo, I don’t have my wallet on me,” Adrien whispered into Chloe’s ear. “How am I gonna pay for all this?”

Chloe scoffed. “Pfft, who needs a wallet?” She turned to the nearest store employee. “Hey, you. Add everything we pick out to the Gabriel Agreste tab, will you?”

“Yes, of course, Miss Bourgeois,” the employee replied politely.

Chloe turned back towards Adrien and gave him a wink, then sat down next to Kagami in front of the gigantic mirrors of the dressing area, sliding her hand into her girlfriend’s.

A couple of hours and countless outfit changes later, the three teens exited the boutique. Adrien carried more shopping bags than he could keep track off, all of them plastered with with Audrey's icon; and a part of him hoped that with this many bags from one of Gabriel's competitors, it would somehow get back to his father. Served him right.

Back at the hotel, the concierge assisted in bringing the haul into Chloe’s suite. Chloe whispered something to him as Kagami and Adrien made their way to the bedroom area to begin the task of unwrapping and organizing the new wardrobe. Minutes later, there was a knock on the door, which Chloe answered. A few moments later, she returned with a large yet unassuming black suitcase.

“Here you go, Adrikins,” she said, placing the suitcase on the bed. “You can store your clothes in here and take them back to whatever quaint little cottage you’re staying at.”

Adrien chuckled. “Thanks, Chlo. You’re the best!”

Chloe waved off his compliment. “Yes, well... We already knew that, didn’t we?” She hid a smile, busying herself with packing his clothes into the suitcase.

When they had finished and it was time for Adrien to go, he gave each of them a tight hug and thanked them again for all their help.

“Before you go...” Chloe reached into her back pocket, taking out a cell phone covered in glitter and faux diamonds, and handed it over to him. “Here, I had this old thing lying around. You'll need a SIM card, but the phone works fine.”

Adrien turned the phone in his hands, examining the exceedingly bejeweled exterior. “Wha-? Chloe, I can’t use this! I might go blind from all the sparkles.”

She scoffed. “Well, it’s not like you can be nitpicky at a time like this.”

“What’s the matter, Agreste? Too good for a bit of razzle dazzle?” Kagami heckled.

“You can make anything work, Adrikins. You’ll probably even start a hot new trend.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone.

“Remember to call if you need anything.” Chloe gave him a stern look and jabbed a finger into his chest. “ANYTHING, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he quipped with a salute, exiting the suite with his luggage.

“Ugh, you two will be the death of me,” Chloe groaned dramatically. “Now go, enjoy your last couple of days of freedom. I’ll see you at school.”

“Bye, girls!” He waved back at them. “I’ll let you know my new number as soon as I buy a new SIM card for the phone.”

With that, Adrien turned and walked down the hall towards the elevators.

Back at the door’s threshold, the pair watched him walk away in silence.

Kagami reached for Chloe’s hand and squeezed. “Do you think everything’s going to be alright? I worry about him. Mr. Agreste has not been himself for quite some time.”

Chloe squeezed back and sighed. “I dunno.” Then she added with a sneer, “Gabriel Agreste is a sad, old bastard whose soul died long ago along with Aunt Emilie. But, he’s connected and powerful. Who knows what he’ll do to try to get Adrien back under his thumb.”

Kagami let out a small, disapproving grunt. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Chloe lightly tugged her back into the room. “Oh, relax, you sound like a Star Wars character.”

“Star Wars? Now who’s the nerd?” Kagami teased.

Chloe sputtered. “Hush, you.”

( Life with Masks - Mystic Messenger OST)

After Chat dropped off the suitcase in his room at the bakery, Adrien embarked on his next mission: Going to the bank and withdrawing enough money to purchase everything else on his list, which included a new SIM card for Chloe’s old (and extremely bedazzled) phone, and a laptop for school.

He made his way to the bank, wearing the hood up on his zip-up hoodie, and pulling it down over his eyes whenever he saw any suspicious looking men in suits.

At the bank, Adrien filled out all the necessary forms, grateful that he’d taken the time to memorize his savings account number years back, when they’d first opened it.

However, today he encountered a different problem.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the bank teller said. “Like I said, I’m afraid that all your assets and accounts have been frozen. You can only withdraw money if your father accompanies you, or if he unlocks them himself.”

Adrien sighed dejectedly. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” she replied. “You would have to speak to your father to have him undo the restrictions. We can’t do anything until then... or until you turn eighteen years old. At that time, you can regain access without needing his permission, since you would officially be an adult.”

Adrien pursed his lips into a thin line. His birthday was still a month away.

All his savings, all the hard-earned money from his modeling work... Gabriel was keeping it all hostage, hoping Adrien would come crawling back to him, like some pitiful prodigal son.

Well, two could play that game. He filled out all the necessary paperwork to reclaim what was his, so everything would be all set up when his birthday came around. He also made sure that Gabriel would be permanently locked out of his accounts at that time.

He thanked the teller and left the bank, feeling morose and surly. He couldn’t even afford to get his used phone working, and was therefore cut off from all communication; save for whatever computers were available at an internet cafe or library. What else could he do?

Maybe Nathalie could help him figure out if there was anything else he could do legally. If he could even get ahold of her. He’d been worried about her while he was recovering at the Dupain-Chengs’; now was his chance to try to contact her.

Adrien walked to the nearest library and convinced the starstruck librarian to let him use their telephone.

The phone rang… and rang… and rang…

So he tried again. And again. And again.

But the same monotone voice repeated the same discouraging phrase:

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

The boy frowned. Was Nathalie alright? He’d left her all alone with his father. He wouldn’t do anything to her, would he?

Mind whirling and chest tight, he sped to the computers to create a new email account (not risking logging into his usual one), and sent her a simple, nondescript message:

“u ok?”

He couldn’t help but remain glued to the computer, clicking and clicking to refresh the page, hoping for something, anything in response. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. Fiddled with his shoelaces. Opened a new browser tab to distract himself by reading the news, only to switch back every 30 seconds. Minutes ticked by. But still, nothing.

Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t stay in the library forever.

This wasn’t bad news, right? No news oftentimes meant good news. Receiving a reply in such a short amount of time was rather unlikely... Even though Nathalie always replied within five minutes, because she never turned off her email notifications… Ever. But her not replying this time surely didn’t mean anything, right?

Right… It’s fine, everything’s fine. Nathalie’s fine.

She has to be.

Adrien trudged aimlessly down a nondescript sidewalk, lost in thought, his attention eventually drifting back to his livelihood. Could he make do without a single cent for an entire month? Probably not… He’d have to find a job.

But who would hire celebrity Adrien Agreste to work in retail or flip burgers? They’d either laugh at him, or think he was pulling some elaborate prank on a hidden camera show. How would he even begin to explain that he’d left his home and was on the run from his very own father?

Adrien had seemingly no reason why he would choose to run away. He was a privileged young man who had everything: a famous and well-respected family, wealth, good genetics, people at his beck and call… the list went on. To the outside world, Gabriel was a devoted husband and father; a bit of a hermit after his wife’s “disappearance”, but not unusual for someone who was mourning a loved one.

Chloe hadn’t asked him why he’d left, but other people would. Obviously, the truth was out of the question. So, what was there to say instead? That he was just a spoiled rich kid having a rebellious phase?

It was a mess and there didn’t seem to be a way out; he was cornered. He knew it, and he knew that Gabriel knew it.

His only ace in the hole was that Gabriel didn’t know Adrien actually had a place to stay, thanks to the Dupain-Chengs. But he couldn’t rely on them forever. And, as he was quite literally penniless at the moment, his options were severely limited.

He was broke, with a famous identity and an infamous alter-ego, and near impossible to contact since he didn’t have a functioning phone. Things were looking bleak. If only he could–

“AAAACK!!!”

Adrien turned the corner on the sidewalk when a blur of pink and black slammed against him hard. Both bodies clattered to the ground, along with a myriad of bags and boxes the other person was carrying.

Adrien raised his head sluggishly with a small grunt, then opened his eyes to find–

“Marinette??” he said, eyes widening in surprise.

The girl groaned as she lifted her head, slowly pushing herself off of him. One of her eyes cracked open, then both popped wide open in recognition.

“A-ADRIEN!!” she squeaked, her face turning ruby red in an instant. “Gosh, I am so sorry!!” she yelped, practically leaping off of him. “Are you okay?!”

She offered her hand and he took it. “I’m alright, no worries,” he replied, adjusting his glasses, which had shifted on his face when he fell.

He knelt down to help her pick up the items that had spilled out of their containers. “So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh! I- uh,” she stammered. “I was just getting some things for a friend!”

Adrien took note of some of the books, games, and movie titles as he put them back in their boxes. “Your friend has good taste.”

She squawked out a weird laugh and mumbled in agreement.

As they rose from the pavement, something caught Marinette’s eye. “Oh!” she exclaimed, bending over to pick it up. “Here, you dropped this.” She opened her palm to reveal several Euro bills and coins, and a ticket stub.

He stared at the contents of her hand. “Are you sure these are mine?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, there’s about… maybe a hundred euros or so, and a ticket stub for that new movie, ‘Les Deux Sots’. ” A flash of recognition flickered across her features, and her cheeks flushed. She continued haltingly, “D-do you remember wearing this particular hoodie to the movie theater recently?”

Adrien contained a gasp and mindlessly ran his hands over the fabric, realizing that this was the same hoodie he wore on his date with Ladybug. He hadn’t worn it since then. Not until three days ago: the day of the last akuma attack, and his subsequent fight with Hawkmoth.

“Oh,” he replied quietly, accepting the items. “Thank you, Mari,” he uttered, almost in awe.

She smiled widely at him. “No, thank you for helping me pick up all this stuff I dropped! Sorry again for knocking you over,” she said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it, it was my pleasure. So, where are you going with all this?”

“Uh… Home, actually,” she replied. “My friend is gonna... pick them up later today.” She stepped forward to take the boxes and bags from his arms.

“Can I help you carry it back? It’s a lot of stuff; and you could barely see over the top of it,” he offered.

Marinette fidgeted with her hands, stammering, “O-oh, I mean, I-I wouldn’t want to impose, that is– I’m sure you’re very busy and have important things to do, I don’t want to bother you, and it is a lot of stuff, plus it’s pretty heavy, and–”

“Really, it’s no trouble at all; I’m not busy right now. And I’d love the company.” He added, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh!! A-are you sure?? Wow, you’re amazing! I-I mean, th-that would be amazing! Thank you!” she said, practically vibrating with elation.

“I’m happy to do it!” Adrien replied as they began the trek to the bakery. “I’m really glad we bumped into each other,” he replied with a wink.

Marinette’s head swiveled towards him, looking like she’d swallowed a golf ball, then exploded into a loud giggle-snort, which made him snicker in turn.

The pair walked together, enjoying some friendly, light-hearted conversation, with Marinette becoming more and more comfortable as they went. He was always thankful anytime she was able to relax around him and just be herself.

He dropped her off and they parted with a tight hug, which caused Marinette to let out a flustered squeak. While she wasn’t aware of it, thanks to her discovery, he’d be able to buy himself that prepaid SIM card for Chloe’s old phone and become reachable again. And the first thing he would do with that phone would be to send Marinette a text message, thanking her for everything she continually did for him and their friends, and for always being such a sweet person.

(Somewhere Only We Know- Keane (Max Schneider, Elizabeth Gillies, and Kurt Schneider cover)

Evening came and the city of Paris buzzed with activity, as it was the last weekend of summer vacation. Ladybug breathed in the crisp night air, hopping from roof to roof to rendezvous with her partner. A few blocks away from the Louvre, the quiet, unassuming edifice of the Saint Germain l'Auxerrois stood tall and stoic, as it always did; its stately gothic arches and ancient pillars contrasting with the chaotic energy and noise of its modern surroundings.

Ladybug spotted the distant figure of Chat Noir at the balcony of the church’s bell tower, where they’d agreed to meet. He leaned on the railing, looking content as he observed the scenery.

She nimbly landed beside him and chirped, “Hey, you!”

He turned around, his countenance brightening instantly. “My Lady! It’s so great to see your lovely face again.”

Ladybug’s insides fluttered upon hearing him use her usual nickname, the feeling becoming increasingly familiar the more time she spent with him, both in and out of the costume.

“Um, I brought some snacks from a little shop down the street,” she said, lifting up a small bag to demonstrate.

“Yum! That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Chat reached into his belt pocket, bringing out a small, rectangular box. “And I brought some playing cards!”

“Cool! I love card games! Where’d you get them?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Chat rubbed the back of his neck and smiled wide, his cheeks becoming rosy; a look that was simply adorable on him. “Marinette gave them to me, actually. She got me some boxes full of really amazing stuff she thought I’d like. And I swear, she’s gotta have magical powers or something, ‘cause they were all totally spot on.” He rubbed his arm absently. “She’s so nice... I can’t believe she went out of her way just to help me feel more at home.”

Ladybug’s cheeks grew warm, feeling almost guilty for hearing him talk about her secret identity in such a favorable way without him knowing. Unsure of how to reply, she wordlessly offered the bag so he could pick out a snack.

“So, how did the cashier react to seeing Ladybug walking into their shop?” he asked, reaching inside. “Was he surprised?”

She chuckled. “I didn’t buy them as Ladybug, silly. I got them as myself. My civilian self, that is.”

“Oh! O-of course,” he replied with an embarrassed smile. “It’s easy to forget you’re not always Ladybug. Th-that is– obviously you’re always Ladybug, b-but not necessarily walking around as Ladybug, it’s just… y-you– uhh…”

She giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. We don’t know what the other looks like, so it’s hard to mentally picture anything else.” She placed a finger on her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “I bet that in real life, you’re actually a pirate with a peg leg. A daring, swashbuckling outlaw with a hook for a hand and a secret cave full of gold,” she said jokingly. “Oh! But you like music, right? So, maybe you’re actually a professional violinist. World renowned! Or, since you’re pretty athletic, I bet you’re secretly a circus acrobat! Are you in Cirque du Soleil, by any chance?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” he deadpanned. Then he leaned forward, quirking a flirtatious smile and waggling his eyebrows, and replied, “Obviously, I’m the quick-witted and dashing Han Solo type. Breaking hearts and taking names. People stop in the streets, jaws dropping, and they gape as I walk by, admiring my charms.”

“PFFT!” Ladybug snickered at his clowning and replied, lilting, “Oh, I’m sure. I can see it now.” Her voice went into a falsetto and she swooned, clasping her hands together, “Oh, Monsieur Solo Noir, you are such a handsome rogue! Won’t you whisk me away in your Catmobile into the sunset?”

He gave a small, amused hum. “So... you think I’m handsome, huh?” he asked, turning his body towards her, and straightened up his spine, placing a hand on his hip and cocking it with a smug grin.

Heat exploded throughout the girl’s body, all the blood rushing to her face. Plagg’s words about Chat’s crush suddenly popped to the forefront of her mind, and her thoughts became a jumble.

She stammered, “W-well, I mean, obviously you must already be aware th-that you’re conventionally attractive, b-but I-I, that is, it’s not like I just sit and ogle you like some kind of perv or something, but you’re definitely— y-you’re very– uhhh...” She continued babbling, hands flapping like flags.

Chat couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so adorable when you get all flustered, Buginette. And I really mean that in the best way.”

Ladybug pursed her lips together into a thin line. AUGH, this… this GUY!!! Why did she have to act so foolish around the two blond boys that she’d hung out with today?! She never knew she had a type. But that must be it, right?? That she apparently had a thing for tall, green-eyed blondes? Was that what was going on, or was she actually crushing on Chat Noir while already in love with Adrien? Was that even possible?? Was she simply projecting her desire to be loved onto Chat because she knew he had a crush on her, whereas Adrien did not? That would be unfair to him; he didn’t deserve to be some rebound love. She needed to figure out whether her feelings were genuine, or if she was just being shallow and largely motivated by hormones.

UGH!! Why was everything so incredibly confusing?! Not that it mattered. By this point, they both probably thought she was a giant clod, what with her tendency to constantly make an utter fool of herself.

Thankfully, Chat took pity on her and changed the subject back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And actually, you were partly right. I am into music. Although I play piano, not violin.” He turned back towards the scenery, leaning on the balcony railing, and asked, “So, how about you? What are you like?”

Settling down from her utter failure at being suave, she replied, sighing, “Well… it’s hard to say. I’m a bit of a hot mess, actually.”

“Pfft, you?? No way! You always seem so on top of everything,” he replied, incredulous. “Although... I definitely believe the ‘hot’ part,” he teased with a wink.

Stifling a squeak, Ladybug’s insides seemed to seize up, and she fought the urge to jump off the belltower to prevent him from noticing her surely crimson-colored face. Attempting to sound aloof, she replied, “You flirt. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Would it upset you if I did?” he asked, voice inscrutable.

Her eyes popped open and she whipped her head around, the heat in her body inexplicably replaced with an uncomfortable chill down her spine. Was she... jealous?! She didn’t have any right to be. She had no claims on him. But knowing that didn’t make the thought of Chat lauding praise and paying special attention to someone else any less unpleasant, and she couldn’t help but feel mad at herself for feeling as such.

“Uh… I’m–” her gaze darted away nervously, trying to figure out what to say without embarrassing herself.

He scooted closer to her, shoulders almost touching, and leaned back on the balcony. He playfully bumped his hip against hers. “No need to be jealous, Bugaboo. Believe it or not, I’m actually kinda shy in real life, and pretty socially awkward; almost painfully so. Any attempts at flirting are clumsy at best, if I ever even bother to try.”

“I-I wasn’t jealous!” she huffed.

Veeerrrrry convincing, Marinette, she thought to herself.

“B-but anyway, I never knew that you were actually shy,” she continued. “You always seemed so confident.” It seemed there was a lot more to discover about her new partner; things she never would have guessed based on his demeanor, back when they were enemies.

Chat shifted the topic away from himself and began shuffling the cards as he sat on the floor. “So, before I interrupted you with my lame attempt at flirting, you were gonna talk about yourself. What do you do when you’re not Ladybug-ing and saving Paris from corrupted butterflies?”

Ladybug giggled and joined him on the floor as he dealt the cards. “Well, I enjoy making crafts, especially designing and making clothes. I’m great at baking. I love scrapbooking and journals. My favorite subject in school is art...”

A few hours, several games, and countless laughs later, the pair reluctantly agreed that it was time to part ways.

“Thanks for meeting up with me tonight, Ladybug,” Chat said, voice a bit quiet. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time, so it really means a lot,” he added, timidly rubbing the back of his neck.

Ladybug’s stomach did a tiny flip. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy that he’d enjoyed himself because of her, or if she was sad because he’d hardly ever been allowed to have fun.

She shifted her weight, twiddling her fingers and replied, “I had a lot of fun too, Chat. I’m really glad we did this. We should turn it into a regular thing.”

He replied, voice husky, “I’d love that.” A shade of pink spread across his face, and he cleared his throat. He abruptly straightened up and sauntered towards her, wearing a smirk. “Soooo… can I walk you home?” he asked playfully. “I do want to be a gentleman for My Lady, after all.”

Ladybug snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder. “Nice try, Chaton. But a Lady’s gotta have her secrets.”

Before he could reply, Ladybug’s communicator beeped urgently with a notification, which could only mean one thing:

An akuma attack.

Ladybug sighed, stretching her arms over her head. “Welp… looks like our time together just got an extension.” She winked at Chat and asked, “Ready to go kick some akuma butt?”

He smiled, his hand reaching for hers and giving it a tight squeeze. “With pleasure.”

[alexannah]

MLB Crack: The Story of Gabenath

This was originally titled “One Theory on How Gabenath Will Happen”, and intended to just be a collection of quotes from the relevant episodes followed by the ending section. But I got a bit carried away … especially on certain episodes … and now it’s this. Enjoy me lovingly making fun of my two precious idiot villains.

~*~

***HEROES’ DAY***

Hawk Moth: *for once doesn’t look excited as he akumatizes his assistant, despite it being the beginning of his first big plan he’s so confident in*

Hawk Moth: *gives Catalyst an outfit that is completely accidentally complimentary to The Collector’s*

Hawk Moth: Oh, no, I can’t believe I’m cornered!

Mayura: I’m going to give you a giant butterfly to literally blow away your enemies.

Hawk Moth: No! Don’t do that! I don’t want a giant butterfly!

Mayura: Seriously? Who wouldn’t want a giant butterfly? Also, you’re getting one. Accept it. It’s that or prison.

Hawk Moth: Okay, fine. As it’s just the once and if I go to prison I won’t be able to get my wife back.

Hawk Moth: *escapes*

Nathalie: I was willing to risk not just my health but being identified as an accomplice if you’re ever unmasked to keep you from being defeated, but I am most definitely not in love with you.

Gabriel: My assistant/just-a-friend, thank you for helping me escape so I can continue my plan to bring back my wife.

***REFLEKDOLL***

Nathalie: Let me risk my life and prison again to help you. Still not in love with you, by the way.

Gabriel: Okay, that’s fair. But as long as I get to cradle you in my arms in a concerned but completely platonic way afterwards.

Nathalie: Ooh, yeah.

Duusu: *is the cutest thing ever*

***FEAST***

Nathalie: *drops Gabriel*

Gabriel: Ouch! Oh, wait, that was just a tablet. Never mind. I guess I just like being held by Nathalie so much that it felt like it hurt.

Adrien: Nathalie, are you okay? Are you sure? Maybe we should go home. Yes, I’m acting like the parent now even though you’re basically my mom.

Gabriel: She’s fine. Well, not really, she could end up in a coma and unrevivable short of a wish to change reality, but obviously I’m not going to tell you that because that opens a whole can of worms that I’m not going to try and address for another few episodes. Ask me again when we get to Félix.

Nathalie: I’m fine, Adrien. I don’t care what happens to me because I want you, and your idiot dad with whom I am definitely not in love, to be happy. And I’m telling you I’m fine now because I don’t want you to worry about me. Also I’m touched that you’re concerned because although I’ve basically raised you throughout most of your life, I’m still lingering under the delusion that I’m only an employee and don’t have a real place in this family.

Adrien: *leaves but worries about his mom anyway*

Nathalie: *excited at the thought of a new plan to get the Miraculouses*

Nathalie: *or maybe she just enjoys criminal activity*

Gabriel: I am definitely not looking at you in a loving way. Nope. Just admiring your dedication. Which is completely within the norms of what an assistant will do for her boss.

Nathalie: Can I break into the museum now?

Gabriel: Maybe later when you’ve had a break. And I have the excuse of watching you sleep because you’re adorable but, you know, I’m just doing it because I need to make sure you’re okay.

***STORMY WEATHER***

Gabriel: I’m doing all of this so Adrien can be happy again!

Nooroo: Er, Adrien is happy. And I thought you were doing this because you wanted your wife back?

Gabriel: … Yeah, that too.

Nooroo: So, you haven’t fallen in love with Nathalie then.

Gabriel: Don’t be ridiculous.

Nooroo: I’m not the one in denial.

Gabriel: Shut up. You’re not right.

Hawk Moth: Is Nooroo right? *thinks about all the times he’s inadvertently put Adrien in danger*

Hawk Moth: I’ll just be a bit more careful. After all, I’m basically doing this for Adrien now. So he can have his mother back. Because I can’t understand that Adrien has moved on with his life and Nathalie is a better mom to him than Emilie ever was. Also obviously I want my wife back because she’s my wife and I’m still in love with her and definitely not with anyone else.

Hawk Moth: I have to succeed, at any price.

Hawk Moth: Which is clearly a stupid thing to say that I don’t really mean, because I am definitely not willing to sacrifice my son or my assistant-with-whom-I-am-definitely-not-in-love.

Hawk Moth: So, I’m going to make a volcano that will push the whole planet out of orbit and freeze us all to death now.

Hawk Moth: Nathalie, fetch some blankets and hot water bottles. It might get a bit chilly if Stormy Weather doesn’t get Ladybug and Cat Noir’s Miraculouses in time to stop the world plunging into a new ice age.

***LADYBUG***

Nathalie: I want to be the one to give Gabriel what he believes will be his happy ending!

Duusu: *cries* It’s so romantic!

Nathalie: I’m not going to correct you on that.

Duusu: I’m the Kwami of emotion. It would be pointless to try.

Duusu: Would it be pointless to try and tell you that Mr Gabriel is falling in love with you?

Nathalie: Yes, because I’m in my own form of denial.

Duusu: Fine. I guess if you keep risking your life long enough, maybe he’ll realise how he feels about you.

Duusu: Eventually …

Hawk Moth: Release her! Emphasis on ‘her’ not just because Ladybug just said “Release him” in reference to Cat Noir, but because I’m extra-concerned for my ailing assistant/accomplice who went behind my back because she’s stubbornly insistent on risking her life to help me!

Mayura: Don’t mind me. Hawk Moth winning is more important than my life. Although I probably should be concerned because if Ladybug unmasks me, it won’t take a genius to work out who Hawk Moth is.

Hawk Moth: I will willingly give up my opportune moment to get Ladybug and Cat Noir’s Miraculouses to protect you! I’m not even thinking about my identity being exposed.

Hawk Moth: But we’re definitely not a couple.

Ladybug and Cat Noir: *sensing Hawkyura*

Gabriel: Don’t do that again. You’re more important to me than bringing my wife back.

Duusu and Nooroo: *sensing Gabenath*

Nathalie: *completely misses the meaning of his words*

Nathalie: I will keep risking my life to help you if you give me permission to.

Duusu and Nooroo: *facepalm*

***FELIX***

Nathalie: *watches Adrien remember Emilie, feeling so sorry for him, labouring under the delusion that he hasn’t moved on either*

Nathalie: You should tell him. Before he gets some crazy ideas about us in his head.

Adrien: Too late.

Adrien: Gabenath.

Gabriel: How dare you!

Amelie: Hello, brother-in-law. Happy anniversary of the day your wife mysteriously vanished. Can I have your wedding rings? I’m assuming she left hers behind when she skipped town because, unlike you, I don’t put her on a literal pedestal and I know she was a selfish bitch like me so I assume she just left you and the son she doesn’t deserve.

Gabriel: I’m too proper to tell you to shove off. And no, you cannot have them.

Félix: Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll steal them for you.

Félix: Right after I’ve had some fun pissing off Adrien’s friends for no reason, because I’m a brat that way.

Lila: *does the only good thing she has ever done in her entire life (that she wasn’t persuaded to do by Adrien) by sending a copy of the video to Nathalie*

Nathalie: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Gabriel: Yes. A perfect opportunity to boot my bitch sister-in-law out of the house. One of the perks of being a supervillain is so much potential for being vindictively petty, and they won’t even know I’m the one behind it. Mwahaha.

Hawk Moth: *sends out an akuma which gives Lady Wifi digital teleportation powers*

Hawk Moth: Hang on a second. Nathalie, why didn’t you remind me that Adrien is in the same room as Félix and therefore in the line of fire when the villains come after him?

Nathalie: Oops! I’ll see to it now.

Lady Wifi: Too late, we’re here! Hang on, two Adriens?

Nathalie: *displays impressive combat skills*

Hawk Moth: *trying to focus on his mission and not get distracted by how awesome she is*

Félix: Hey, Hawk Moth! I’m about to prove not just what a sneaky little creep I am, but also demonstrate that I’m willing to make a deal with a supervillain just to get yours and my aunt’s wedding rings. Not that I know it’s you I’m talking to, obviously.

Hawk Moth: Yeah, okay. I’m definitely not going to help you get MY rings, but I’m willing to promise anything in order to get what I want.

Gabriel: *shakes hands with Félix even though he knows Félix wants his ring*

Gabriel: Oops. Shouldn’t have done that.

Amelie: Ah, my little criminal in the making! I’m so proud of you for doing something so cruel to your grieving uncle.

Nathalie: So, what did Adrien say earlier?

Gabriel: Er … nothing I currently accept as reality.

Nathalie: …?

***BATTLE OF THE MIRACULOUS***

Whole Episode: Hawkyura Hawkyura Hawkyura

Gabriel: Nooo, Nathalie!

Nathalie: It’s okay. Now we can fix the peacock Miraculous so Mayura can be a full-time partner.

Nathalie: And give the Parisians even more reason to think Hawkyura.

Gabriel: Stupid Parisians.

***SEASON FOUR***

Adrien: Gabenath.

Gabriel: Never!

***SEASON FIVE***

Adrien: Gabenath.

Gabriel: Stop doing that! She’s just a friend!

***SEASONS SIX TO ONE HUNDRED AND SIX***

Adrien and the majority of the rest of the cast: Gabenath

Gabriel: JUST! A! FRIEND!

Parisians: Hawkyura

Hawk Moth: JUST! A! FRIEND!

Adrien: Huh, that’s exactly what Father says about Nathalie …

***SEASON ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN***

André Glacier: *spends five minutes alone with Gabriel*

Gabriel: Okay, Gabenath.

[hiiggsmonaghan]

Cannot believe I’m going to talk about this here of all places but here we go.

(Abuse tw, alcoholism tw, domestic violence tw, & suicide tw + Actual Death Stranding spoilers)

So, going through the Higgs tag is super rough for me lately. The more and more people who get obsessed with him brings more Higgs x Reader fics. Which are super weird for me since yes, I am kin. But whatever, I’m used to that shit. What I am NOT used to and HATE is the ROMANTICIZED VERSIONS of his abused childhood and how it is brought over to his adulthood. “Oh I bet he has kinky sex” .. “I bet he likes being choked” ... For fuck sakes. What is wrong with people. I don’t like sharing my past trauma but it’s scary how similar it is to Higgs’ childhood so I’m going to just... explain why the fuck this disgusts me to the core as a domestic abuse survivor.

When I was a kid, my father abused me mentally and physically until the literal day I could escape at 20 years old and then a year later he took his own life, which in his suicide letter he wrote that he loved me. Which still fucking haunts me to this day. When he was alive and I still lived with him, it was literal hell. It was hard to leave this place and sometimes I’d sneak out my bedroom window just to stand outside for awhile but then immediately go back in from the fear he’d catch me. Some days he would throw stuff at me. Maybe couch pillows, maybe beer and Jack Daniels bottles, who knew? Other days if I was close to him during a rage fit, I was choked to almost death, but he’d stop. I never attacked back. Never. Because I was living in constant fear and felt that maybe this is just how he shows that he loves me. To toughen me up. Because that is what dads do right? The worse rage episode I remember is he broke a hard liquor bottle against the table and threatened to cut me with it. I was only a goddamn kid.

Now let’s flip to Higgs’ journals about his childhood.

His uncle [or stepfather] did almost the same damn thing. In the journals he mentioned how he was trapped in the bunker. He couldn’t go outside (Yes I know the reasoning is VERY different obviously but just the feeling of being trapped is what I am going for here). He was constantly abused by that man behind closed doors. Just him and that man. Same as just my father and I.

The journal that hit the most was when his uncle actually got a hold of him. That shit is scary, you have no idea unless you experience it first hand. Yes, Higgs did end up killing him from defense. There were times I thought about doing it too. But I never did because obviously in reality you can get arrested. 

But here’s the kicker: 

“Ohhhh he killed a person ooh that is soooo bad! He is evil now!”

... Do you realize how scary it is being choked by someone who you thought loved you and tried to protect you? Do you know first hand. No? Then please for the love of god, shut your mouth.

Now back to my side of things: 

I wanted to die so, so many times because of this constant abuse and fear. But I never did it. There are days when my PTSD acts up and I can just hear the yelling of my father and it brings me back to the days where I lived with him. The fear and desperation comes back all at once. And I cannot even explain in words how hard it is to live like this. But in reality we have a thing called therapy. Which I’ll admit, I go to. It shouldn’t be a stigma to say that I go to it since it does help.

But you know who doesn’t have that luxury? 

Higgs.

I bet he has days where he thinks back to those days and has no one to really turn to or speak to. So it’s a constant hell. Maybe he had Fragile back before the whole Amelie shit, but either that that? I imagine no one is there to talk to about this. 

Abuse can really fuck someone up in many different ways. 

Which is why Higgs ended up the way he did after Amelie. 

And that gunshot at the ending on the beach... that gunshot then Fragile later saying she couldn’t shoot him... 

That made my heart drop because if he did kill himself at the beach, it’s because he believed there was no reason to keep going. And that made me physically sick because I’ve been there. (Not having powers to bring the dead back and shit but just feeling so goddamn hopeless.)

After years of that trauma? It fucks you up. It isn’t fun. It isn’t something that can be romanticized. 

Sorry for this long rant thing. If you actually read through this all I’m amazed and really respect you. 

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Red Rose - Chapter 12

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 CH. 12 Ch. 13  Ch. 14 Ch. 15  Ch. 16

Summary: The Court arrives at Applewood, the Royals’ summer retreat, for Presentation holiday. With the King to retire, the gambles at princely love game are raised and Madeleine show her fangs. Five years earlier, Charlotte comes to Cordonia for the first time, and faces some unwanted attentions.

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: How do you do, esteemed readers? Are you ready for some drama? Great! Now, before anything else, I’d like to reiterate my invitation for your contribution to Red Rose Soundtrack, my askbox is still open! Not that it will ever be closed, but it is open.

I am also tagging @boneandfur, as so requested. I am considering opening a taglist next chapter, so if you’re interested, just leave a shout somewhere and I’ll add you. Bonus points if you say “KBBL is going to give me something stupid!”.

Without further ado, enjoy!

Le Berceuse, Avlona, Cordonia, Fall 2015

“I did not suppose I’d be meeting you here.” A woman’s voice came from behind, sending chills through his spine.

“Neither I, you.” He answered, keeping his cool. “What are you doing here, Charlotte?”

“The same as you, I suppose, Bertrand.” She said, sitting next to him. “Trying to exorcize some phantoms of my past.”

He laughed melancholically. “The doorstep of an abandoned house seems as good as a place as any other.”

“We both spent good days in here, you must admit.” She sighed. “I’m sorry for your father. And for your money problems.”

He gaped. “How on Earth did you know we were broke?”

She laughed. “We’re the Rosenbergs, we know everything.”

“I suppose that is why my father used to say whenever those blasted Austrians set foot in Cordonia, disaster strikes.” He grimaced. “Thank you for your sympathy, though. I really appreciate it.”

“A shame he felt so strongly against me, though. I was rather fond of Old Man Bart.” They laughed of the absurdity. “We used to be good friends, didn’t we?”

“I remember I enjoyed your company the best.” He recalled, with a fond smile on his face. “In fact, most people did.”

She snorted. “I don’t really know why, I’m a dubious snake. Though, I really liked you, too.”

“We’re all pretending out here.” Bertrand said, his mind going a mile a minute. Suddenly, he returns into himself, yet somewhat humorously. “My father told me once I should have married you. Can you imagine us, married?”

“Hey!” She shoved him, playfully. “I have you know I am a great wife! Not that you ever noticed, all your affection is dedicated to Little Miss Cinderella.”

Bertrand looked pointedly at Charlotte. “It’s Savannah.”

She laughed. “Are you past the point of denying it?”

“Would you believe me?”

“Of course, I would not.”

“Then what is the point?” He grumbled. “What is even your problem with her?”

“With Savannah? None.” She said, offhandedly.

“I gather you have a bone to pick with her brother, then.” He waited for his sentence to drop, and then continued. “About that girl who used to hang around you.”

“Yes, Linda Rosa.” She said, with fire on her eyes. “Drake has done an unspeakable crime against her, one that I don’t find in myself to forgive.”

“Where is she?” Bertrand asked, grave.

“To whomever asks me that, I say I do not know.” She shrugged.

“But you’re going to tell me the truth?”

“No.” Charlotte answered simply. “But I’m going to tell you that she hangs closer than any of us may think.”

“Does she desire retribution?” The weary man asks.

“I don’t think so. At least not that she knows of.” The blonde woman answered, confusingly.

“I hope she does.” Bertrand says, nihilist. “I am tired, Charlotte, I want an out.”

“There’s no way out for us, Bertrand.” She said, sadly. “I cannot leave my crappy marriage for the exact same reason why you cannot just let the Beaumont name plunder. For some absurd motive or another, we care about those aristocratic values we despise.”

“You could help me, though.” Bertrand said. “You could find Savannah, you could bring her back.”

She pulled her lips together. “I probably could, but I won’t. I may desire no ill to the girl, but she’s of much more benefit to me, and to herself, if she continues lost. I will help you, though.”

“How?” He asked, in mild frustration.

“I’ll make a Queen out of that girl of yours.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Fall 2015

“Bertrand, please, we’ve arrived very late last night, couldn’t you let Riley sleep for a little longer?” Maxwell’s voice resounded from the other side of Riley’s door.

It wasn’t that early, a little before 9 AM, but it was definitively earlier than when Maxwell used to knock on her door. And it was also true that they got in late, as Bertrand took the car and did not come back to pick them up. Consequently, Riley and Maxwell had to call a cab, and it took a while to find a driver who was willing to go all the way to Orikum, not to mention for them to actually get there from Avlona.

“Nonsense!” Bertrand bellowed. “She’s not in vacation! She wakes up when I tell her to!”

She rolled her eyes. Duke Ramsford was always so affable in his speech. Riley then marched to her door.

“Good morning, Bertrand.” She answered, fully dressed. “I see you had a good night’s sleep. Why don’t you come in? I was just getting ready for breakfast.”

Bertrand sneered, and the three people, the Beaumonts and a woman, entered and sat on Riley’s tea table.

Sitting on her made bed, Riley continued: “We missed you at yesterday’s festivities, Bertrand.”

“I’m sure my absence was absolutely heart-wrenching for you.” He grumbled.

“I certainly could have used a ride home. Aren’t you sad you missed out?” She asked, with a daring smile.

“Roasting in the sun while little boats go by is hardly what I’d consider stimulating.” He dismissed. “In fact, I wouldn’t have gone at all if I thought Maxwell could handle it on his own.”

“I can handle it…” Maxwell defended, overcast.

Bertrand barked at him. “Between forgetting to teach her the Cordonian Waltz and not warning her that she’d need swim attire, I’m starting to wonder if I can trust you with the most menial of tasks.”

Maxwell gaped. “How did you know about the swimsuit thing?”

“I have my ways!” Bertrand screamed. “And I’ll be keeping a closer look on Riley. So, clear your calendars, we need to prepare for the next event.”

Said girl rolled her eyes. “What event is that, since we’re on the subject.”

“Now, Lady Riley, we’ll be preparing you for the Feast of the Presentation.” The older man smirked wolfishly.

The Feast of the Presentation is an Orthodox religious holiday. The story relates that in thanksgiving for the birth of their daughter, Mary, Joachim and Anne decide to consecrate her to God, and bring her, at the age of three years, to the temple in Jerusalem. Mary remained in the Temple until her twelfth year, at which point she was assigned to Joseph as guardian.

Due to its date, December 4th, the Cordonians also celebrate it as the end of apple harvest season and the beginning of holiday season. Most churches throughout the country serve apple-based delicacies and promote fairs in celebration of the date.

Riley tried to focus on what Bertrand was saying. “Which reminds me, Lady Charlotte, may I present you Riley Flowers, she’s our contender this season. Riley, this is Charlotte Amelie Torelli, Duchess of Guastalla.”

Riley curtsies deeply. “Pleased to meet you, Your Grace.”

“The pleasure is all mine, miss Flowers.” The blonde responded, with a smug smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Lady Charlotte, Maxwell.” Bertrand said and left.

“Very well!” Charlotte clapped. “Let’s start checking what you already know. Maxwell, would you be a lamb and bring me a cutlery set from the kitchens? It’ll give me more time to get to know Lady Riley.”

Maxwell beamed. “On it, ma’am!” He left.

Charlotte shut the door behind him. As his steps weren’t heard on the hallway anymore, the blonde girl started laughing scandalously.

“God, Riley, you’re an evil genius!” Charlotte said, in between laughs.

The black-haired smirked. “I take everything went as planned?”

“Perfectly so. Bertrand was drinking on the steps of Herring House, just as you predicted. He asked me about Savannah and Linda Rosa, and I conveniently maneuvered the conversation around you and how I could be of invaluable help.” She fished out an ID from her purse. “I’ve got clearance and everything.”

“Great. Now, let’s get on with our plan.” Riley went over to her trunk. From inside, she took a stack of papers. “Here, you publish them on the newspapers and on the dates I wrote on them.”

“Got it.” The blonde shoved the papers into her purse.

Riley handed her a post-it note. “Two days after you publish the first article, go to this address. It is in Orikum, by the marina. Over there, ask for two girls, Katya and Zarina. They’ll be of use for our plan. Be careful, though, do not go in without heavy artillery.”

The older woman twirled her hair. “Okay, get Katya and Zarina by any means necessary. And then what?”

“Then you’ll send them to the safehouse in Greece. I’ll set up everything they’ll need for the next phase there.”

“Very well.” Charlotte smiled wickedly. “Are you sure you want to do this? It is a path of no return.”

“Well, Charlotte, they invited the snake in. They should’ve known they would get bitten.”

Argyrocastron, Cordonia, Fall 2010

“Charlotte, I swear to God, if you don’t stop fidgeting, I’ll stab you with this pen.” Karen said, sternly, but did not spare her daughter a look. “I’m your mother and I gave you life, I am well within my right of taking it back.”

“Well, mother, if you had let me skip this odious event, I can assure you I wouldn’t be anywhere near your sights.” Charlotte spats.

“You don’t get to choose, Charlotte, and that’s final!” Her mother hollered. “Now, we are about to land. Collect yourself, there is bound to be press on the airport. With so many girls arriving today, they wouldn’t miss the opportunity to catch some on film, and it would be detestable for you to be discarded as soon as you arrive.”

“Careful, mother, you’re giving me ideas.” She smirked.

“Oh, believe me, Charlotte, I am not, for if it is in anyway unpleasant for me, it will be ten times worse for you.” The woman threatened.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. Concluding that her antagonizing would not lead her to any positive outcome, she stood up to take her luggage out of the carrier. In the bag, there was her make-up, some medicine, and a green ascot with a gold and ruby stud.

She applied the make-up to disguise her tired look, used a brush to soften her long, blonde hair, took a calming draught, and covered herself with the long ascot.

Karen undergoes through similar procedures, and soon enough both women were ready to get off the plane. The aged Princess is the first one out, to lure paparazzo. When she was two steps down, Charlotte took a deep breath and appeared off the plane’s door.

A supernova-worth of flashes went on that moment. The police were barely containing the barrage of journalists vying for a statement from the young woman.

The Rosenberg Investment Fund was the most important foreign investor in the Balkans, controlling a sizeable chunk of Cordonia’s sovereign debt, building billions of Euros worth of infrastructure works, and having an important role in the financing of apple orchards and other agricultural produce by the national nobility.

All in all, it did not take a very good of an analyst to figure out Ludwig and Karen Rosenberg were more powerful in Cordonia than the King himself.

Their daughter’s debut in the country’s social season was a strong, if confusing, signal. To social, political and economic press alike. What was on their mind, what that even mean, is the feeling racing through the hearts and minds of every journalist on Central Europe.

Charlotte herself was somewhat of a sui generis figure: while far from a strange to European tabloids, having had an army of boyfriends and suitors, never the Rosenberg name was sullied in such a publication. In fact, aside from being a cocotte, the common reader of those magazines would be hard-pressed to find a character flaw in her behavior.

Whether this is because of Charlotte’s moral fiber or Rosenbergs’ far-reaching, strong-arming tentacles remains unknown.

That morning, however, was not the time for statements, and mother and daughter hurried to the car waiting by the airfield lane.

As the vehicle makes its hour-long journey for Brigade Hill, Karen lectures her offspring. “Charlotte, let us talk strategy.”

“If we must.” The youngest responded, with a disinterested look to the passing scenario.

Karen considered an intervention but decided to pick her battles. “You have all of our family’s resources at your service, so I expect you to perform well. And when I say for you to perform well, I do not mean for you to win, lest of all we marry into that problem of a Royal Family, but I do mean for you to throw the Court, the country and the world a show of grace and nobility. I want you to assert our dominance over the Crown, do you understand?”

“Perfectly, mother. It shall be done as you desire.” She grumbled.

“Very well, then.” Karen smiled, satisfied. “I will not be able to accompany the whole time you’ll be here, I have to attend to your father, but I’ll be here as often as I am able. Focus on Leo and the other contenders, leave Constantine and Regina to me. Do you remember the data we collected on the Prince?”

“Foolish, ill-prepared, independent thinker, prone to disappearances, a rebel.” Charlotte recited, unamused. “To I have to go on?”

Karen narrowed her eyes. “No, it is quite enough. I take you know why you must do this spectacle?”

“To punish me for some bad karma of lives past?”

“Don’t be silly.” She scoffed. “You must assert our power in Cordonia. We have much to lose in an upheaval, and your presence demonstrate to powers, established or otherwise, that we are mindful of our investments and will not stand for the dilapidation of our rights and estates.”

As Karen finished her piece, the car did a turn and they entered Le Berceuse, the neighborhood at Brigade Hill’s feet. A small crowd leaned from the large sidewalks of the closed avenue, so they could take a peek of Europe’s great and finest, not to mention their future Queen.

“Go on, Charlotte. Open the window and wave at the people.” The older woman commanded.

Charlotte gritted her teeth. “As you wish, mother.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

The following weekend, the Beaumonts were on their way to the Royal Family’s summer retreat. Waking from a nice nap, Riley stretch her arms and yawn.

“How long until we arrive?” She asks. “I’m growing restless.”

While not the longest trip they’ve made this season, as the distance between Valona and Applewood did not reach 150 kilometers, it was one of the most unpleasant. The roads through the mountains were terrible, and there were no rest stops on their way.

“We’re almost there, Riley.” Maxwell eagerly responded. “Believe me, I’m as anxious as you to get out of this car, especially because we’re going to Applewood!”

“Is that really the name of the Royal Family’s country manor? I kinda expected something out of the Illiad or something.” She asked.

Bertrand rolled his eyes, as it was his go-to expression these days. “It’s decidedly appropriate. Applewood Manor borders the largest apple orchard in the entire kingdom, and that’s where they first cultivated the apple varietal Cordonia is most famous for.”

“The Cordonian Ruby.” Riley confirmed. “They used it for some upscale pies and ciders back in New York.”

“Yes, that is the one. The Cordonian Ruby is a red varietal that’s pleasant crisp with an intense flavor that has notes of honeyed caramel.” Bertrand said, excitedly for once.

Riley was eager to remind him it was only but an apple, but she bit back the remark. Instead, she said: “You know, that’s probably the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Certain subjects call for a little poetry.” Bertrand commented. “Now, I trust Lady Charlotte taught you to exhaustion your role this weekend?”

“Yes, emphasis on exhaustion.” Riley responded. “Which reminds me, where is she?”

“Charlotte went to Italy for the weekend.” Maxwell provided. “She said she was tired and missed her home.”

She lied, of course. She’d sooner miss a cancer than she would Federigo.

“Not less than expected, for her to be tired, of course. Since the King’s announced his retirement, everything has changed, and that must reflect on your training.” The eldest of them lectured.

Riley was trying to forget about that particular development, not that it has been easy. “That is very worrying, yeah. I saw the King talking to Liam about it at the beach party.”

That seemed to peak Bertrand’s interest. “Really? What do you know about it?”

Such eagerness rose suspicion in Riley’s mind. Bertrand was still scrapping for cash, and as such wasn’t trustworthy with sensitive realm information. “Nothing of importance,” She said. “The King sent me packing before he said anything, and I haven’t spoken to Liam ever since. Actually, I haven’t seen him around much lately.”

“He’s probably busy with preparations for the last leg of the season.” Maxwell cheerily commented.

“That’s precisely the reason we need to make a more concerted effort. We’re no longer playing for the title of Princess. If Riley marries him, she will be Queen. The stakes are higher than ever. We must succeed.” Bertrand said, fierce. “Now, the other ladies are only going to get more competitive, so you need to be ready. We’re running out of time, after all. It’s December, there’s only a month and a half until Theophany.”

“I don’t know whether I feel like it’s been a long or a short time.” Riley contemplates.

“Time runs differently when you’re jet-setting around Cordonia.” Maxwell commented.

“Well, no matter.” Riley dismissed the thought. “What’s the game plan for today?”

“No time to play coy. Spend as much time with Liam as possible.” Maxwell oriented.

“But if you cannot do that, try to not get in trouble.” Bertrand said, sternly.

Riley narrowed her eyes at him. “Darn it, I was so excited by the prospect of setting Regina’s hair on fire!”

Maxwell snickered, but Bertrand rolled his eyes. “Quiet, you. According to my reports, you, Olivia and Madeleine are the frontrunners.”

“But Riley and Liam have a special connection.” Maxwell countered.

“His Royal Highness isn’t the only one who matters.” Bertrand lectured. “Olivia and Madeleine may not be the foremost in the Prince’s heart, but they are popular with other royals, the nobles and the Parliament. Which means they’re both going to try to undermine you, Riley.”

“Nothing new under the sun, then.” Riley commented, disillusioned. “Though, I must confess, I don’t have much intel on Madeleine.”

“Her parents are high Cordonian nobility, which is where she gets her courtesy title of Countess. Her family is powerful, one of the five original noble families in the realm.” Bertrand provided.

“The ones descended from the medieval kings who fought with Napoleon against the Turks, I take it?” Riley asked.

Bertrand hummed. “Yes, the Royal Family and the other four, the Fydelians, the Nevrakis, the Thornes and the Blackspine Lords. As I was saying, Madeleine also grew up immersed in the intrigues and maneuverings of courtly life. Don’t underestimate her. She’s used to winning.

“Anyway, you won’t be able to avoid either lady in public but try your best to keep your cool and be diplomatic, especially when the press is around. You’ve done remarkably well, but there’s still room to fail.” Bertrand finished his speech.

Riley nodded, as the car made a turn and begins to slow down.

“We’re here!” Maxwell celebrated.

Exiting the car, the three noblepeople step onto the sprawling estate of Applewood Manor. A large, stone-gray manor house stands elegantly amidst manicured gardens, and beyond it, orchards to wherever the eye can see stretch out.

“It is an imposing residence.” Riley commented.

Maxwell motioned around. “This is Applewood, where we’ll be staying for the next few weeks.”

Maxwell and Riley pick up the luggage from the car and cross the long packed-dirt driveway leading to the manor.

“Now we should settle in quickly.” Bertrand oriented. “The Feast of the Presentation will last today and tomorrow, and the first event is this afternoon.”

“What kind of apple-themed, fun activities are we talking about?” Riley asks, barely containing the irony.

“Delicious ones!” Maxwell says. “Apple picking, apple pie baking, apple tree planting.”

“We Cordonians take our traditions very seriously. Be sure to show enthusiasm for all the events.” Bertrand warned. “That starts with finding something suitable to wear.”

“Way ahead of you, Bertrand.” Riley dismissed. “I’ve got just the thing in my bag. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Fall 2010

“For all of comfort and opulence, why no-one ever thinks of putting a minibar on the guest rooms?” Charlotte thought, frustrated, while she tried to find her way to the kitchens on the pitch-black darkness of the Cordonian night.

It was little before 2 AM, she was parched with thirst and her handmaid had since long retired for the night. She couldn’t find a single servant on her way down to, at the very least, point her in the right direction. Thankfully, she hadn’t crossed with a guard either, she’d be hard-pressed explaining to them why she was up so late, wandering the halls on her sleepwear.

Charlotte got down a flight of stairs, one she believed was the service one, carefully going one step at a time. A short walk later and she finally found the switcher. She was in the kitchens.

“Hallelujah.” She breathed out.

She poured herself a glass of water, swallowed it greedily and poured yet another. As she was savoring her second, less desperate cup, she spotted a light coming from a door on the other side of the room.

Her curiosity once more got the best out of her, as Charlotte soon found herself opening that door. On the other side, there was a room smaller than a cupboard, having only a hole on the floor and some rustic stairs downwards. A clinking noise came from the underground, and Charlotte followed it, curious as to find out what was it.

At the bottom, there was a wide room, a wine cellar. Shelves and shelves filled to the brim with bottles of wine, champagne and other distilled drinks. There, in the center, there was a table and a man appreciating a tumbler.

“Prince Leo!” She recognized.

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Leo complained. “Girls propositioning me on their evening wear? Not that I particularly mind, but it never had happened before. Kudos for being innovative.”

Charlotte covered herself, uncomfortable. “I have you know I am not propositioning anybody. I came for some water and saw the light on. I need no subterfuge to have a man in my bed.” She sneered.

He laughed, ironically. “Mighty speech you have.”

“I am Charlotte Amelie von Rosenberg, I am entitled to it.” She smiled, wolfishly.

“Lady Charlotte.” He hummed. “My father said I should be nice to you. I think a grown man to fear a small girl is stupid.”

“I courteously disagree, Your Majesty.” She used the title ironically. “I believe it is wise to fear a little girl, especially when that specific little girl could foreclose your family at whim. Wouldn’t it be humiliating? To beg to the nation for a stipend, just because you cannot be bothered to be fiscally responsible?”

His expression darkened. “Don’t be assuming.”

“Oh, you think I lie?” She haughtily asks. “Go ahead, ask your father. You’ll have a nice surprise.”

“That’s why you came here? To vulture our debt?” He asked.

“I prefer calling it ‘protecting my interests’, but yes. That’s why I came, but I’ll stay for a completely different reason.” She stole a glass of distilled off of the table. “Seeing you suffer your slow walk to an inevitable fate seems more enjoyable every minute.”

With that said, she downs her drink, turns on her heels and leaves the room.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Dressed to impress, Riley got down the stairs two steps at a time. She wore a white, long, richly embroidered tunic and a pair of brown, high boots.

At the orchards, she is escorted past a crowd of people eagerly awaiting the beginning of the Feast of the Presentation. All the ladies vying for Liam’s hand stand in a loose semi-circle under the shade of a large apple tree.

As often is, Riley is late, and the only place left is between Olivia and Madeleine. A rock and a hard place as it ever were.

Olivia soured at the sight of Riley. “Shouldn’t you be in the back somewhere with Drake and the other commoners?”

“Shouldn’t you be in a pound with the other rabid fry dogs?” Riley asked, faux-sweetly.

Olivia seemed every bit like a rabid dog ready to pounce, but Madeleine shushed them. “It’s starting.”

Riley forced herself to pay attention to the King and Queen standing in the center of their girl-circle, proudly smiling near several wicker baskets full of brilliant red apples. The press throngs around you, quieting as the King raises his arm.

“Welcome to the annual Feast of the Presentation!” The man announced.

Regina smiled, rehearsedly, from Constantine’s side. “As is tradition,” She says. “Myself and several ladies will sample the apples of the last picking of the season.”

The church attendants, who accompany the parish priest and the Royal Family to the event, distribute apple slices to the suitors.

“It’s so red, it really is like a ruby.” Riley noticed the peel on her slice.

“Looks delicious.” Hana commented, from next to Olivia.

“Oh, it is!” The redheaded said. “I cannot wait for you to try it.”

Suspicious, to say the least.

“You know, I actually look forward to this every year.” Madeleine diplomatically remarked.

“Ladies, if you will, please try your apples.” Regina gave the sign.

Every reporter, cameraman and photographer looked eagerly at the group, ready to register their reactions.

As Riley put the fruit on her mouth, she knew why Olivia was so eager for them to eat it. It was very bitter and very sour, acidic. She then recalled every time she’d seen a Cordonian apple being served, it had been cooked to exhaustion. It was not the type of food to be eaten raw.

Channeling her inner child, the one who was kept in the table until finished her meal and said her graces, Riley swallowed and smiled brightly at the cameras surrounding her.

“Absolutely delicious.” She declared, seeming every bit as natural as it wasn’t really.

“It looks like you enjoyed the Cordonian Ruby, Lady Riley?” A reporter asked her.

“It certainly has character!” She said, admiring her own wit.

Hana, however, wasn’t as covert. “I wasn’t expecting such a sour taste.” She complained.

“The last crop of the season always has a particular bite to it.” Madeleine said, always with a smile. “I rather like the taste, personally.”

“You would.” Olivia sneered.

The King clears his throat, calling the attendees to attention. “It looks like our ladies enjoyed their apples.” Constantine announced, and Riley forced a snicker away. “I’d like to extend a special thanks to our apple growers and farmers for preserving our noble tradition.”

“And, with that, I wish you all a happy Presentation.” Regina said, wrapping the ceremony.

“Eísodos tís Panagías Theotókou.” The priest said, and the attendees repeated, gravely.

It is the Virgin Mary, they acknowledged.

With that, the sovereign couple left with the parson, while the parishioners dispersed. The Presentation was their opportunity to visit the gardens of Applewood and to steal one or another apple still on the branches.

The press, however, hounded around the women, with special note to Olivia, Madeleine and Riley herself.

“Would it be alright if we ask you some questions?” Donald Brine, Riley recalled, came forward.

“Of course.” Madeleine said, enthusiastically. “The Fydelian Estate has always generously supported the Cordonian Broadcasting Center. I look forward to your favorable report.” She underhandedly threatened.

“And I haven’t forgotten the amazing article about the Nevrakis family history in Trend several years back.” Olivia flashed a shark-like smile, as her weapon of choice seemed to be bribery.

“Your family has always been as fashionable as it is noble.” Ana de Luca praised.

Remembering Bertrand’s words, Riley smiled innocently. “Well, Mr. Brine, Ms. De Luca, while I do not have a history with your respective media, I can give you a compelling story. After all, I do not recall hearing about someone of my background on this competition before.”

This seemed to spike de Luca and Brine’s attention. “Trend would be interested in your insights as someone on the inside, Lady Riley.” The blonde said.

Madeleine soon intervened. “Lady Riley makes an excellent point, and I’d like to remind everyone that we all have a relationship with the Prince who could provide a unique spin.”

“Yes, I’ve been Liam’s friend since childhood.” Olivia offered.

“And I, myself, am close to the Prince and have the pleasure of calling the Queen my friend.” Madeleine countered. “Now, any other questions?”

“You’ve been at court enjoying all the events the social season has to offer and competing for the Prince’s attention.” Brine said. “At this stage, who do you think the Prince will choose?”

“In my outlook, Mr. Brine, I believe Liam will choose the one who’s going to make the best Queen. The Prince is loyal and dedicated. He’ll do what’s best for his country and people.” Riley commented, earnestly.

“But you’re still wishing it’ll be you?” de Luca follow-up.

“Of course, but I know the Prince will do whatever is right. It is on me to be worthy of being his choice.” She responded.

That seemed to delight Ana de Luca. “Can I quote you on that?”

“Sure.”

“Very well-put, Lady Riley.” Madeleine used her passive-aggressive tactic again. “I know I find the Prince’s devotion to cause and country inspiring.”

“As do we all, Lady Madeleine. That’s it for questions.” Ana de Luca wrapped up.

“Thank you, ladies. Especially you, Lady Riley. Your answers were quite interesting.” Donald Brine praised.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Brine.”

The reporters walk off. Olivia glares at Riley, while Madeleine preferred a considering stance.

“That was… informative.” Madeleine said. “Lady Riley, you answered with such grace and poise. It was rather enviable. I only hope you can keep it up without any mishaps. Some women cannot handle the pressure.”

“Oh, believe me, Lady Madeleine, while I lack all your natural flare, I am as sturdy and as determined as it gets.” Riley countered with her own veiled threat.

“If either of you think you’ve won, you’ve got another thing coming.” Olivia barked with her usual impulsiveness.

“Oh, Olivia, dear. I think we all know where we stand. May the best woman win.” Madeleine says, turns on her heels and leave.

Olivia shakes her head and stalks in the opposite direction, while Riley sights Maxwell and Bertrand waiting on the sidelines.

“You did well up there with the press. Madeleine did not shake you.” Bertrand praised.

“Yeah, but she spun everything positively for herself.” Riley countered.

“Still, this gives me hope.” He said.

“So, what happens now?” She asked.

“Right now, I suggest you and Maxwell go down this path and enjoy a stroll through the gardens. I have in good authority that the Prince is there now. I’ll catch up with you later.” Bertrand oriented.

Maxwell then latched onto Riley’s arm. “Come on, I’ll show where to go!”

Hippodrome Colline de Miel, Phoenike, Cordonia, Fall 2010

“I do not know why your father complains so,” The womanly voice came from the fence of the round pen. “I find it very easy to find you. The secret is finding the most secluded place, preferably devoid of blue-blooded people.”

The man led the horse to the point closest to the girl. “Lady Charlotte, it is always a pleasure seeing you.”

She snickered. “Oh, Leo, you’re a filthy liar, but thank you for the sentiment. It is nice to see you too, Prince Liam.” She greeted the other young man on the pen.

“Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte.” The youngest acknowledged the woman but kept his distance. Something told him they would appreciate the privacy.

“I do not lie, Lady Charlotte. I find your presence refreshing, actually.” He smiled, flirty.

“I live to please, Your Highness.” She gave him a smile of her own.

“Why aren’t you at the races?” He asked.

Charlotte laughed heartily. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I never am where I am supposed to be. I wouldn’t want to disappoint everybody by doing what I should do.”

“It would take most of the fun of the season, I must admit.” She said, with a tint of irony. “In the name of isonomy, I must tell you I find horse races so very boring! After the thousandth lap, I could not take it anymore and tried to find something to amuse me.”

“I must not disappoint then.” He told her. “Do you wish to ride?”

“If there is an available horse, yes, I would like it very much.”

A stable hand brought her a brown, vigorous mare. Due to her state of dress, a tight, mid-calves skirt, Charlotte had to sidesaddle the horse. Her aristocratic training, however, gave her a faultless posture on the saddle.

“You are a vision of grace, Lady Charlotte.” Liam commented.

“Thank you, Liam. You are too kind.” She smiled at him.

“Leo, don’t you think you should show Lady Charlotte the Apolonian Ruins?” Liam suggested. “I would accompany you, but I suppose one of us should be with Father at the Downs, and the Derby must be about to end.”

“Oh, that would be lovely!” Charlotte exclaimed, eagerly.

“Well, if you insist, sure.” Leo said. “Besides, I don’t mind an excuse to be away from here when Father when he noticed I slipped away and I hadn’t even looked to the other girls.”

Leo and Charlotte started trotting to the gate, while Liam got down of his horse. A few meters away from the pen, already going through a small forested area, Charlotte commented: “The girls are growing restless, you know? You must be the most unengaging suitor ever to exist!”

“It’s hard to be engaging when you’re really not that interested.” He shrugged.

“That I could notice. But there’s the thing, you’re being pursued by Europe’s most eligible women, one might think you’d be at least glad about that.” She said, in a mockery stance.

“They’re all so pretty, and yet so unbearably boring.” He complained.

Charlotte snickered. “You still haven’t met them properly. They seem all dull and empty-headed, but once you get to know them, you notice they’re self-centered, too.”

“Have you met Madeleine yet?” He asks.

“Madeleine of Fydelia? Oh, yeah, I’ve been introduced.” She scoffed. “If I was serious about this thing, I’d might even fear her.”

“Typical Madeleine. When Regina married my father, she came to live with us. She and I go way back.” He commented.

“So little Madeleine was just as domineering as 30-year-old Madeleine?”

“Perhaps even more. She used to raise Hell on the Palace, ever so willful. No-one convinces me that she wasn’t the one who drove Olivia Nevrakis away just for spite.”

“I have no trouble believing that.” Charlotte snickered. “How about Liam? He seems a nice boy, but so very…” She struggled to find the word. “Shy, I guess. Meek.”

“Liam is very conscientious.” Leo said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that dedication to duty in anyone else, and that’s admirable in its own way, but all that obsession with his part to play turned him into a resigned person. He does not believe he’s allowed to aspire outside his public persona, and that causes him an unnamable amount of melancholy.”

“I understand, it is so very sad.” She said, in a low tone. “But he is the second-born, he should be entitled to some reprieve.”

“Yeah, second-born.” He grumbled.

Charlotte looked pointedly at him. “I know you’re not that thrilled about being king, and I get it. Aristocratic life is exhausting enough, I cannot fathom to rule a country, but don’t you think you should at least look the part?”

“The thing is, I don’t feel that icy disposition to sacrifice my life for the greater good like Liam, nor I am a glory hound like my father.” He defended.

“And what do you feel, then, Leo? What do you want to do in life?” Charlotte enquired.

“I feel a fire in my heart. I feel drawn to extreme emotions, I am not made for that lukewarm, constant life Regina and my father sing praise of.”

Charlotte considered Leo’s statement silently for a minute, and then says: “Careful with what you wish for.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Maxwell and Riley walked arm-in-arm through the cobbled path, when they heard an agitated voice.

“Hold on, Maxwell.” Riley pulled on his arm. “Isn’t that Bertrand with Ana de Luca, from Trend?” She motioned with her chin across the path.

Over at a somewhat-discreet, wooded area, Bertrand screamed as loud as his whispering voice could stand. “Ana, you’re being unreasonable!”

“Not the way I see it.” She sneered.

Bertrand turns angrily and storms off, and Riley whispers to Maxwell: “Looks like something’s going on. Do you know what’s up?”

“Not really…” He responded, in a similar voice. “Bertrand doesn’t let me get involved with House Beaumont stuff. He thinks I’d just screw up.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s just stupid!” She said, forsaking her indoor voice.

“I kind of see his point.” He lamented. “I am kind of a screw-up.”

“That’s still stupid, Maxwell. You’re every bit as capable of helping as Bertrand. Not to mention you’re every bit as a Beaumont, too. You’re entitled to it!” Riley argued.

He looks over where Ana was standing. “It does look like things didn’t go well with that reporter… maybe I could help. But I don’t want to distract you, we were supposed to be going find the Prince.”

“Oh, well, Liam can wait. Let’s go.” She pulled Maxwell over to Ana.

“Do you really think we should do it?” He asked, insecure.

She stopped and faced him, looking deep into his eyes and placing her two hands in either of his arms. “Maxwell, I know you want to help your brother. I trust you, and I’m here to help you on the odd chance from you doing something stupid, so let’s do it.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks for coming with me, Riley. I hate awkward situations.”

As Riley and Maxwell approach the reporter, the blonde turns to the black-haired. “Lady Riley, what a surprise. Did you want to add to your earlier comments?”

“Yes, Ms. De Luca. I’m actually here with my friend, Maxwell.” She responded, diplomatically. “We wanted to see if you’d be willing to share some information with us.”

“Straight to the point. I like that.” The blonde smiled, deviant. “First off, if we’re talking off the record, just call me Ana.”

“It’d be my pleasure, Ana.” Riley said, with a smile of her own. “I wanted to know what you and Bertrand were arguing about.”

“Bertrand’s always been very concerned with how the world sees him and his house.” Ana explained. “Let’s just say that my view of what’s currently going on don’t exactly match with the image he wants the world to see.”

“So, you know that we’re broke.” Maxwell summed up.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. What happens to the Beaumont House is Cordonian news.” The blonde said.

Maxwell grumbled. “We’re not really that important.”

Ana scoffed. “I beg to differ. Royal connections, a political office, a traditional surname, an, albeit dilapidated, enviable fortune. There’s much to covet. Besides, Bertrand and his playboy shenanigans made House Beaumont stand out. He catapulted your family name into the spotlight.

“Good or bad, everyone wants to know what’s going on with you. And I happen to think that people deserve to know the truth. But Bertrand doesn’t see it that way. He was furious.”

“Maxwell?” Riley said, softly. “Would you mind excusing me and Ana?”

He looked at his black-haired companion, distressed. “What? Why?”

“I have something private to talk to her.” She responded, simply. “It will only take a minute.”

Maxwell seemed to consider it, and came close to deny it, but conceded and gave them some space.

Looking at Ana, Riley commenced. “You know, I was very hurt when you did not mention my article about Cordonian human trafficking this morning.”

“Lady Riley, you seem a smart girl. Surely you’ve noticed the overall silence pact we, the press, keep on such subjects. Dēmokratía is the only one who’s borderline insane enough to publish such a piece.” Ana said, somewhat fearful.

“It’s a pity, really.” Riley faux-lamented, taking a manila envelope from her purse and handing it to her. “I was so sure you’d like in this, and I am all for isonomy. Perhaps you’d be interested in publishing it.”

Ana peeked into the envelope. “Mother of God!” She backtracked, in astonishment. “Is this the truth?”

“There is more than enough proof inside to sustain a story.” Riley said, smiling devilishly. “This can be all yours, if you promise to keep the Beaumont piece away from the print. Permanently.”

“No… no, I couldn’t.” She closed the envelope, but still held it firmly against her body. “I could end up deported, or even dead. You too, for that matter.”

“The government couldn’t shut down every paper and kill off every journalist. The pact is held by an unstable balance, and you know it. It is bound to be broken sooner or later, and the day draws close. You could be the first, Ana, all you must do is to keep the Beaumonts’ secret and this envelope will be all yours.” Riley offered, seductively.

“How… how can you be sure the others will publish material, too?” The blonde asked, uncertain.

“I am laying the ground with them. All they need is one single scandal, and all Hell breaks loose.”

Ana looked at Riley but couldn’t sustain it. Finally, she caved. “You have a deal.”

“I knew you would see reason, Ana. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.” And, with that, the young woman left to join Maxwell over at the garden fountain.

He looked at Riley expectantly. “So? What did she say?”

She smiled at him. “Ana might as well take that secret to her grave.”

Maxwell beamed and hugged and twirled Riley, laughing cheerfully. “Thank you, little blossom, thank you so much!”

Herring House, Le Berceuse, Avlona, Cordonia, New Year’s Eve 2010

“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t meet you at all tonight.” The voice came from behind Bertrand.

“Charlotte.” He acknowledged. “You don’t know how glad I am for you to be here.”

She laughed. “Because I am Charlotte or because I am Rosenberg?”

The man fought against the blush. “Both, actually.”

“Be as it may, I’m happy to be here, too.” She smiled at him, teasingly. “How are you liking your own party?”

He smiled smugly. “Well, I am known to throw killer parties. And you? How are you feeling being the frontrunner for Prince Leo’s hand?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She laughed it off.

“In three months, you’re the only girl he spent more than five minutes with.” Bertrand pointed out. “Besides, he likes you.”

“Yes, he likes me, not loves me.” Charlotte said.

He shrugged. “Theophany’s two weeks away. It’s too late in the game to pick up anyone else.”

“Well, I believe there’s much that could happen in a fortnight.” She smiled. “I see Prince Liam is in attendance.”

“Yes, he’s friends with Maxwell.” He said and, faced with Charlotte’s confusion, continued: “I don’t believe you’ve met him, he’s my younger brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a sibling!” She said, cheerful. “Where is he?”

“He didn’t attend the court anymore.” He said, with a rather uncharacteristic harshness.

Charlotte noted the sensibility of the subject and turned thoughtful. “I did not interact much with the younger Prince, as I am often with Leo, and he’s often away from the social functions, but the little I know him, he seems to shy away from attention, female or otherwise.”

“He is very different from Leo.” Bertrand commented. “But why do you say that?”

“I am curious about him. Leo did not indulge me in my interest, so I thought I could use some subterfuges.”

Bertrand considered probing further, but decided against, preferring to say: “I don’t know if I can be of much help. I am not very close to him, not like Maxwell.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t need to know anything very personal, it’s just that, with what Leo has shared, I wonder if he’s ever had a relationship.”

“He had some girlfriends, to my recollection. Flings, a lengthier relationship with Olivia Nevrakis, the Duchess of Lythikos.” Bertrand provided. “I cannot say for sure. Maxwell never said anything about it, and everything was so very discreet, but I think it is very unlikely it did not happen.”

She tutted. “I see. But enough about Court gossip. I want to know what’s been going on with the Count of Cherbourg.”

“A man of my station hardly goes without.” He responded, with a tint of lasciviousness.

“So, I’ve heard. But that,” She paused and looked to the side. “Is not what I wanted to know.”

He looked over to where she was pointing with her eye. Savannah was talking excitedly to a noblewoman. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, Bertrand, I might not like the girl, nor really know what on Earth do you see in her, but you following her around with puppy eyes is borderline pathetic. Grow a pair and ask her to dance.”

Before Bertrand could say anything, though, a bunch of partygoers appeared and rushed him to the staircase for a New Year’s toast.

Charlotte glinted knowingly at him from the multitude of party-goers and then disappeared.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

A short walk later, Maxwell left Riley at a small Japanese garden at the edge of the orchards. She supposed it was a beautiful retreat on Spring, when the cherry trees were in bloom.

The place was quiet, with only a few birds chirping on the trees and the water from a stream flowing through the rocks.

No sign of Liam.

“Where might he be?” Riley asked Maxwell. “He’s been strange since the Regatta, and I’m starting to get worried.”

“Bertrand said he’d be around. Don’t worry, I’ll look for him, just wait here.” Maxwell untangled his arm from hers and walked back the path.

When he wandered away, Riley looked to her surroundings and saw a small gazebo nestled discreetly amongst some rocks. Walking over there, she spotted Liam looking contemplatively at a still pond of golden fish.

“Liam?” She called.

“Riley!” He responded, surprised.

“Is there something wrong?” She asked, coming closer.

“No. It’s just…” He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “It’s nothing, never mind.”

She laughed, melancholically. “When will you realize that line don’t work on me? Come on, you’re worried with something. What is it?”

He sighed. “Riley, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” She smiled, mirthfully. “But yeah, ask away.”

He composed the question most carefully. “Do you… do you think you could handle being Queen of Cordonia? Truly?”

“That’s a good question.” She mumbled, thoughtfully. “It’s hard to tell, I haven’t been around for long, and there’s no Queen School for me to attend. But I’d like to think that yeah, I could.”

Liam seemed to take on her response. “That’s… good.”

“Is that what’s been on your mind recently?” She asked. “Theophany?” The word’s significance weighed on them both.

“That’s part of it.” He admitted. “But as for the rest, I… it’s not something I can talk about. With anyone. But trust me, if I could… you’d be the one I’d like to tell.”

She dropped her body to the ground and sat against the railing of the gazebo. “I’d like to tell you that you can trust me, that nothing could be that dramatic, that you can tell me anything. But you can’t, can you? I cannot be trusted with sensitive information, and everything can, and most probably is, that dramatic.”

He kneeled in front of her but did not say a thing.

She hugged his leaning body. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

The man did not have to ask what she was sorry about. “Honestly, it’s fine. Anyway, it’s just boring royal business. Not worth bothering you in any case.”

She nodded. “Well, then, I suppose I could accompany you to a tour of the gardens.”

He smiles, excitedly, and offer her his arm. She took it and they walked away from the gazebo and wind their way through the flowers.

“I’ve always loved the view here.” Liam commented.

“It must be pretty in April, with the blossoms.” Riley said. “I’ve never seen so many fruit trees!”

“I wish I could stay here all day, but…”

Riley prepared to hear Olivia’s name. “But?”

“I have plans to meet Drake.” He said, and Riley couldn’t help but feel rather relieved.

“Oh.” She breathed. “I didn’t mean to impose.”

“You’re welcome to come with.” Liam beamed. “He’d probably be happy to see you. He sort of dreads this day every year.”

“Why? Is he allergic to apples or morally against abandonment of minors in religious temples?”

“He does like apples, and I don’t know his position on child services.” He smiled. “Actually, today’s Drake’s birthday.”

It was only then that the date came rushing to her head. Today was December 4th, 2015. She completely forgot about her own birthday, November 2nd. Well, her true birthday, she’d have to look at her passport to see when Riley was born.

Her frown must be very pronounced, for Liam made a worried face and asked: “Riley, is there something on the matter?”

She blinked twice, as if she just returned to her own body. “No, no, nothing. It’s just that I just remembered I missed somebody’s birthday last month. Well, anyway, we should go out and celebrate!”

“Drake isn’t really the type to celebrate.” Liam said. “He usually spends the day hiding out in his room. Sometimes I’m able to convince him to have a drink with me, but that’s about as far as it goes.” The Prince looked over at the entrance of the Japanese garden. “Ah, there he is now.”

Drake, Hana and Maxwell appeared over the tree line. “Drake!” Riley exclaimed.

“Why do you look so happy to see me?” He looked, wary, and soon enough the reality came falling into him. “Oh, no. God, no.”

“Oh, God, yes.” She smirked. “Happy birthday!”

“Liam, you told her?!” He bites.

“My deepest apologies, Drake.” Liam said, not looking that regretful. “I forgot it was such a guarded secret.”

Drake sighed. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter, because this is the last we’re ever going to speak of it ever again.”

“You don’t want to do something fun on your birthday?” Hana asks. “Even I was allowed petit fours and an hour playing with my father’s cat each year.”

“Man, Drake, even Hana feels bad for you.” Maxwell pointed out, borderline ironic.

The tall man scowled. “I don’t need fun to enjoy myself. Besides, what could you jokers possibly want to do that would be fun for me?”

Riley narrowed her eyes at him. “What happened to you, Drake? Were you raised by wolves?”

“Are all Americans as fussy as Drake is about birthdays?” Maxwell asked.

She snorted. “Drake’s an American?”

“Half. On my mother’s side.” He said, dismissively.

She picked up her cellphone. “The internet says there’s a Western American bar in Tirkan. How about that, Drake? Whiskey, mechanical bull riding, some good ol’ American fun.”

“I guess it doesn’t sound horrible… but I can’t ask you guys to sneak out for that.” He responded.

“Nonsense. I’d love that.” Liam assured him, smiling.

“I’d like to understand more about Riley’s American culture.” Hana weighed.

“And I’ll take any excuse to drink and dance the night away!” Maxwell chirped.

Drake faced Riley, pointedly. “Do you really want to do this, Riley?”

“Drake, I’d escape Alcatraz if it meant for you to swallow your joker comment. We’re going out, and you’ll have the time of your life.” Her eyes glinted in determination.

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Theophany 2011

A knock surprised the women gathered inside the bedroom.

“Go and send whomever it is away.” The oldest lady commanded a handmaid, with a twirl of a hand.

The girl obeyed and left for the door. A short discussion later, and a pair of stepping patterns approached the dresser.

“Good evening, Your Honor. Lady Charlotte.” The man greeted the two noble ladies in the room.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” Karen curtsied appropriately, while glared at the maid, who scurried away through the door. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping to speak with Lady Charlotte.” He said, and then added: “Privately.”

The woman measured him, considering his request. Finally, she commanded the hairdresser and the make-up artist to leave. “You have ten minutes. We must prepare for tonight.” And with that, she left through the same door the servants did.

“Hey, Leo.” The girl greeted, for the first time since he’s arrived. “How may I be of service?”

He smirked. “If you could lend me your hand in marriage, I’d be most obliged.”

She turned to him and raised from the dresser. “Leo, before I answer it, tell me. Do you love me?”

“Why do you ask?” He looks pointedly at her.

“I find that I should know that before I marry someone, Leo.” She said. “Especially if marrying that someone brings me a big responsibility.”

“Don’t we have an aristocratic duty,” He spat the words. “To our families? To our countries? What is the use of loving someone or not?”

“Because we have a choice, Leo!” She shouted. “I have a choice not to be a Queen, and you have a say on who’s going to be. I don’t love you, and if you don’t love me, I won’t be making any sacrifices for you.”

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “No. I don’t love you.”

She sat next to him and passed an arm through his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Leo.”

“Regina wants me to marry Madeleine.” He confessed.

“I find it a good choice.” Charlotte said.

He looked at her, confused. “You hate Madeleine.”

“That I do.” She said, emphatic. “She’s a downright bitch. She should really get laid. But she loves you more than life itself. And she’s a seasoned politician. Between her and any other girl in Court, myself included, I’d chose her. Don’t drag anyone else to your misery, Leo.”

Without another word, he raised from the bed and left the room, marching in anger.

Tirkan, Cordonia, Fall 2015

“The party has arrived!” Maxwell announced from the door of the dive bar Riley chose for Drake’s birthday party.

Hana looked around. “Where?”

Drake scoffed. “It’s us, Hana. He means us.”

“Exactly, my good man. As in, we’re the life of the party.” Maxwell threw an arm around Drake, who glared profusely.

“We are?” Hana asks, confused.

“Well, some of us.” Maxwell looks accusingly to Drake.

The man just rolled his eyes and turned to Riley. “I can’t believe you actually talked me into this.”

“Well, I did, now shut up, stop complaining and let’s get some alcohol into your system.” She responded, pulling him over to the bar.

“I’ll buy the first round!” Liam, under a hat and sunglasses, offered, excitedly.

“Oh, no, no-one will be paying a dime. Any bartender with a heart would give him a free drink to start the night off.” She declared, boldly.

Drake, once again, rolled his eyes and used a stupid voice. “Free drinks are something that happens when you’re a woman, Riley. Even on my twenty-first birthday I didn’t get so much as a free drop from anyone.”

“Oh, no? Well, lemme see what I can do. Come on, Drake.” She pulled him once more. “Hey, bartender! My friend here is celebrating his birthday today. Can we get a drink on the house?”

The man measures her, mulls it over, and finally nods.

“It’s like everything I know is wrong.” Drake said, surprised.

Riley smiled smugly. “Told ya.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Of course he’ll do it for you. No-one says no to a hot girl.”

She considered pointing out the bartender was doing it for him, ergo he should think Drake was hot, but there was a better way to beat the sour man into submission.

“So, you think I’m hot?” She smiled, defiant.

“I just meant…” He stuttered. “From his perspective… Anyway, stop holdin’ up the line. You’ve gotta tell the man what drink you’re ordering.”

She turned to the bartender. “We’ll have two piña coladas, please.”

Drake gaped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Not only I would but I did dare. Call it retribution.” She smiled, wickedly.

“Way to ruin a perfectly good free drink on some monstrosity like this.” He lamented.

“You were just saying how the only way we got these was because of me, which makes them mine. Now drink the piña colada or get out of the way.” She commanded.

He grumbled and took the glass to his lips. A silence followed.

“Nothing bad to say, hon?” Riley teased.

“For an overly-sugared, completely silly, ridiculous excuse for a drink,” He had bad things to say, plenty of them. “This isn’t half bad.”

She smiled. “You like girlish drinks. How cute.”

Before he could respond, however, Hana came running after them. “There you are!”

“Prince Liam just paid the guy operating the mechanical bull.” Maxwell said, arriving just next to Hana. “He wants Drake to ride!”

“Me?” Drake said. “No way!”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to, but Liam says you’re some kind of expert.” Maxwell said.

Riley turned to Drake. “Is that true?”

“There’s only one way you’d get to find out, and I’m not drunk enough to make a fool of myself yet.” He gruffly said.

“Oh, no, sweetheart, you’re not escaping from that tonight!” She bellowed. “Come on, cowboy, you have a mechanical bull to ride tonight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me.”

“Drake! Drake! Drake!” Maxwell chanted, and was soon enough joined by the two girls. “Drake! Drake! Drake! Drake!”

“Okay!” He caved. “I’ll do it. Just… quiet down, you’re embarrassing me.”

“That’s kind of the whole point.” The younger man clarified, with Riley nodding.

Glaring at them, Drake slings a leg over the mechanical bull. “How do you start this thing?” He asked.

The operator, looking as blasé as it gets, just pressed a button and the bull begins to buck and twist. Drake easily swivels his hips and throws his hand back, keeping perfect balance.

“Not even a challenge.” He smugly commented. Not deterred, the operator makes the bull buck faster. “Okay, that’s a little harder…” The man said, going out of breath.

“Come on, birthday boy!” Riley screamed at him. “You can last longer than that!”

Shooting her a dirty look, Drake grips the bull tighter, even as it wildly bucks and pivots.

“Is that all you’ve got, bull?” He shouted, excitedly.

Just as he says that, however, the machine did a sudden turn which launched him sideways, making him tumble against Riley, standing on the sideways. The two of them end up tangled on the floor.

“Whoa! Sorry, Flowers.” He apologized and helped her stand.

“No trouble, I shouldn’t be standing here.” She dismissed.

As the band begins to play a new song Maxwell’s eyes light up. “We should hit the dance floor!” He said, excitedly.

Hana was a little insecure. “I don’t think you can waltz to this.”

It was playing Shania Twain, which Riley found to be most opportune, even if she hadn’t had a hand on it.

“Yeah, exactly the point.” Maxwell countered Hana. “I mean really dance. Like, the fun kind of dancing.”

“The fun kind?” The concept seemed foreign to her. “What would that entail?”

“I could tell you, but it’s going to be a lot more fun to show you.” He took her by the hand and headed to the dance floor, with the other three following closely behind.

Riley thought about pairing up with Liam, but Drake started scowling from the sidelines. The Prince, even in that excuse for a disguise of his, could find himself a pair easily enough, while Drake would bitch.

She, then, danced over to Drake. “I’m gonna getcha’ good!” She propositioned, using the song’s verse.

“I’m not really the kind of guy who dances.” He said, in a monotone.

“And I’m not the kind of girl who begs, so let’s get these hips moving.” She placed her hands in his waist, forcing it to go sideways, back and forward.

He took her hands off of him, scowling. “According to Maxwell, there’s a lot more to it than that.”

Checking the young man out, Riley noticed Maxwell was doing a very over performance of breakdance.

“That’s Maxwell for you.” Riley said, somewhat confused about the correlation between his movements and the tune.

Drake faced Riley. “I’m never going to be like Maxwell.”

As she observes, Maxwell shimmies over to a group of girls. “Ladies!”

Riley shook her head, disapprovingly. “Thank God for that. The world can only handle one Maxwell.”

Drake scoffed, approvingly.

“And, besides, I chose you to dance with me.” She took his arm.

“Why?” He asked. “Didn’t want to try to keep up with his acrobatics?”

“Drake, please. If me and him danced, the one biting the dust would be Maxwell.” She proclaimed, smugly. “I’m feeling more of a Drake vibe today, I guess.”

“Come on, Flowers.” He said, ironically. “It’s more like a lack of a vibe than anything else.”

“And so he admits!” She said, exasperated.

“Only on the dance floor, my one weakness.” He said.

She smiled faux-sweetly. “I thought I was your one weakness.”

He blushed. “I…”

“I mean, I’m the only one who doesn’t let you get away with anything, and I got you out here tonight, didn’t I?” She twirled her hair.

He grumbled. “As far as weaknesses go, you’re not the worse, Flowers.”

“Thanks, Drake.” And with that, she left him alone.

At the same time, Maxwell let go of Hana, who twirled dizzy to where Riley was standing. “Oh, hello, Riley.” The Asian placed her hands to her head, to keep her world from moving any further.

The black-haired took her hand. “Come on, Hana, just move to the music.”

“But I don’t know the steps!” The other argued.

“There are no steps!” Riley explained, smiling. “Just make some up and let the music guide you.”

“I don’t think I can do that.” She grumbled.

Riley pulled her over to the dancing area. “Start by relaxing. This is just for fun.”

“Right. Fun. I can have that.” She pepped herself up.

Placing a hand on her waist, Riley leads Hana through the motions, and the girl she shimmies and spins through the dance floor.

“Yeah!” Riley encouraged. “That’s it! You’re a natural.”

“Thanks, Riley!” She wrapped her arms around the white girl.

Before she could respond, Maxwell appeared next to them. “I have to say Drake told me what you said to him. Do you really think you can keep up with me?” He said, defiantly.

“Boy, you’re going down!” She took his hand and pulled him to the center of the dance floor.

Maxwell drops to the ground and does a series of breakdancing moves, ending in a pose with his legs straight in the air. Winking at Riley, he drops down and stands back up.

“Now let’s see what you’ve got.” He offered her a hand. Taking it, she spins herself into him and jump into his arms. Surprised, he said: “You’re lucky I caught you!”

“You always catch me, don’t you?” She winked.

He smiled. “Guilty as charged.”

She twirled away to a corner, where she found Liam. “Eh... What's up, doc?” She asks, smiling.

“Not much.” He answered, subtly surly. “You and Drake seems to be having fun.”

“As far as Drake is able to even have fun, I suppose he is.” She said, smirking. “While I am having a much-coveted reprieve from courtly life.”

“I’m happy you’re having a good time.” He said, dismissive.

Her lips thinned. “Well, you’re obligated to have it, too.” She took his hand and led him to the dance floor.

He complied. “Lady Riley.” He made a courteous bow.

“Nah-ah.” She twirled her finger. “Come on, no lady this-and-that. I’m Riley and you’re Liam, and we’re off the clock.”

He smiled, despite himself. “Of course.”

Riley sways against Liam, but soon enough he begins to blush. “Liam, what could you be possibly be thinking right now?” She asks, laughing.

He coughed, to hide his embarrassment. “Just how enjoyable is to have you so close.”

“Now that’s funny.” She said, wickedly. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Liam smiles widely as he places a hand on her waist, merrily holding her. “Even in a crowded country bar, it’s amazing how everyone else in the room seems to fade away when I look into your eyes.”

She smiles, and they twirl together over the dance floor.

A few hours later, as the night ends, the group starts to leave the bar. Hanging on the saloon, there was Drake, looking forlornly to the venue.

“Not ready for your birthday to be over yet?” Riley chirped from behind him.

“Maybe.” He said, thoughtful. He then sighed. “You know, to tell you the truth, I always dreaded my birthday when I was a kid. My parents tried hard, really hard, to give me the best birthday they could. But I always knew that no matter what they did, Prince Liam’s parents were going to top it.

“My parents got me a toy T-Rex? Liam’s parents got the entire palace staff to dress up like dinosaurs for his birthday. My parents got me a cake shaped like a car? Liam’s parents got him a cake the size of a car.”

She considered what Drake had said. It seemed to her that Liam and his parents were also, somewhat, jealous of Drake’s family’s moments. They imitated whatever Drake’s parents did the year before, they only did it grander, as in to assert their love for Liam after a year’s worth of neglect.

Riley, however, couldn’t tell him that. She, then, opted for a: “That must have been rough.”

“I mean, sure, it wasn’t easy, but I knew we were lucky to live at the palace and even be invited to Liam’s birthdays.” That part made her really sad. “So I didn’t really care about that stuff. Never saw these birthday parties as a competition.

“But they were Hell on my parents. They knew they could never come even close to what my best friend was getting, and that killed them. So around when I was nine or ten, I made a decision to stop trying. No more birthday parties, no more cakes, no more presents.

“All I wanted was to spend the day with my family doing something fun. My parents loved it. Made them feel like they could really give me something special.” He looked over at Riley, who wore googly eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a total marshmallow. Just don’t tell anyone else.”

“What confuses me is, why did you come here today?” She asked. “I mean, didn’t you have this family tradition to uphold?”

He shrugged. “My family’s not here anymore, so I wasn’t really expecting to do anything tonight. Anyway, tonight has actually been… well, it’s really been fun. And if I’m being honest with myself, it’s felt a lot more like those special birthdays with my family than I thought it could.”

“Well, I’m glad these jokers could make you happy tonight.” She said, elbowing him.

“You won’t let that go, will you?” He said, somewhat ashamed.

“Nope.” She shook her head.

“Anyways, I’m glad you dragged me out.” He said, sincere. “We should call it a night.”

“We’re just waiting for you.” She motioned to the door. As she was leaving, however, she stopped on her tracks and turned back to hug Drake tightly. “We’re here for you, y’know?”

“Thanks.” He breathed out.

Vienna, Austria, Winter 2011

The last guests already left the Rosenberg residence, and the maids were cleaning off the glasses, plates and cutlery scattered throughout the Art-Déco apartment.

At margin of the busy work around them, Charlotte and Karen sat on the living room. The youngest nursed a glass of wine and played with the newly-planted diamond ring on her hand.

“When were you intending to tell me you tricked me?” Charlotte broke the silence.

Karen looked pointedly at her daughter. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t take me for a fool, mother!” She said, angry. “You sent me to Cordonia as a brideshowing, didn’t you?”

“It IS the purpose of the event, isn’t it? A Slavic brideshowing ritual.” Karen said, dismissively.

“God, mother, you are annoying. You know what I’m saying.” Charlotte was ruby-red. “You said I would be entering that contest as a power move, and you lied. You wanted to prove to the Torelli I was, what did you say? A proper lady, worthy of her title.”

Karen snickered. “Well, I’m an efficient woman. If the same movement can benefit me in several fronts, more the reason to act upon it.”

“Mother, you are… you are…” Charlotte tried to find the word.

“A bitch? A cunt? An evil mastermind? Yes, I am.” Karen stood up. “Now, be quiet and go to bed. Your father is asleep.”

Red Rose - Masterlist

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[confusedunit]

The Other Side Looks The Goddamn Same - Chapter Twelve

“You have been well?” Reinhardt asks, sitting in a chair near the bed. “Or as well as we can be, in this profession?”

“I...Yes.” Ana stands nearby, not knowing quite what to do.

“You may sit, if you’d like.” He smiles at her.

“...Yes.” She sits down on the edge of the bed. “...I am...sorry for my behavior. I am a bit...”

“Anxious?”

“Unsure. I did not know how this conversation would go.”

“You thought I would be mad at you.” He clasps his hands together. “Am I correct?”

She slowly nods.

“If it helps ease your worries, I am not angry. I was upset when I had first found out, but I have had time to come to terms with it. To process...this.” He smiles again. “Why did you decide to come to me now?”

“Fareeha convinced me. And...” She smiles a bit in return. “I missed you.”

“Oh, did you?” He chuckles, holding out a hand.

She takes it. “I did.”

“Well, perhaps we could spend some time together, again. That is, if your friend does not mind.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not overstepping, am I?”

Ana snickers. “No, no you’re not. He won’t mind. Though...I should tell you.” She sighs.

“...What is it?”

“Reinhardt...you cannot tell anyone else.”

“I will not. You have my word.”

“...Soldier 76. He’s Jack.”

Reinhardt’s eyes widen. “...Morrison? Our Jack?”

“Who else would I trust to have my back other than one of you?” She smiles.

“This is wonderful news! You and Jack have survived and found each other. And now, you are here, safe and sound.” He grins. “I don’t suppose you have any other surprises up your sleeves?”

She shakes her head, looking away. “...No. Gerard found his way here of his own accord.”

“...You and Jack are-”

“Alone, yes.”

His smile falls. “...I suppose it was unlikely.” He looks towards the door. “...How has he been handling this?”

“As badly as you would expect. He only started taking care of himself after I found him again, and even then it’s the bare minimum.” She sighs. “He’s started drinking again.”

“...Worse than I had hoped.” He moves to sit next to her, pulling her into a side hug. “Maybe he needs to connect with the others, again.”

“You think he would do that willingly? He would rather hide in a room until he rots. He does not want to be here.”

“Perhaps, what he needs is a nudge.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

He chuckles. “Perhaps by leading by example?”

She blinks. “...Are you saying-”

“Come clean. Stop hiding in the shadows. Let yourself have allies, again.”

“...Perhaps you are right.” She leans against him.

He smiles, hugging her close. “I try to be.”

-

Gabriel had been having a normal morning, all things considered these days. He wandered the halls after using the training room, bored out of his mind. Sombra was busy, Gerard was busy, Amelie was in the med bay, and 76...

Who knows where 76 is?

But he had taken a turn down the hallway past the briefing room, which led to now; Gabriel shaking harshly, digging his nails into his arms.

Because through the window, he had seen her. She’s alive. Ana is alive. Ana-

He shatters to smoke, darting into a room and shutting the door behind him.

“Excuse me,” Athena begins. “No one is allowed in this room except-”

“Protocol Override Code: 732737.” He slowly reforms on the floor, sitting, arms wrapped around himself.

“Acknowledged. Welcome back, Command...er. ...Excuse me. I am confused. Records indicate your death, Commander Reyes. Were they filed erroneously? I can correct them, if you’d like.”

“...Please don’t. No one can know, Athena. Not yet.”

There is a pause. “...Commander, perhaps it might be in your best interest to-”

“No, Athena.”

“...Of course, Commander. I will not update the records.”

He sits there in the dark as she becomes silent, curling around himself. “...She’s alive, Athena.”

“Pardon, Commander?”

“Ana. She’s...She’s alive.” He rubs at his face. “...I treated him like shit, and she’s alive.”

She doesn’t respond, letting him talk to himself, just as she used to.

“I lashed out at him. Shouted at him, avoided him even though I knew he needed me. I was hurting, and I hurt him because of it.” He takes a rough breath. “He never got to keep anyone, you know. He never talked about it, but it was one of his fears. He lost his family. He lost his friends. Lost everyone he cared about. It’s...it’s why he always was anxious. He always was waiting for another loss.” He digs his fingers into his arms again. “And what did I do? Blame him. Lash out at him. And then avoid him. All while he tried to come to terms with yet another loss.” He can feel tears start to fall down his face. “I’m surprised he didn’t kick me to the curb when I came crawling back after an injury. He should have. He should have. He deserved better.”

She still remains silent.

“My words were unnecessary, angry little things, and now look. He’s gone, and she...” He shakes. “She...”

He doesn’t move for hours.

-

Jack coughs as he pulls the bottle from his lips, looking at the empty container. “Fuck.” He tosses it in the trash, pulling out another bottle.

“...Strike Commander...” Athena starts.

“Don’t call me that.” He twists the bottle open, taking a swig.

“...Jack.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

She sighs. “...76.”

“What do you want.”

“I wish to once again remind you that you should not be drinking in your office,”

“Not an office anymore.” He tilts the bottle back again.

“That you should not be drinking,”

“Who cares.”

“And that you should not be alone during your depressive states.”

“Who am I gonna talk to, Athena? No one.”

“...With all due respect, if you would just let me show your survival-”

“No way in hell.”

“I promise you, you would be pleased with the result-”

“Athena.”

“Just let me-”

“No, Athena. That is a direct order.” He looks down at the bottle. “...For whatever that’s worth, now.”

She sighs again. “...You are far too stubborn for your own good.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He drinks more, adjusting how he’s lying on the dusty couch. “...’Thena?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Hmph.”

“...Yes, 76?”

“...Play the audio file again.”

“Jack, this is not a good idea.”

“I don’t give a damn.” He tilts the bottle upside down. When had it gotten empty? He tosses it, grabbing a new one. “Let a dead man hear a ghost, would you?”

“Sir-”

“Command-”

“You don’t have to do that.” She sighs again, before the lights dim. “Initializing playback.”

He slams back the alcohol back in preparation.

The sound of a door opening and closing plays, before footsteps. “...Jack?”

“...Hey, Gabe.”

More footsteps. “What’s wrong, Jackie? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading out today.”

“I was supposed to. But I wanted to see you.” A sigh. “...They’re calling for my head, Gabe. Mostly figuratively. There’s...files. Documents about your missions that I haven’t been allowed access to. Athena can’t even open them. Did you know that your medical records are locked away? Not even Angela has access.” Another sigh. “They’re locking data away, forging my signature- how much more can we take?” A pause. “...It’s killing me.”

“It has been for a while. You’re just noticing it now, but we both knew it.”

“What do we do?”

“We get out. Like the kids.”

“They’re missing, Gabriel-”

“No, I sent them away for their own safety. I agree with you, everything feels wrong. We need to leave.”

“We should take whatever information we can, go public, something. I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll leave. Today.”

“I’ll get files. Ath-”

“Athena.”

The audio stops. “...Yes, Jack?”

“Play the audio again.” His voice cracks.

It starts once more, and he sighs, staring down into the bottle. That day’s been burned into his mind, but he wants to hear his voice. Remember what he’s lost.

Ana’s alive, and here, and whole. Welcomed back with open arms and tears. But he’s just a ghost.

“Athena, play it again.”

“Jack...”

“Again, Athena.”

What the hell is he doing here? He should have stayed back. Maybe getting him again would be enough for Talon, at least for a while. Buy them some time to figure out how to handle the organization.

He gets another bottle. “Again, Athena.”

Who is he kidding? He never should have been rescued in the first place. They would have killed him. He wouldn’t be a liability anymore. All he’ll ever do is get people hurt, or hurt people. They should have let him rot.

“...Jack?”

He startles, suddenly noticing the silence. “...Set it to loop, Athena.”

“...Of course, Jack.”

It starts again.

-

“...So.” Sombra feels out of place, folding her hands on the table. “All of us know what’s going on.”

“Hard not to.” Jesse crosses his arms.

Genji nods, visor and helmet set on the table.

“It’s almost obvious, when you think about it.” Lena adds. “Well, ‘cept for the whole sounding like a conspiracy theory, that kinda lowers it’s believability a bit.”

“Stay on topic, Lena.” Genji glances at her.

“Okay, so we all know. Now, what the hell are we gonna do about it?” Sombra sighs. “Genji, McCree.”

“Won’t even call me by my first name? I’m hurt.”

“She likes me better.”

“Can it.” She huffs. “You two know Gabriel. How do we handle this?”

“We can’t tell him.” Jesse’s tone is much more serious, now.

“Why not?”

“He does not believe what is too good to be true.” Genji turns his visor in his hands. “If we attempt to tell him, we will lose his trust. Not to mention any concern he may have about Talon involvement.”

Sombra blinks, confusion on her face. She turns to Lena. “What do you think?”

“We can’t tell him, either. He doesn’t trust anyone right now except for Ana. We can’t risk him shoving us away or we’ll never have a chance.”

Sombra blinks again. “...I feel like we’re having two separate conversations right now. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Huh?”

“Gabe doesn’t know who Ana is. Not right now, at least. How does that effect anything?”

The three turn and look at each other.

“Will someone answer my damn question?”

“You do not know?” Genji looks over at her.

“...Know what?”

-

Moira sighs, rubbing at her temples. “Any luck?”

“Not with the hacking, no. I’m afraid Sombra has everything locked down at the Watchpoint. Not to mention the mess she’s made of our security.” Her assistant moves over to her desk, handing her a carrot.

“Thank you.” She smiles slightly, holding out the treat for the bunny resting on her desk. “She could use a treat. She’s been so stressed, with Akande shouting all the time.” She lightly scratches the bunny’s ears. “Poor dear...”

“Is she still doing alright?”

“Besides the elevated stress levels, yes. It’s within safe parameters, but that doesn’t make it okay.” She huffs. “If he doesn’t get himself together, I will deal with him.” She looks over. “Please tell me you have some kind of good news for me.”

“As a matter of fact...” She holds out a folder. “The results of your mystery blood came in.”

“That, is some good news.” Moira takes the folder, gently scooting the bunny out of the way. She sets down the papers, looking them over.

Her assistant watches. “...Is it the result you-”

“This is fantastic news! You’ve outdone yourself, this time.” She grins. “Do we have more samples?”

“I...yes. We do. May I ask what you would like done with them?”

“I want one sample to be exposed to experiment 15-C, one to be mixed with 27-A, and another to get two drops of 93-W.”

“Of course, Doctor. May I ask why the use of those resources?”

The grin on Moira’s face is downright dangerous. “I was right. The blood sample matches up with my old records for Jack Morrison. Give or take a few variables, but that’s to be expected with the circumstances.”

“The former Strike Commander? But he’s legally dead.”

“Legally, so is Gabriel Reyes, but that doesn’t stop him.” She practically giggles. “Oh, this is too much! The old lovers, in the same base, not even knowing about the other!” She claps her hands. “I wonder who will snap first, set off by these mannerisms that are so close, but just off! Will it be the dead man who’s being haunted by Talon’s ghost? Or the manipulated ghost who trusts nothing his eyes can see?” She returns to petting the bunny. “I must be prepared either way. Send those tests down, won’t you?”

“Of course, Doctor. Right away.”

[paragonrobits]

I was super inspired by chapter 4 of segadores-y-soldados’ fic New Wars and I just had to write something Mondatta

He has enough time to see his death, make peace with it, and think of his brother.

also on FF.Net and Ao3!

Just for a moment, only for enough time to see that his life will be measured in seconds, Tekhartha Mondatta sees the world not as it could be, but as it must. At least for him. It is somewhat sobering.

He sees the people around him. His savior once again; he recognizes Lena Oxton, even years after she had saved him from Null Sector years ago. Even at a glance, she seems unchanged, and it only took a glance to see her swelling with joy at her people and his standing together in unison, as one within the gaze of the Iris. He had hoped, if possible, to speak with her again; there had been many things he would have liked to say for a human rushing to the aid of an Omnic so soon as a new war rushed upon them all, and pointless death coming to close them all.

Death. Pointless. Pitiless, suffering blinding them to what might be. He heard the whispers of the idea that struggle bred strength, and he doubted the wisdom in this. Suffering and discord, yes, they could be seeds of wisdom. Failure was instructive; the Omnic Crisis had taught him much, as he saw his people broken under the endless rage of the Omniums and humans die just as painfully as Omnics. Steel and flesh died the same, tearing or breaking, and the lights of a consciousness looked so very similar whether the vessel was organic or mechanical; a brief moment, rage or despair or stubbornness or surprise, and then... silence.

He watches her move, blink out of reality. She is gone for an instant, thinking too fast and working in a moment, and so she overlooks this. Mondatta does not have time to acknowledge this, and perhaps he would not have held it against her if he had.

He hears the scream of the rifle. The beginning of the bullet moving with deadly precision. And as Oxton shifts out of the space-in-time that the bullet shares space with for just long enough to avoid her death, he immediately knows what will happen.

He knows he is going to die several seconds before the bullet impacts his cranial plate, demolishing his central processor. The cascading chain reaction shuts him down in seconds; his internal fusion reactor sputters and dies, internal systems frying themselves without hope of recovery. The glow in his eyes fades out and it is only his power core losing the strength to keep him online, but it looks so very much like human eyes closing as they die.

Mondatta spent his entire life thinking and trying to do the right thing, even as everything around him inevitably slid closer into something like the human conception of Hell. Things seemed to always be getting worse; one year's constant mistrust and hatred flared the next year into outright war and calls to annihilate humanity or robots. Kill them before they kill us, his brothers, sisters and other demand, pointing to a legion of offenses against their kind. The sealing away of Anubis, the murder of the Rainbow Serpent. The depravities and callous murder in King's Row, where no human blinked if an Omnic was beaten to death in front of their own home. The humans made them and then tried to put them down; they would never stop trying to kill us, make them pay for what they've done-

And yet, and yet. He cannot believe that war is their only hope to survive. He will not. Mondatta's processors dedicate a considerable amount of resources to staring down that bullet and refusing to acknowledge that wholesale murder would ever change things. He would not want to live in a world where he is a person only because all humanity is dead. The bullet flies, and Mondatta gazes into it, and past it.

He sees into his death, and sees past it. Very well, he thinks, and in other circumstances he might be embarrassed to have such a mild reaction to his life measured in nano-seconds. Zenyatta would tease him mercilessly, certainly.

Mondatta has only seconds. Just enough time to see his death, and barely enough time to acknowledge it. Omnic minds work differently than humans; the end result is the same – and hasn't he just spoken at length about that, trying to hammer language around the idea that flesh and steel, blood and oil, heart and power source, were fundamentally one – and they process things more quickly. They have leisure to consider things. They do not think better, just... have more time to consider them in.

Mondatta has enough time to know he's going to die in front of a crowd that came to hear him speak what resonated what lay in the gaze of their souls. A flicker of irritation rises in him; if nothing else, the people that want him dead are being awfully inconsiderate to the people around him. Agenda is one thing, but there is such a thing as being genteel. On the killing fields of Siberia and elsewhere, his mind being ground down into a red-hot wire by the death around him and the horror of what he was doing and the dead beneath him – Omnic and human, corpses alike, all one in death, blood and conductor fluid pool out in just the same way, and his first thought of universal oneness came around death and the sickening realization of what he was doing, what have I DONE-

There he had promised himself that if he must live in a world where the only sane thing to do was to refuse to raise a hand in violence, even in his own defense, where all he could do was speak truth and hope that others believed that Omnics dreamed of a world where nobody else had to die for them to live, and there would always be people that would end lives because it suited their interests, that if he had to meet such people that they should at least be charming.

The bullet passes far enough, and Oxton's blur fades through time sufficiently that he has a glimpse of his murderer. A woman. Her skin an inhuman shade of blue, the visor on her forehead giving her the odd appearance from so far away that she is a human spider.

He sees her. He sees who she is. The blood on her hands, the tears she would weep if the ability to even know her regrets hadn't been sliced away from her. There is a ghost about her, perhaps only in her own mind, and he understands.

(Tekhartha Mondatta had never met Amelie Lacroix, nor her husband. He could not make out the details of her face this far away, and he would not have recognized her even if he had. Pain and suffering, though, makes all souls like family. He does not know her, but he does know that this act is not her will. He was a tool once, a weapon of war and agent of his people's rage, their hatred at being born and then betrayed by their gods.

Like calls to like. He understands, even if he doesn't know the details.)

The bullet is close now.

He spares a moment to think sorrowfully of the people in the crowd, humans and Omnics alike seeing exactly the same; it was only moments ago that they were bound together to listen to what he had to say, and the truth in his words resonating in them. He felt it, as surely as he had felt reality blooming like a flower ages ago when he taught Zenyatta how to find the bits of harmony in the world, even when it was burning around you. These people are here because of him, they will suffer because of him.

Very neat. Make his death a message, perhaps? An interesting question. He hoped others would think to ask it. Zenyatta would, or so he believed.

Mondatta sees the people in the crowd, and the threads that make them up weave together. It is not a physical light, and yet his mind translates it as such. Most of it is space, not empty but a place for things to be in, and also those things at the same time, a paradox of existence defining themselves. Much of it looks very similar, these threads of soul, and at the same time. All completely unique. Shining against them, like sun wound against the world, the bits where they resonate together, golden and white, not so much illuminating the world as moving beyond it to other planes of being; he can see how they come together, how they are one in this terrible moment.

There is purple and darker colors there, shades of discord binding them to impulse. Fear binds them. Doubt plagues them. Pain cuts them, even as these provide handholds to transform themselves in some fashion. But the darkness of discord is not so bright as the harmony flowing through though, not so much binding them together as they are simply resonating with the same feelings, such similar wavelengths, that they are beyond it.

It is there in the crowd. It is there, flowing in the sky as if upon the lashes of an eye shut before a world that will not gaze back. It is there above him, shining like a new star in the woman who tried to save him a second time. Tried, failed, just as he has done so many times. If he could, he would embrace her and promise Lena Oxton that it's nothing to fret about-

And Mondatta sees it in the woman behind the rifle, with the dead eyes. Her gaze barely flickers. Not with focus, but... restrained. Bound. Permitted only to gaze in specific ways, unable to even approach the idea of doing it in any other way. Again; her hands carry out his death, but he does not think that it is her doing.

And again, once upon a time, he was a killer too.

There is just enough time for his thoughts to flow together, mixing with such beautiful harmony that it is a music within him, a spark igniting into a blazing flame. Fire illuminates, and he gazes onward, and he understands.

There is not enough time.

He barely notices the bullet. He has enough awareness to acknowledge the piercing in his cranial plate, in a surprisingly detached way that baffles him – my skull has been compromised and it doesn't bother me that much, oh dear, Zenyatta would never stop finding ways to work in head puns somewhere – and then-

There is no more time. This vessel lets go.

Beyond Lena Oxton's cries of horror split the night, and her demands to understand why fall upon Amelie's deafened ears, Mondatta's broken mind has enough time to remember before his gaze moves onward from this life.

He does not remember the painful lessons won in the First Omnic Crisis; the original lessons he learned, miserable and too full of suffering he endured and inflicted, and taught him that understanding that comes from pain is all the worse if it was suffering you made. He does not remember meetings with the original Overwatch Strike Team, and the shock at seeing them regard him as an equal convince him that there was hope in the end; Morrison's fervent defense of the Omnics, Reyes' ferocious declaration that there was enough death in the world now, Reinhardt Wilhelm shaking his head before all the world to see, Ana Amari relieved to lower her gun in safety before an Omnic, even Torbjorn Lindholm nodding very curtly at him.

Nor does Tekhartha Mondatta remember kinder lessons. Those first years in the chilly heights of Nepal; the construction of the Shambali Monastery, long nights with his brethren as they contemplated how to fold the truths they had glimpsed into doctrine and wisdom all could understand s they did. Standing on the heights and looking into the wintry air, the cold wind comforting on his warm frame, his mind reaching into the wireless well of thought Omnics and humans like had build, where here he could feel like he gazed upon the most radiant part of the world; not material things but words alone, a world built of thought and sentience. Where he gently bade his brother goodbye, and-

Yes. That. These are the thoughts that are with Mondatta as he leaves the world, gently oblivious to the misery and despair of a world that is no longer his burden. His thoughts are with Tekhartha Zenyatta.

“You are too hot-headed, brother,” Zenyatta chides him after one heated argument too many, and long games where laughter cleans away the anger still simmering there. Zenyatta's gentle rebukes when a Shambali sister grimly suggests it might be best to hide here on Nepal until the humans learn from their mistakes and find peace without them having to do it for them; “We mustn't stay here, preaching dogma. If we are truly the same, I think it follows that we show it. We must go. Speak with them, help the world. If nothing else... getting them used to Omnics going about and making terrible jokes will acclimatize them to our existence, yes?”

Laughing. There was always so much laughter when Zenyatta was with them. When he read Zenyatta's letters aloud, or received letters from Zenyatta and his fascinating pupil – always with interesting comments in the margins, both Zenyatta's inexplicably lazy and yet precise scrawl, quite the contrast to his student's patient penmanship, even if it was honestly hard to read in hands not used to anything besides bringing war. And laughing when he left the monastery and spoke to people who had met Zenyatta and remembered him, often with rueful smiles.

Mondatta remembered leaving the monastery after too long arguing Zenyatta's point and deciding, yes, they needed to speak with humanity. No more hiding from the world they helped destroy, no more pretending they didn't have blood on their hands. He remembered walking the world, full of mistrustful gazes and hateful words, and yet never feeling more at peace with his life.

It had brought him to his death, and yet. A few flickering bit of processes considered this and examined it from every angle. Alternatives were suggested and followed through. A logical question presented itself. Do I regret coming to this end?

A vague awareness; a crowd of people around him, wanting to help him, make this not have happened. A woman who had grown up in the horrors of the Omnic Crisis, and yet had still looked up to him. More memories, rising up like lotus flowers through stubborn muck; humans and Omnics of every shape and potential form, greeting him as a brother. On every land, in every nation he'd ever walked. Languages he might never speak or understand buzzing around him, and the brotherhood there regardless. In the hopeful spaces of Numbani, upon the glittering spires of Oasis; in the broken places where the Omnic War had ravaged Detroit, in every stretch and shape of the world: he had seen it everywhere. A gorilla that spoke as a human or Omnic, shyly proffering a book for an autograph and asking if he could make it out to Winston and Athena; Mondatta had seen the future in that miracle, someone far more alien to humanity than Omnics were, and yet with eyes that shone with such hope.

Hope, everywhere he looked. Affirmed and recognized. He had seen the shape of more war, and even more often, he had seen the desperate sureness that this was a bigger world than he thought. For every act of nihilistic horror, he had seen two things that were roots for something better. He'd seen in the last Crusader, an order found to destroy his people, defending him from Null Sector and demanding them to explain the honor in this. He'd seen humanity accept his people into Overwatch, the organization founded to save humanity from his people, and he thought this certain evidence that the gap between those two peoples was fading away.

Like an eye, closing in acknowledgment of the truth.

The process completes. Had he a mouth, he would have smiled. There isn't a need for regret, not here and now.

And time is gone for him, and as consciousness fades away, he thinks of his brother.

Months pass. The cycle of the world turns anew.

As Talon resurfaces again, calling the world to war, dreaming of violence forcing the world to reshape itself or burn away, and it's leader is a man empowered by machinery, his heart as cold and grim as a steel blade-

Overwatch gathers anew, in a Watchpoint long since seemingly abandoned. And within that Watchpoint, the symbol of Overwatch neatly sewn into a threadbare robe still bright with the colors of the Shambali, there is a machine that thinks and feels and reasons, and the spark of him is bright and warm as the sun breaking through winter.

Mondatta is gone. But the world he spoke of is not yet gone. And between the fingers of Tekhartha Zenyatta, there is the youngest sphere.

They flow around him, emanating harmony and discord in turn. Songs of understanding, of healing. And songs to instruct through adversity, to understand the benefits of failure.

Each orb, channeling the energy of his Omnic body, was the shell of one he called brother, or sister, or simply friend. One who fell in the Omnic Crisis, proclaiming that this war wouldn't be worth surviving even if they want, and walked into the path of a Bastion's turret before it could stop firing; Zenyatta would always remember the sound of the Bastion unit screaming in horror, and his sister's silence. Another, a hacker who had dug too deeply into secrets too dangerous for anyone, and who had waited in the cold for his trackers to catch up with him.

Now, it was Mondatta with him. Mondatta's soul was gone, his gaze turned away from this world. And yet, considered Zenyatta, as the sphere moved...

Seemingly, if you allowed yourself to believe, on its own...

Mondatta's work was not done, and there was a fine framework to build upon.

He leaned close to the sphere, and it was warm in a way that had nothing to do with its internal mechanisms or Zenyatta's exertions.

Zenyatta contemplated the sphere, and he spoke quietly.

“Yes, my brother. I understand.”

And the Watchpoint filled, with the light not of harmony, but of transcendence.

[starnova-between-two-worlds]

Solidarity with Symmetra

Music: Girl In the Mirror-Britney Spears

Symmetra was the first of my 8 soulbonds from Overwatch. Though it’s been suspected since A Better World, it was recently confirmed that Satya is autistic. 

I don’t think Satya herself knew for sure until the days leading up to this recent confirmation. In all the time I’ve known her, both in-game and as a soulbond, it was glaringly obvious and apparent that she had one hell of a case of OCD. Everything to her is about order, order, order, cleanliness, and routine. The way she speaks outside of game is nothing different than the way she speaks in game--she always seems on permanent, perpetual edge about something. Something always seems to be bothering her, even when it’s not...I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak loosely or even joke about something. Most Overwatch characters have “joke” voicelines. Even the likes of Reaper and Amelie have their (lame, forced, fake) joke lines. It’s always that tense, rigid, almost robotic vocal tone that makes her sound like she is always ready to start scolding someone or else start lecturing them. Outside of game, she is the same way. 

I figured it was because the world was too unclean for her and she knew that. That’s why she’s Vishkar, after all. She just wants to clean up the world. She doesn’t understand that Vishkar’s only making it another kind of dirty. After all, it’s physically cleaner under them. (And even knowing Vishkar is a pile of shit, sometimes I see exactly where they’re going and I understand why it would be so appealing. I understand that for ethical reasons they can’t be allowed to continue.)  She does understand that my plane of existence HAS no Vishkar to clean it up for her...

Honestly, even with all this into play--her obsession with Vishkar to the point where she often infuriatingly has to compare every damn thing around her to something Vishkar did, is doing, or wants to do (”SHUT UP ABOUT VISHKAR, SATYA” is something I’ve refrained from yelling in real life, but have yelled in-game plenty of times when a Symmetra main, including myself, is in play on my team), the fact that while she does make eye contact, it kind of rolls off directly to my left or my right when she’s talking to me, how she has to touch both sides of the wall if her hand brushes across one side (sometimes lagging behind to make sure she touches EXACTLY THAT SPOT), and how she most often spends her time sitting in the background messing with her her light projector, drawing lines in the light with her robotic fingers or producing colored diamonds and triangles with no function other than to sparkle around for a bit before fizzling out, I never put it together into “autism.” OCD, definitely. But autism? Well, even now that it’s been confirmed, I still have a hard time seeing autism in anything Satya is. 

Because the first thing that came to my mind is, “But she isn’t anything like me.” Even knowing that autism is a spectrum, and that “once you know ONE person with autism you know ONE person with autism,” this still isn’t exactly true. I’ve felt a solidarity with Satya ever since A Better World’s release.  “When I finished reading, I was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t believe just how much Satya had said the same kinds of things I had said in life. Thought the same kinds of thoughts–counterproductive, negative thoughts they may be, but they were the same. “I don’t understand why anyone would WANT to live here.” Might as well get rid of it, right? It would be better to just get rid of it so no one would have to live there anymore. After all, it’s not like anyone WANTS to…I wouldn’t want to, after all.The desperate–yes, desperate–convincing herself that Vishkar was here to make a better world, even after witnessing them commit a genuinely disgusting act and BEING THERE when they did.” Yes, there is a hint of me in Satya, and a hint of Satya in me. And having personally experienced what it means to have your entire world and every perception you’ve ever had, your entire reality since your childhood come crashing down at your feet, I DREAD the day that Satya discovers the truth behind Vishkar... 

And yet still, I have a hard time seeing autism in Satya. Having lived with autism for only 24 years to her 29, I still have a hard time seeing it in her. The number one reason I have a hard time seeing it in her is the number one thing I just cannot bring myself to say. It’s the number one thing that separates the likes of Satya from the likes of myself and the other autistic people I know from my community centers, and  the number one reason why in spite of everything else I can’t help but regard her with more than a little envy. Instead, I’ll focus on how she has no noticeable impairment to her verbal communication--she doesn’t slur or mince words, words come out clear and understandable and no one ever looks at her with an eyebrow raised or goes “Huh?” or “WHAT?” She doesn’t need to type through a computer or utilize pictures or music to get her more complex messages across. She doesn’t script, as far as I know (could she be scripting from Vishkar?). 

But none of this means that she is not autistic. After all, autism is a spectrum. She’s just a particularly well-adjusted autistic woman who had the opportunities to be so much better off than I am. For that, I regard her both with utmost respect and utmost envy. Satya, why you gotta be so awesome? 

But still, to hear it confirmed once and for all that Symmetra and I share this kind of common ground is incredibly affirming. To hear Kaplan back up his confirmation by saying, “She is one of our most beloved heroes, and we think that she does a great job of representing how awesome someone with autism can be” brought a tear to my eye in the same way A Better World did. She doesn’t need to be just like me, and I know that I don’t need to be just like her. The fact that the two of us can share this solidarity and understanding is enough for us. The fact that the two of us have such a connection is enough for us. 

I love you, Satya. <3 Keep being awesome~