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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Here’s a title for the fic thing - “The Occult, the patriot, and the stars”

Look. Even though Tony’s a magical being, it doesn’t mean he likes being a magical being.

Sure it’s convenient in the mornings when he can wiggles his fingers and his coffee cup follows him outside of the door, and it helps when he doesn’t feel like putting in the manual effort to clean his house, but other than that, he likes doing things by hand.

His mother was magic, his father was not. His father held all the power in the household regardless. Tony learned how to do things by hand, and prefers it for everything.

His mother was the most powerful witch of her time, but this didn’t come without a cost. His mother was a good pretender, but he saw how her hands shook, how weakened her state was after driving back enemies for days, weeks without end. He didn’t want that legacy.

So he could be the most powerful magic-user the world had seen.

But he’s not, because he refuses to get started now.

This has caused some…minor hiccups.

Very minor.

Except not really.

You wanna know what’s really annoying? Fate. Fate is annoying, because it just shows up and is like “here is how it ends! Sorry if it sucks!”

Well, sometimes.

In rare instances, fate can be changed by certain people or a certain event.

One Pepper Potts can see into the future, and sees that her odd neighbor who gardens by hand and curses at his vegetable plants will be the one to save them all from a force that shouldn’t have as much power as it does.

She tells Rhodey, her other neighbor, and they both go over to Tony’s house and see him open the door and yell at some robot in the back.

“Are my noise levels up again? I swear to god I sound-proofed my entire house,” Tony pants. “Like, even the basement!”

“No, I have some news to share that you should know about,” Pepper says. “I…saw something.”

“Something cute, or something worse?” Tony asks.

“It’s not necessarily bad. At least, not yet.”

“No,” Tony says. “If it’s magic, I’m not dealing with it.”

“We’re talking about end-times,” Rhodey says. “You can’t just say ‘nah, fuck you’ to the world when it’s ending.”

Tony curses.

Pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Do you two have even the faintest idea of what I’m supposed to do?”

“Stop the end of the world?” Pepper suggests lightly, as if this is something that can be done in a weekend.

Tony snorts.

“How long we got?”

“Not sure yet,” Rhodey says. “But there are some people you’re gonna have to talk to in the council.”

Tony groans.

“I am not going to the fucking council.”

The Council of Magic is for the official wizards and sorcerers or whatever the fuck people are gonna call themselves.

Tony has had to go there about three times now, and ignored the last twenty-seven letters requesting his presence. It’s a waste of time, and he doesn’t like anyone on the council.

Least of all are the people that have been tasked with using magic to help save the earth.

“Fury,” Tony says.

“Decide to finally join in on the Council?”

“Only because my clairvoyant neighbor told me that apparently the world is going to end,” Tony says with a scowl. “Please tell me that you still offer complimentary coffee.”

Fury watches Tony fix his coffee, sipping it to himself.

“Seriously?” He asks Pepper and Rhodey. “He’s in charge of the main defense against Hydra?”

“Yes,” Rhodey says.

“God help us all.”

“Oh, God won’t have anything to do with it,” Tony says. “So. Who wants to fill me in on what I’ll need to be doing?”

Steve Rogers isn’t exactly…pleased.

If it helps, neither is Tony.

They don’t tend to mesh well, and this situation is no different.

He has strategies, he’s used to leading.

The problem with Tony is that you don’t lead someone like Tony. At least, you don’t lead them in a way that would be conventional.

“So you direct your attack here-”

“Not possible,” Tony says. “My inventions don’t do the possible damage in that far of a radius.”

“You don’t need your inventions.”

Tony gives Steve a dirty look.

“And you don’t need magic, Mr. Man-with-a-Plan. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Fighting without magic does nothing,” Steve reiterates. “You’ll be walking into certain death.”

“You overestimate magic.”

“And you underestimate the chance of dying!”

Tony scowls.

"I’m doing this my way or not at all.”

“You can’t afford to do it your way when there are others you have to worry about!”

“Watch me.”

He turns on his heel, ignores a very creative curse that Steve spits out with a middle finger and a blocking charm emanating from the very tip of his finger. Quite effective, honestly.

He goes to his house and works for two weeks. He refuses to see anyone besides Rhodey and Pepper, and then even for about twenty minutes at a time.

He returns to the Council with a blue glow out of his chest and a grim look in his eye.

"What’s that?” Fury asks.

"Nothing much,” Tony says casually. “Let me see Steve.”

War is something that involves waiting. No one tells you that, and you never really see it in a movie unless it is before the Big Battle. But often times you don’t know which one is the Big Battle anyways. They’ll tell you which one it was after you fight.

Tony’s good with magic.

Really, really good.

But it’s a last resort type of thing for him.

So he sends out drones, he sends out swords that come back, and people ask him how he learned a spell for that.

“Not a spell,” he says lightly. “Just a bit of GPS inspiration.”

“You can do that?” Clint asks, shooting off an arrow that never misses. (Got blessed when he was a baby, although he says it was a curse because he’ll trip on air at least once a week.)

“You’d be surprised what you can do,” Tony says, grinning. “I’m about to show you something that’s going to rock your socks.”

Introducing: Mark VI, which was not named after a guy named Mark, thank you very much Bruce.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bruce mutters. “So what, you charmed your broom to look like metal?”

“No, it’s a titanium-alloy with flight capabilities, no magic involved,” Tony says. “Wanna see her fly?”

“Fly her now,” Rhodey demands. “We got incoming, and you need to hit them with everything you got.��

Tony’s cackle, at least, is spot-on as he dive-bombs crowds and drops off potions of his own creation, causing a bit more than a stink.

The tide of this whole battle is actually coming to a close, he thinks. He hopes.

(One tiny, itsy-bitsy thing that he forgot to mention:

He doesn’t exactly know if his reactor is going to work. Like, at all. It probably will. Like, seventy percent chance it works.)

No one knows this. This is on purpose. Rhodey had some suspicions, but Tony flashed a couple of incredibly fake equations at him, and for the most part he thinks that he was believed.

This is why he shoved Steve and Nat out of the way and is currently facing off the main magic source alone.

It should kill him.

It definitely will kill him.

He looks back towards Pepper and Rhodey, who are more important than probably either of them know, and he prays to whoever listens to these types of things that they’re okay.

Boom.

He’s flung back about a hundred feet, and is quite surprised when he can feel a broken rib and the potential start-up of a concussion.

He shouldn’t be feeling anything, or thinking anything for that matter.

“You are so stupid,” Pepper says, and it sounds a bit fuzzy.

“Am not,” he slurs, struggling to focus his eyesight.

“You are intentionally stupid,” Rhodey mutters, cradling Tony’s head in his lap. That’s nice. He’s definitely requesting that more often.

“I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy,” he says. “Like I’m about to get all eight hours of sleep.”

Twenty-six. So not as “all-or-nothing” as he thought.

They had Bruce fix him up, even though he’s not “that kind of doctor.”

“Congrats Tony, you saved the end of the world,” Pepper teases as he wakes up.

“Don’t congratulate me on that,” Tony groans. “Please tell me there’s no parade. Or tell me I can miss it. We can host a look-a-like competition before it, it’ll be a blast.”

“There’s a parade, you’re going,” Rhodey says. “Kids wanna meet you. They wanna build their own brooms. Apparently, yours is all the rage. I think one of your robots found it.”

Tony sits up in bed abruptly, wincing.

“Please tell me it’s not the one with the green on the tire treads.”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Dammit.”

Pepper snorts.

“If it helps, his claw had excellent grip on the broomstick. I think he was trying to bring it back.”

“He’s…he’s something else.”

Tony leans back into his pillows.

“How’s everyone holding up?”

“Fury wants to talk to you about what’s next.”

“What’s next?” Tony asks.

“You’re quite popular right now,” Rhodey says.

“No shit,” Pepper snorts, taking a sip of coffee.

“The only thing that is ‘next’ is me watering my tomato plants,” Tony says. “Has anyone done that yet?”

“…no.”

“Fuck. Shit fuck bitch. They need to be watered. Who has access to the keys of my house?”

“Is this seriously what you’re focusing on?” Rhodey asks. “You just stopped the end of the world, and you’re concerned over your tomatoes?”

“Well, that and my bots,” Tony says with a shrug. “We should get burgers. I need to get out of here.”

“You just woke up,” Pepper says incredulously. “And you want, what, burgers?”

“Family traditions, all that,” Tony says. “Come on.”

Rhodey and Pepper share a look.

Their neighbor was already interesting before this.

But they can’t wait for what’s next.

(Even if it’s just Tony shrieking that his tomato plants were dying.

And then Tony finding out that his magic seeped into his inventions anyway and cursing up a storm, which accidentally hit Steve and had him speaking in rhyme for a week.

It was bad.)

#lovelyirony writes #i couldn't decide if i liked the idea of peppertonyrhodey in this #(I mean do. but the effort i have right now is low)#pepper potts #tony stark #magic au #rhodey #also YES his broomsticks are his armor and he's Chaotic and Kind of Hates Magic #(but is mostly scared of it)#dum-e is still a robot and is Overjoyed when he gets to take a ride on dad's broom! he's been waiting for years!#fury #steve rogers #steve and tony don't hate each other rlly they just. kind of. disagree about everything

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edendaphne · 5 years

Text

"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.”

#Discordant Sonata #Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Enemies AU #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain Cheng #fanfiction #Adrienette #Fan Art #My Art: Miraculous Ladybug #Eden Art #Eden writes

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kondo-hijikata · 6 years

Text

Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata, Shinsengumi! Verse Rating: M Summary: Kondo sets off for Hiroshima to attempt avoiding war, but the Hijikata he returns to is not the Hijikata he left only three weeks prior. Something drastic changed. And that’s when Kondo realizes he needs to as well. [AO3]

Part 1 | Part 2

.*Changing of the Guard*. Part 3

“…Toshi.” Like a chant murmured to a deity, the name rolled off his tongue, reverent and sincere. “I came back.”

And it felt good, so good, to have the starving space between Kondo’s arms filled once more…damn good to feel Hijikata’s spine pressed unto his chest. He basked in the privilege of reveling in this closeness, despite the impending difficult conversation that would wreck it all in a fraction of a second.

Because for as competent and practical as the vice commander was, he was as equally affected and moody; temperamental was likely the kindest descriptor, but even that (ironically) would be considered offensive enough to rouse ire and denial. And though Hijikata’s emotionalism often threw a wrench into the prospect of long-standing harmony, it was just one part of an entire package—one Kondo wanted complete with all the pieces, beautiful and unsightly alike.

So, he’d embraced him—unexpectedly. To that impulsive gesture, Hijikata’s hands at last rose, his palms pressing upon the forearms crossed over him and giving them an almost tentative pat, before his fingertips curled in.

Though the bearings remained difficult to navigate and the ice dangerously thin, it was a promising initial reaction; at the very least, there’d been no outright shut down, and though the ultimate hope had been a verbal response, the physical one was acceptable enough for the meantime. Whatever the case, it seemed the best chance of success would arise from Kondo starting with his own strife and easing into the actual subject of his concern.

He therefore tacked on, “Empty-handed,” to his previous statement after the fact, while drawing Hijikata even closer and nuzzling dark locks.

“You expected otherwise.” While Hijikata’s response erred on snappish, he made no effort to disengage himself from the clutches which had ensnared him. “I said it all from the beginning in one word. Choshu.”

“I remember. And you know why I had to try, regardless of that.”

The huff which followed indicated the opposite. That Hijikata hadn’t offered outright contest was indicative of his desire to not venture into uncomfortable waters—a silent but resilient demand to step off if Kondo was even considering such an avenue. Reading that warning loud and clear, he settled to start by dipping his toes into the deep end, instead of taking a full-on plunge.

“Ne…Toshi…” A pause. “The last weeks have been so hard.”

“Of course.” Hijikata hadn’t precisely sounded frustrated, but the air about his response thrummed with apathy and displeasure. “Do you also recall me being against you going in the first place, for exactly that reason?” The coldness contrasted Kondo’s warmth, played right into all the classic telltale signs of attempting to conceal inward distress by appearing outwardly impassive. As always, Hijikata was a master of pivot—but Kondo was rather skilled in the art himself, and matched his turn with flawless synchronization.

In truth, if the occasion were different, Kondo would have respected Hijikata’s boundaries and penchant for reticence without question; however, after the gravity of what had transpired in his absence, he wasn’t about to leave matters of mending to either chance or time. No, on this particular instance, the stakes were too high. He would be sure they braved through the burdens and emerged no worse for wear—together. It was the responsibility he both wanted and readily accepted, from choosing and miraculously being chosen by the ever-elusive Hijikata Toshizo.

For that, Kondo pressed on, inching further and further toward the edge of what he knew was a very dangerous precipice. “…It’s been hard on all of us, I mean.” A beat, when he felt Hijikata’s lungs still, and recognized that this was the tipping point. “Toshi, I’m sorry. I never intended to—”

He’d been right. At last, it was the one push that went too far, and the tension mounted with full force before Kondo could finish what he’d begun to say.

“We knew the situation.” The interjection sliced right into the forefront, petulant and stiff—almost formal. “What matters is that you’re alive. You fought, you tried, you came back. End of story.”

“Aa…” Kondo slowly began. “I did promise you I would.”

“So, as long as that’s the case, we can just keep going forward.” A breath to indicate finality fell from Hijikata then and the harshness about him began to ease; it seemed he believed control over the dialog was now entirely in his grasp, and in turn could be limited to Kondo’s experience while avoiding his own. “Forget about what happened in Hiroshima, Kat-chan. That wasn’t on you and we’re moving onto greater things.”

Hijikata’s belief was wrong, however.

“I could say the same to you.”

Another sarcastic huff followed. “Interesting claim, since I wasn’t the one needlessly putting my life on the line.”

“No?” Kondo gazed toward the tatami in the distance, bracing himself within the last remnants of peace. His lashes fell and he brushed the strong line of his jaw against Hijikata, inhaling deeply before dropping the match that would detonate into an inferno. Falling, falling, falling… “Just your reputation, then.”

And the universe erupted into flames.

Hijikata’s spine went rigid. His chest temporarily suspended with the bating of his breath.

“Toshi.” Kondo’s voice went low and gravelly, calm.

The hands which had clasped to him fell like weights. “Don’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ignoring the scoff, Kondo stressed, “Listen to me. Kawai wasn’t your fault.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Kondo felt an outward shove against his arms as Hijikata attempted to disentangle himself, but remained firm with his hold. “Gen-san told me how you, how everyone, tried so hard. And I know—” While the tiny struggle of push and pull wore on, the words continued to fall forth from his lips, careless like an inebriate spilling sake. Whatever it took, he needed to be heard, needed to excise the blame and soothe the lasting injury. “—I know that last time when I came back from Edo, things were—It was all different back then, Toshi, so—I just want you to know that I know it’s—”

Hijikata’s face snapped to the side. “What do you know?!” The tug of war, of holding and wanting to break free, grinded to an immediate halt and neither made a further move in or against his own favor. That question cut deep, had Kondo’s chest tightening and stole the sentiment right from his tongue. “You don’t know anything at all!” Hijikata promptly shut his eyes and he turned away again. “I don’t need you, or anyone, to justify my actions when I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

Still taken aback from the intensity of the barrage, Kondo’s brow furrowed, and certainly for lack of better wording, he stammered, “…I know.”

A stiff shake of Hijikata’s head complemented the increased abrasion in his tone. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”

Taking a moment to gather himself, Kondo realized something by the heaviness in that response; the divulgence of feelings he thought he’d have to coax had been imminent all along with minimal provocation, for the impossible amount of tension which Hijikata kept bottled up over weeks had been a single breath away from rupturing this whole time. And while Kondo was willing to catch all of it—to catch him—such awareness had him backpedaling, his tone markedly growing softer to not exacerbate the situation. “Toshi, I know. And I completely support—”

However, even as he went slack in attempt to ease some of the rapidly augmenting pressure, Hijikata only became more rigid and defensive. Impenetrable and not open to debate, he hadn’t even allowed Kondo to finish as he continued his own tirade. “What’s necessary for the Shinsengumi, for everyone.”

“Of course, Toshi. I never said—”

And that marked the point of no return, when whatever veneer of possession Kondo thought he had over this exchange met its conclusive demise. Past experience advised him to lay off until Hijikata unwound from his current state, but he’d continued his futile attempts until the limit was reached. Now, the scales tipped completely, the world skewed, and the next thing Kondo realized was that he’d trapped himself in a room with an unleashed tiger.

And worse yet, that tiger was wounded.

Snarling, Hijikata violently thrust his elbows out with enough strength to emancipate himself from Kondo’s grasp and staggered forward, the volume of his words increasing as his shoulders began to rise and fall. “Even if that means enforcing seppuku. Even if the man who committed it was innocent, even if we all knew he was covering for someone else.”

Whirling on the soles of his socked feet, Hijikata turned back to Kondo. Their vision had adjusted to the dark, the pale blue light from outside faint but present enough to allow them to clearly make out each other’s expressions. And Hijikata’s eyes, they were rife with a formidable cocktail: of anger, of mortification…of other things he very likely must have preferred to keep to himself.

Still, with a half-hearted shrug, his hands barely lifted near his hips. “Even if it’s over fifty ryo.”

Kondo was almost breathless. “It’s not a small sum.”

Once again, the rebuttal went entirely ignored.

“Even if it was for something we tactically needed anyway. Even if Kawai waited day in and day out, asking hour on the hour: Has the courier arrived? Has the courier not yet come?” Standing still again, Hijikata quickly licked his lips and cocked his face before righting it. “Even when our own people came to me, begging and making demands to pardon him…expecting me to do only what our absent commander could.”

Kondo shook his head, and though there was plenty he wanted to say, he finally relented and let Hijikata keep going without further counter.

“So Kawai goes through with it. Because he has to. Because those are our rules. And his seppuku is botched because Tani missed. Actually missed.” A hand cut through the air. “Struck him right in the back, Kat-chan. You should’ve heard the mewl.”

“Toshi,” Kondo breathed, slowly approaching him. His hands began to lift, to reach toward the shoulders still laboriously undulating; however, before seeking purchase, they paused as he considered if contact was welcome now. How quickly he’d gone from inciting such a self-assured campaign of good intention to these humble defensive measures of defeat. “Tosh—”

“You say Gen-san explained things to you, but did he actually tell you the worst of it?” Hijikata neither leaned in nor recoiled at Kondo’s advance. He did, however, raise his brows, nodding in rapid succession as his demeanor began to disintegrate further. “I don’t even mean how the courier finally arrived less than two hours after, no. I’m talking how Kawai’s father sent more than what was owed with a loving letter to his now-dead son. Did you hear that part, Kat-chan? How the letter explained that he was on business and that’s why there was a delay? How he wrote how proud he was of him for being responsible and bringing honor to their family, how he hoped we—” His voice began to crack and his gaze pulled off to the side.

Hijikata drew a sharp inhale, clearly premature in forcing himself onward and yet he kept right at it. “We, his great and loyal friends, would continue...heh.” His eyes closed, then squeezed, and his palms raised to cover them. Fingers were half-clenched in the air and the last words fell raw. “...taking care of him.” A breathy laugh followed—coerced, strained, gruff.

At last, Kondo’s touch fell upon Hijikata, large warm palms pressing to the cool skin of his elevated biceps and waiting for consent. Hijikata’s arms fell and the fierceness within his gaze pierced straight through to Kondo’s soul, sizing him up and sending a cascade of ripples along its celestial fabric. And then, it was as if his rationality had suddenly caught up to his emotions—that he realized where he was, and what he’d just divulged and in what way. “Was that the point of all this?!” Exasperation shaded his tone as he lashed out, his pupils shrinking. “This was really what you wanted?”

Hijikata hadn’t meant that, and Kondo knew it…knew he was just working through his own feelings and retreating into his own deep-rooted defense mechanisms. Anyone would do so when backed into a corner. Still, even a frivolous insinuation that Kondo would ever actually want to see Hijikata break or suffer in any way caused heaviness to radiate from the center of his chest and filter outward. His breath caught with the ache of his heart, and all he could do was offer a vehement denial.

Kondo set his mouth in a line and adamantly shook his head. He focused on the absolute exhaustion before him—the mental and physical tolls, the hurt in those dark eyes—before slowly, imprudently reaching to Hijikata and trailing the back of his fingers down his cheek with a feather-light touch.

What began as a flinch eased into a waning of the anger and desperation radiating from Hijikata through the tenderness of Kondo’s caress; despite that, he remained unmoving and cautious, as if he were looking for ulterior motives even when he knew none existed. A wounded tiger, indeed. But Kondo was aware, from spending over a decade with this man, what he wanted most of all right now. It was just a matter of finding out if he’d allow it.

Upon reaching the soft edge of Hijikata’s jaw, his digits fell gently to the nearest shoulder, latching on before starting to coax him forward. Kondo fully expected another outburst, another scathing rant which he believed was more than deserved at this point; however, to his surprise, the action was permitted.

He didn’t wait for a change of mind. Kondo’s hand slipped to Hijikata’s back and hauled him forth to eliminate the space separating them—so strongly and so close that he felt the lips which had just injured him press against his shoulder upon the impact. From there, Kondo wrapped his arms around the smaller frame and held tight with an overwhelming possession, as Hijikata slowly melted into him and hands lifted in kind to take to his haori.

This was the place Kondo had wanted them to get to upon initiating that first embrace…but not like this, or at the expense of discomfort or coercion. He’d wanted Hijikata to talk to him, so he could listen and support; certain that he could at least do that, his movements had started with a particular degree of confidence. Now, however, Kondo remained silent and stared into nothingness across the room.

He was no longer convinced that any of the comfort he was capable of providing would be enough to assuage and heal these kinds of wounds. Because it was just as Hijikata had said: Kondo hadn’t known the full extent—and therefore couldn’t possibly, genuinely, share in the immeasurable pain of consequence. He hadn’t needed to stand helplessly by while an unthinkable situation and its many moving pieces unfurled to leave gashes and scars in its wake.

He couldn’t even effectively pick up the damn pieces in the aftermath without making things worse. So he resolved to let his arms do the talking, let his body provide the consolation his lips could never. While the quietude hung heavy and the guilt weighed in deep, Kondo cupped the base of Hijikata’s neck and once more leaned his cheek against neatly styled hair.

They stayed this way for a meaningless amount of time, until Kondo finally felt the grasp on his attire loosen, and the fabric subsequently giving way with the slack.

As he righted himself, Hijikata’s gaze lifted to meet Kondo’s, showing much softer eyes to match his voice. “That’s what you didn’t know, Kat-chan.” He inhaled briefly and gave a tiny shrug. “Or, it’s what I didn’t want you to.”

“Why.”

A gentle half-sigh feathered across his sensitive skin. “For all the good this is doing you, or either of us.”

Kondo swallowed, feeling his expression contort as he searched the distant dark edge of the room again. “No.” Finally, he sought Hijikata’s eyes again, the words coming forth barely above a whisper. “Why are you always protecting me like this?”

“How can you ask that? That’s my job.” Hijikata’s chin fell with a strong nod rife with purpose. “It’s my sworn duty and honor as your vice commander.”

Pulling his mouth taut, Kondo’s lashes fell for a moment and he thought to make an argument but let it go.

“Kat-chan, let’s get one thing straight. I can’t do what you do.” There was a slight shake of Hijikata’s head. “I couldn’t pardon Kawai. It wasn’t my role.”

“But—”

“And I accept that. Along with the responsibility of enforcing our code, no matter the cost.”

“Even when it’s your hands always getting dirty,” Kondo said, instead of asked.

“No matter the cost,” Hijikata reiterated. He swallowed afterward and peered toward the shoji for a beat. “In the long run, nothing like that matters. As long as we keep going forward.” There was another deliberate nod before his eyes found Kondo’s again. “As long as you’re still commander.”

They stared at each other for several moments, and Kondo became of aware of how openly he was wearing his own emotions in that moment.

“Kat-chan…” Hijikata’s voice was nearly breathless. “Don’t you get it by now? Don’t worry about me. All you need to do is keep leading as you are and let me take care of everything else.”

What could he say to that? Nothing at all. It was proof that Hijikata had already come to terms with Kawai’s fate. Of course, it hurt. Naturally, it wasn’t easy. But he’d already justified it and what he needed most now was time to let his feelings settle, especially when surrounded by their own men who also were also in mourning. The best Kondo could do was offer his embrace as he was doing now, a trifle in comparison.

However, there was just one further question that gnawed at him and his brow furrowed further. “Toshi…” Kondo paused to lick his lips, his gaze falling as he considered his words. When his eyes lifted again, they were accompanied with a slight squint. “…What makes you think I would have pardoned Kawai?”

Hijikata huffed out of his nose. “What makes you think you wouldn’t have?”

Once again, Kondo found himself speechless.

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #shinsengumi!#t2 #konhiji #katchan loves haiqueue man #writing on plaid paper #long post #this part was extremely taxing to write #complex and emotional vice commander is complex and emotional

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