Miraculous Menaces

by DrTwit

Summary:

"I'm Adrien Agreste. I thought I was a normal boy with a normal life, but my father has a secret that I must protect at all cost, because it just might save my family's future."

At first, Adrien thought that the day he found out that his father was the supervillain terrorizing the people of Paris was the worst day of his life, but in retrospect, it might have been the one change needed to save his family. Because it was also the day that both of them realized that, when they don't need to be Adrien and Gabriel Agreste, they're both goofier than they realized.

Follow the adventures of Hawkmoth, Chat Noir, and their reluctant assistant who doesn't get paid enough, Nathalie, as they try to navigate life as a supervillain family. And pray for Ladybug's, and her new partner's, sanity as she suffers their antics.

Notes:

Started as just a prompt I made on Tumblr that a lot of people liked the idea of.

Chapter 1: Menaces Rising: The Night Nobody Knocked

His name was Adrien Agreste, and before today he was just a normal-ish rich boy with a normal-ish rich life. Now, there’s something about him that nobody knows, because he has a secret.

And that secret came in leather and cat ears.

Wait. No, not that kind of secret.

Whilst a young boy creeping through the Paris streets in the dead of night, peering over his shoulder ever few steps fearful that he would catch the glimpse of judgemental eyes and shady characters, might give you the impression of a more illicit secret hobby; you can be assured that Adrien’s intentions were entirely heroic.

The dawn of this very day had changed Adrien’s entire life, when a floating, talking cat emerged from a mysterious ring and imbued him with the powers of destruction. Before he could even contemplate his new role in life, he was thrown into a life-threatening battle with a classmate turned giant rock monster alongside a bug-themed beauty.

He was Chat Noir, and as much as he wanted to sit back and process all this new information, a chance encounter had told him that the day wasn’t over yet.

Adrien had been power walking back to his home, desperately pondering just how likely it was that no one had noticed he wasn’t in his room anymore, when a glimmer of purple dashed past the corner of his gaze. Plagg had called them akumas, a weapon of Hawkmoth’s forged from negative emotions that empowered people so that they can help Hawkmoth’s plans.

This must have been the one that flew out of Stoneheart after they broke the akumatized object. Which meant that it was either on it’s way to akumatize another person, or it was returning to it’s master. Either way, Adrien saw an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

That is how he found himself to be crouched down by a wall, peering around the corner and muttering to himself. “Come on little butterfly,” He growled with the cadence of the hard boiled detectives he’d seen on TV. “Lead us right back to your daddy.”

A distinctive black blob smelling of the worst kind of cheese hovered over Adrien’s ears. “Kid, I’m a fun, rule-defying sorta cool cat, but are you sure about this?”

He shifted to hang in front of Adrien’s nose, blocking the akuma from view. “Shouldn’t we go get Ladybug or something before we go after the big bad?” He spat out, like the mere implication of being responsible made him sick.

“I swear the old coot said something about ‘stronger together’.” He muttered.

Adrien lightly pushed him out of frame, advancing down the street in a hunched over waddle that, in his mind, Adrien was sure looked super badass and not at all bizarre. “Hey, if you have a way to contact her without a phone number or an identity, you can lay it on me right now.”

Plagg groaned, opting to nestle himself inside Adrien’s front pocket. “Bah, this is exactly why secret identities are bogus.”

Instinctively, Adrien found himself stroking Plagg’s head with his thumb. “Hawkmoth’s gotta recharge himself too.” He mused, moreso for himself than Plagg’s bennefit, “We just sneak into his lair, hide in a corner and then wait.”

“The moment he drops his guard Chat Noir pounces.” He spun around, slamming his fist into the wall for extra emphasis while he cried out “WHAM!”

And then pulled his hand back to cradle it because- Oh god, that fucking hurt.

Ignoring the cheese-eating grin from his kwami, Adrien turned away and massaged his bruised knuckles. Don’t focus on the pain, he told himself, just focus on the positives. “He gets knocked out cold, butterfly miraculous falls back in the right hands, I haul his ass to the cops and then me and Ladybug get ice cream and fall in love.”

Plagg was peering at him through a squint of pure lacking confidence. “You have it all planned out, huh?”

Adrien crossed his arms, scoffing “What’s your plan? Wait until he akumatizes somebody else?”

“I still think this ain’t gonna end how you think it will, Kid.” Plagg floated closer and tapped Adrien on the nose. “The little rich kid who just left his mansion for the first time in years ain’t exactly got a lot of street smarts.”

Another desperate, high-pitched scoff followed. Adrien jumped up, pumping out his arms and flexing his ‘impressive’ biceps. “It’ll be fine! I’m feeling amped.”

“That’s the power high.” Plagg groans, paw smacking his forehead. “Another reason you shouldn’t be trying a stealth mission.”

In a mature and rational move, Adrien took off running down the street, waving over his shoulder. “Can’t hear you over my awesome plan.”

He didn’t have to go far to catch back up with the akuma. Despite having the ability to fly, the butterfly conveniently decided to stick low to the ground, following the sidewalk like any other passer by. It’s trail of purple, evil energy followed it at a slow pace, leading Adrien through alleyways, across unfamiliar streets and under bridges until the city he knew was replaced with run down buildings and cracked foundations.

He had to stop for a moment and admire the new location, one that was almost literally like stepping into another world. Not just because of the gloomier atmosphere, but, strangely enough, Adrien could literally see the threshold where everything changed. Like a line through the city, where on one side the streets were happy, well paved and bustling under a clear night sky; and the other had green skies, fierce rain and a sickly colour to it all as if God had put on a filter.

It was strange, but then again, Adrien hadn’t exactly been to this side of Paris before.

Still, he soldiered on, pulling his jacket tighter over his shoulders to shield himself from the abrupt shift in weather. His journey soon enough brought him down a particularly foreboding street, slick with grime and overrun by rats. He stood before a large domed building, some sort of observatory that towered over most of the dilapidated buildings that surrounded it.

Plagg zipped up high to get a good look at the building, whistling as he did so. “Whoa, that’s… Well, that’s definitely a villain lair.” His brow creased, looking down at Adrien. “Why is there a spooky old observatory in the middle of Paris?”

Adrien clapped his hands together, feeling a jolt of excitement at actually knowing something for a change. “Oh, I read about this. Apparently, this entire district is just creepy abandoned locations that nobody ever visits.”

Plagg blinked, stunned. “Really?”

Adrien shrugged, “Yeah, Paris has really gone to the dogs.”

The kwami shook his head, floating over to the boarded up windows that flanked the entrance door and sticking his tiny body through them. “Okay, but how do you know this is Hawkmoth’s lair? The akuma could have just been flying p-”

When he popped back out, he found Adrien simply pointing skyway. Fluttering back over to Adrien and following his finger, Plagg’s gaze settled on the top of the dome, where the observatory’s roof opened up, framed by a giant butterfly symbol. “Oh.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Adrien leaned in, his voice low even though nobody else could hear him. “Did he build that himself, or was the symbol already there?”

Plagg tapped his paw against the closest thing the tiny cat creature had to a chin, pondering. “Maybe there’s a like a Super Villain real estate agent that scouts out thematically fitting locations?”

Adrien smirked and, in his head, he sounded very cool as he pounded his fist into his palm. “I guess we’re just gonna have to ask him ourselves.”

Plagg gagged, “We really need to work on your witty banter, Kid.”

Naturally, Adrien ignored the mistaken heckler and brought his arms to his side, crouching down into his hero pose. “Plagg, claws out!”

With a flash of light and a little help from his every expanding baton, which Chat was struggling not to call the power pole, Chat Noir easily launched himself up onto the roof of the building. It had only been a day since this power had been bestowed upon him, but gliding through the air and landing in a perfect perch on the edge of the opening with a deadly drop at his back was already second nature to him.

His gaze followed the akuma’s decent into the building, finding a wide open room below with little decoration or furniture, only a swarm of bright white butterflies acting as the sole light source in the room. And at the centre of it all, the man of the hour stood, no longer the wizard of oz floating head, towering over all.

Chat Noir gulped. He hadn’t expected Hawkmoth to be so… Tall.

In this lighting, where Hawkmoth was half in shadows and half in the spotlight of the moon, the villain’s eyes were sheltered by shadow leaving only the pearly whites of his inhuman smile go shine on through.

Hawkmoth swayed back and forth as he observed his akuma’s approach, carefully extending his hand to the creature, coaxing it closer. “Ah, there you are my little akuma.” He said softly as the akuma perched itself on his palm. Despite the lack of magical projection, his voice still boomed like it was through a speaker. “I was fearful that you got lost; I’m still adjusting to these powers.”

Gently, Hawkmoth raised the akuma up to his nose. His brow furrowed. “You’re hurt.” The click of his tongue echo’d across the observatory.

As Chat leaned forward curiously, Hawkmoth placed his other hand over the akuma, trapping it. However, just when Chat thought Hawkmoth was about to squash his insect compatriot, a crackle of dark energy extended from Hawkmoth’s chest, around his heart, and travelled down into his hands. There was a sharp hissing noise, like steam escaping a kettle, a process Adrien could only assume was painful with how much Hawkmoth’s limited facial features twisted in response. “There there, all better. Let my spite and despair numb your pain. Those meddlesome brats treated you so harshly.”

It was quite the tonal whip lash, watching a man – who’d lorded over Paris as a giant dark figure threatening the apocalypse if his demands are not met mere hours ago, stroke the akuma’s wings like it was a pet.

The akuma made a distorted buzzing noise in response, prompting Hawkmoth to hold the akuma up to his.

“What?” He paused to let the akuma’s buzzing continue, nodding diligently like he was actually holding a full on conversation with the butterfly. Hawkmoth’s head snapped back, shocked as he continued to pet his akuma.

“No! You did wonderfully, Stoneheart.” He gasped, “It was our first day, after all.”

He hit his stride, crossing the width of the room to gentle set his akuma down in a special cage. Once more, the image of the intimidating, merciless villain was challenged by Hawkmoth letting out quiet coo-ing noises over his little friend.

“I would have undergone a more low-key test drive of my powers.” He admitted, turning his head away as if ashamed of the explanation. “But when you’re preying on volatile emotions to turn people into powerful champions of evil, you can’t exactly do it without making some noise.”

This buzz was loud, quick and enough to get Hawkmoth to jump. “Hey now,” He chided, leaning over to wag his finger over them. “There’s no need for that kind of language.”

Suddenly, the buzzing continued at a higher frequency, a distorted arrangement of scratchy, borderline static droning noises. Chat could practically hear it’s emotions, it was crying out, in pain and confusion. It’s flaps became only more desperate, cracks starting to form along it’s body while the body trembled before whatever power was being injected into it.

And then one akuma split into three akumas. Hawkmoth stumbled back, his expression stretching out into a sheepish frown – slightly scared.

“…Okay, I didn’t know you could do that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, uneasily observing the various copies of his and Ivan’s rage. “It’s a little scary, b-b-but good scary. Just… Uh… Let me put you in a jar for now.”

Hawkmoth ducked out of view for a moment, returning with a pickle jar in hand and sweeping the akuma triplets up into it. As he did so, Chat noticed how the man took more laboured breath with every step, awkwardly grabbing at his miraculous like he was fiddling with a neck tie that had been drawn too tight.

“Hm, this form is growing taxing.” He mused, tapping the end of his cane against his forehead. With one last glance at his akumas he sighed, waved away his butterflies and cried out into the ether. “Dark Wings Fall!”

A bright flash tore throughout the room, ripping the form of Hawkmoth apart and leaving only a mere man, sporting a scrawnier build, in his stead. A smaller shape, which Chat assumed to be the kwami Plagg spoke about, materialized over the man’s shoulder, slouched and limp in dismay. Unfortunately, with the low lighting dimming even further with the dismissal of the bright butterflies, Hawkmoth’s true form was kept to a sinister silhouette wrapped in a designer suit.

If only Plagg hadn’t forgotten to tell Chat Noir about his night vision feature.

The most Chat Noir could make out was some dumb tie that looked like a candy cane. Either way, Hawkmoth’s power was on cooldown and Chat Noir’s wasn’t. Hawkmoth was vulnerable.

“Now’s my chance.” Chat wasted no time making his big entrance. Subtlety was not an option in his mind, with a mighty roar of ‘CATACLYSM’ he crashed through the ceiling (intentionally ignoring the big opening he had been viewing this all from) with a war cry ripping through his throat.

His landing was no less loud, the impact of his feet hitting the ground and dropping into a crouch echoed as a powerful shockwave. It swept over the room with a brief, but violent, wind pushing both butterflies and butterfly villains up against the wall.

“What the-” Was all Hawkmoth managed to gargle out before his back hit the wall and his body crumpled to the floor.

Chat’s baton extended with the momentum of a speeding bullet, pinning Hawkmoth to the wall and catching the broach glinting from Hawkmoth’s chest in one decisive blow. Knocking the wind out of the man before the transformation phrase could escape his lips.

“Sorry, Hawkmoth. But it looks like your villainous career is going to be cut short!” Chat grinned, slowly advancing upon the villain. “I hope you’re feeling sensible, otherwise I’m gonna have to knock some sense into you.”

The purple kwami zipped across the room as a blur, coming to a stop just over Chat to peer down at him with a mix of relief and innocent befuddlement. Chat glanced his way, shooting the kwami a small smile. “You’re Nooroo, right?”

“The Black Cat holder is here already?” Nooroo circled around Chat, buzzing with excitable energy. “I feared that you two wouldn’t find me until disaster had already hit.”

Nooroo’s eyes narrowed curiously, looking past Chat. “Uh… Where’s Ladybug?”

Chat grinned sheepishly. “I’m sort of doing this solo.”

“You didn’t bring her with you?!” Nooroo gasped, “But the akuma needs to be purified by the Ladybug, otherwise it’ll run amok!”

Plagg didn’t say anything about purifying akumas! Adrien snapped internally, briefly wondering if Plagg could hear Adrien’s thoughts while they were merged. “I don’t even know who Ladybug is, I don’t have a way of contacting her.”

“You don’t know her ide-” Nooroo scowled, “Plagg, what the hell!?”

On pure instinct, words were put into Chat’s mouth to answer “Hey, the guardian made the rules, not me- Uh, us?” Chat slapped his free hand over his mouth. “Wait, what’s a guardian?”

Okay, so apparently Plagg did still have a presence when they were merged.

Nooroo looked dumbfounded. “Did Plagg and Tikki not tell you two anything!?”

A stifled sneer snapped Chat’s attention back to his prisoner, inching closer and closer to Hawkmoth. While Chat was letting his adrenaline rush lead him into battle, he still had enough of his faculties to recognise that Hawkmoth could turn this around in an instance if he had room to transform again.

“Curses! How did you find my-” Hawkmoth’s eyes widened, to the point Chat could swear they were bulging out of their sockets.

He brought the jar up to his nose, scowling down at the trio of akumas huddling in the corner and desperately trying to look at anything other than their master. “Oooooh, you three are in so much trouble when we get out of this!”

Chat jumped on the opportunity, dropping his baton and, with the sudden weight lifting from Hawkmoth’s chest, causing the prisoner to stumble forward int Chat’s arms. Instantly, Chat’s hand shot forward, snatching the butterfly miraculous and pulling it from harm’s way before using his other hand to catch Hawkmoth by the scruff of his neck.

“Unless you have some emergency food on hand, there isn’t any way out of this.” Adrien could help but bask in his own power, easily lifting the taller man up into the air with one hand before casually tossing him over his shoulder. “Now, why don’t you stop being so shy and show your-”

Chat Noir’s bravado vanished in an instance, the miraculous transformation suddenly becoming nothing more than a mask to hide the boy under it. Hawkmoth tumbled into the light, his form shed, and the truth laid bare for all to see. And in the process, Chat Noir’s face stared on with Adrien’s eyes, staring in in disbelief into the eyes of his father.

“G-G-Gabriel Agreste?!” Adrien’s voice struggled to carry the words, already feeling his strength fading.

Gabriel, the super villain, the bastard, had the nerve to look disgusted. “Oh god, not another fanboy.” He grumbled, sitting back on his knees clutching his bruised side. “I don’t care if you have me at your mercy, I’m not signing your abs.”

Adrien’s fingers tightened around the butterfly miraculous, squeezing until they cut off the blood flow, until his fingers felt numb. Was he sad? Was he angry? He couldn’t describe it, he just was. “It can’t be you.”

Gabriel’s grin was a sinister and self satisfied one, so naturally villainous that suddenly being Hawkmoth made too much sense. “Oh, but it i-”

And then, almost immediately, that grin, as well as the obvious gruff evil villain voice he was putting on dropped. Instead, it was hastily replaced with a mockery of weariness, forcing out words with a breathless, snide edge. “I mean, of course it isn’t. Who’s to say that I’m Gabriel Agreste?”

Chat Noir returned just to gape at the utter desperation. “I do.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “But you don’t know that.”

“…Yes I do?”

“See? I’ve already deceived you.”

Chat massaged his aching temple, grappling with the reality of the Gabriel Agreste coming up with such a ‘Dog ate my homework’ tier excuse. “You are so obviously Gabriel Agreste.”

Gabriel jumped to his feet, really kneading into this defence like it was his hail mary. “Or an identical, vengeful twin out to ruin his reputation.”

Somehow this managed to hurt Adrien’s image of his father more than finding out that his father was a supervillain.

Without thought, Chat cried out in an instinctive, feral roar. “I know my own father when I see him!”

Chat clamped his hand over his own big dumb mouth too late, trading flabbergasted, wide-eyed stares with his father.

“…Adrien!?”

Adrien paused.

Adrien looked both ways.

Adrien gulped.

Adrien cleared his throat, put forth all the confidence he didn’t have, and very obviously stepped back into the shadows to hide his face.

“…Or am I?”

Like father, like son.

Fortunately, Gabriel was too busy grappling with the revelation to bother engaging with Adrien’s denial, lunging forward to grab at the fabric of Chat’s costume. “What in god’s name are you wearing?!”

Suddenly, Adrien felt very sheepish. “It’s my superhero suit.” He said quietly.

A choking noise escaped Gabriel, throwing his head back to wail. “I let you out of my sight for one day and suddenly you galivanting through the night in bondage gear?”

Dismayed, Gabriel pushed off of Chat to pace around the room, stressed fingers carelessly ripping through the gelled spikes of his hair. “I told Nathalie that public schools were no good. I told her that they never do background checks on their staff, it’s just a breeding ground for thugs and perverts!”

Adrien crossed his arms, embarrassed but indignant. “It’s a cat costume!”

“Oh god.” Gabriel stiffened in horror. “My son’s a furry?”

“I’m not a-” Adrien cut himself off with an increased growl, in utter disbelief that this was what they were focusing on. “We are not having this conversation right now. You are a literal terrorist!”

“Oh please, I have no political aspirations.” Gabriel responded as simply as he would to someone getting directions wrong, dismissing Adrien’s accusation with a wave. “I’m more of a very dramatic bank robber.”

It was all disorientating. Adrien was lost in a sea of questions, of how’s and why’s with no idea where to start. All he could do was wipe the fresh layer of sweat off his brow and pick out the first question he thought of. “How did you even get here so quickly? You were back home on the other side of the city before all this started.”

“I took the elevator, of course.”

“The elevator?” Adrien stared at him, dumbfounded. “From our house to the observatory on the opposite end of town?”

For a moment, Gabriel was at a loss for words on how to explain it. He paused, a thoughtful expression overtaking him as he tapped his chin. Eventually, with an cautious pace that didn’t speak with much confidence, he answered. “You remember Willy Wonka's elevator from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

This isn’t happening.

“Is that why we had to take a loan from the bank months ago?” Adrien cried out.

Gabriel dropped down to sit beside his son, not even thinking about it. “Do you know how much it costs to get a builder who won’t ask any questions and disregard safety regulations?”

“Is this why you finally let me have some freedom? Why you listened to me for once?” Adrien’s lip trembled as he asked, pulling his knees up to his chest for just some manner of support. “Just so you could get me out of the house while you…”

Gabriel frowned. Something deep within his cold, black, egotistical heart, looked upon the curled up, shivering form of his son. It saw his son in pain, because of him. That something made Gabriel’s eyes soften.

“Adrien, listen to me.” He reached for Adrien’s shoulder, not prepared for how much it hurt to Adrien’s to instinctively jerk awa from his touch. “Despite appearances, there is more to this than simple sadism.”

Adrien was silent for a moment. Then, he sighed. “Is this one of those mid-life crisis things? ‘Cus we can just get you a tacky sports car or something.”

“No-”

Once more, Gabriel tried to inch closer to his son, and once more his son instinctively saw it as a threat. “D-Don’t come near me.” He spat out, scrambling out of reach. “You may be my father, but you’re still a villain!”

Gabriel sat there with his arm stretched out, his face strained. “Yes, I am.” He answered quietly, but confidently. “Because that is what I must be.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s… There’s more to this than you think. I’m working on something that will fix our family.” Gabriel looked away, sighing. He couldn’t bring himself to explain the entire truth to Adrien, to invite all the tragic questions he couldn’t bare answering. “I can’t tell you what you it is. You’re already too involved in this.”

The two had been so entrenched in their own revelations that neither had noticed that, at some point during the conversation, Chat Noir’s energy had ran to zero and his transformation had been lost. Rather than informing the two of this, Plagg instead decided to distance himself from them – as a being that had been around since before time itself, Plagg had enough experience with family drama for a good couple of lifetimes.

Him and Nooroo met in the middle. Nooroo was the one to initiate the hug, of course, because Plagg, despite having not seen his friend in over two centuries, was a cool cat who didn’t do all that mushy, icky, emotional junk. He was the God of Destruction, damn it!

“Hey, Nooroo.” He said, trying way too hard to sound like he didn’t care. “How have you been?”

For the kwami of emotion, Nooroo was the master of giving the most deadpan expressions. “Every morning I’ve had to watch this man monologue to a corpse and listen to his assistant pine over him.” He sighed, “It’s uh… Not great.”

Plagg looked back over to the humans, wondering how much of their emotional states were hitting Nooroo raw. “How did you end up with him anyway?”

“Some kid dropped me and Dusuu into a volcano.” Nooroo grumbled.

“Oh right, I remember now.” Plagg laughed, “Yeah, guess what? That kid grew up to be the guardian of the miracle box.”

Nooroo’s jaw dropped, “Seriously? How!?”

Plagg shrugged, “Well, he got all the other candidates killed.”

A strangling noise that curiously matched Gabriel’s earlier reaction escaped Nooroo, “…Everything’s starting to make so much sense.”

Adrien and Gabriel were back on their feet, Gabriel finally managing to take hold of Adrien’s arm. “Please, Adrien. Just forget this ever happened.” He pleaded, his gaze falling to the ring on Adrien’s finger, one half to the puzzle that could put an end to this journey of damnation. “Leave this ring with me and go home.”

As long as Adrien had the ring, he was in danger. As long as Adrien had the ring, Gabriel was the danger. Even in the midst of his arrogance and obsession, Gabriel could see this. He needed to keep Adrien as far away from this as possible, keep Adrien safe, keep him innocent of the sins Gabriel was willing to commit.

But Adrien, glaring back at Gabriel with an all-too-familiar fire that made the grieving husband’s heart ache, snatched his arm away defiantly. “I’m not giving up Plagg.”

Gabriel stood at his full height, his back to the light of the moon, trapping his face in shadows and hiding his eyes, his humanity. “I don’t want to fight you, Son.”

“I don’t want to fight me either.”

A beat of silence passed between the two.

Gabriel’s face came back into the light, wide, unblinking eyes frozen in surprise. “What?”

Adrien rapped his knuckles against his forehead, groaning. “Crap, that sounded better in my head.”

“And you’re swearing too!?” Gabriel gasped. He threw out his hand once more, his voice as forceful as his gesture. “This is ridiculous, Adrien. Give me your miraculous, now!”

“N-No! I won’t.” Adrien shouted back, his hand curling into a fist and brandishing his ring. “I’m Chat Noir, and I’m going to stop you.”

His lady, and all of Paris, were counting on him. Nothing his father said would change that, nor could it get in the way of his duty and loyalty. Hawkmoth, his mission and his madness. It all ended here and now, by Chat Noir’s hand.

"If mother were here-"

Suddenly, Gabriel blurted out “She's not. I'm still keeping her in the basement.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

Nooroo face palmed.

Plagg’s stomach grumbled.

Gabriel’s two brain cells took their sweet time catching up to his mouth.

“Okay, I know that sounds bad-”

Chapter 2: Menaces Rising: Marinette and Her Big Mouth

Summary:

Marinette trying to comfort Adrien leads to the creation of her greatest enemy.

Notes:

Adrien Agreste looked perfect, even when he was slumped on the bottom step in front of the school.

Marinette cringed internally, she really had to keep her mind out of the gutter. Her Adrien thoughts were getting more and more creepy as the weeks drew on. She was sure he had enough fangirls obsessing over him to last him a lifetime.

She blamed Chat Noir. Five akumas on her own had left her both physically and mentally exhausted. Thinking of Adrien was like a balm on it all, he just made her feel better.

Ever since Stoneheart, that damn cat was a complete no-show. No signs, no texts, no nothing. She would be the last person to hold it against him if he just had cold feet about the hero business, she’d almost given her miraculous up to Alya after all, but that isn’t what happened. He didn’t even have the decency to send the miraculous back, he just took the apocalyptic power of utter destruction and left to go get milk while leaving her to get her ass kicked across Paris by man who really loved pigeons and a god damn mime.

They were supposed to be partners, Tikki made a big deal about them being each other’s natural ying to the other’s yang. Across the ages, the ladybug and the cat always came together in the end, bound to each other in duty and destiny and a bunch of other fancy words that made this feel like the most mortifying rejection of a partnership she never asked for.

Don’t dwell, Marinette. She told herself, breathing in sharply as she ran her fingers over her face. You just have to find the bright spot. The dim, dim bright spot.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. That counted, right? Hawkmoths latest akumas were, to put it bluntly, chumps. Stoneheart must have been a fluke because every following encounter was a disorganised mess of the akuma either having a totally ineffective power, or spending most of the fight arguing with Hawkmoth.

Despite being an adult, it seemed Hawkmoth was just as new to his power as Marinette was. Glass Half Full: They were on an even playing field. Glass Half Empty, Marinette’s default state: Hawkmoth had all the time in the world to improve while she was distracted by the obligations of her civilian life.

And yes, she assumed Hawkmoth had no such obligations; he did not exactly give the impression of a man who had a life. Marinette was sure he spent most of his days in his basement or something monologuing about the women he can’t get over.

Okay, maybe that was just her just reaching for an insult on the guy. But again – imagining her nemesis having a shitty life outside of terrorizing her made the exhaustion he caused her easier to deal with.

“He’s been like this all week.” Alya’s voice brough Marinette back to the present.

Marinette shook her head, she’d been so lost in herself that she lost sight of the friend suffering right in front of her. Weeks ago, at the start of the school year, she’d thought the worst of Adrien Agreste. But following that breath-taking moment in the rain that was forever immortalized by a very detailed entry in her diary, they’d become friends. And as a friend, it was easy to see a concerning cloud hanging over his head recently.

She adjusted the straps of her bag, pulling on them just to give her uneasy and jittery fingers something to do. “Do you think something happened at home?”

Nino shrugged, “Considering his father, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Marinette reared her head back, eyes wide as a fish. “You’ve met Mr. Agreste?”

“Tried the front door to ask about Adrien coming to a movie.” Nino leaned closer with a harsh whisper, looking like he should be sitting around a campfire. “Dude was stone cold. Total serial killer vibes.”

Marinette pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t see any reason Mr. Agreste would be mad at Adrien.”

Alya’s eyes were already alight with her, self-titled, ‘reporter instincts. Which, to Marinette, was code for ‘Time to jump to wild conclusions’. “Maybe Adrien’s up to something.”

“Adrien’s too perfect for that.” Marinette huffed, turning her head away, yet somehow she could still see Alya rolling her eyes.

Suddenly Alya had moved in between Marinette and Nino, sticking her head over both their ears and giggling. “His pops probably found drugs on him or something.”

Marinette smacked her hand over her mouth. “Alya!”

“What?” Alya had the gall to look innocent, lazily pointing her over to Adrien’s slumped over, dead-eyed form. “Look at him, he’s totally high.”

“He’s not high!” Marinette said defiantly. And then she stopped, thought about how little she knew about ‘the drugs’ and her confidence deflated. “…Right?”

Adrien wouldn’t do drugs!

But what if he did? Would I love him any less?

No, of course not! I’d never abandon him; I’d help him in any way I could.

To get over it, I mean. I wouldn’t help him score some. I couldn’t. Well, I’m sure I could find a way, but-

Would it make him happy? I mean, getting into drugs couldn’t be that hard, all the musicians are doing it. I could get into drugs.  I’m already addicted to sugar, aren’t I? And all that does is make me a little hyper. And Dad always says that he’s high on life.

…Where was I going with this again?

Alya patted her on the shoulder gently, slightly concerned with how her friend was staring off into space in a wide-eyed, sweat-gleaming look of desperation. “Uh, Marinette?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to get cocaine!” She blurted out.

“What?”

“…What?”

“Should we be worried about you?” Nino asked.

“No, we’re worried about Adrien, Silly.” Marinette said sweetly, far too sweetly as she punched Nino’s shoulder. “You guys really think he’s high?”

Alya cleared her throat, sending a nervous look to Nino. “High, down on his luck and looking for love.” Eventually, she managed to slowly regain some of her prior pep in her voice, deciding that Marinette was just having one of her ‘episodes’. “Sounds like he needs an intervention.”

Nino peered over to her, “You made that last one up.”

The moment Marientte glanced away, Alya kicked Nino across the shins. “I’m a journalist, I make a lot of stuff up for a story.”

As Nino yelped, Alya covered it up by throwing her arm around Marinette’s shoulder and swinging her around to face Adrien. “Now go get ‘im girl.”

“What? Me?!” Marinette squealed, desperately trying to wiggle her way out of Alya’s grip.

But she only became free when Alya shoved her forward, grabbed Nino and immediately made a run for it. “Alya, come back!”

“You got this.” Alya called over to her, unfortunately out of strangling distance. “…Unless this actually is a drug problem, then please call him some help immediately.”

Marinette couldn’t find her voice to yell out her strangled cries, so she settled for miming wringing Alya’s neck for the next few seconds. But eventually, Alya was gone, leaving Marinette stuck, frozen in the crosshairs of Adrien’s gaze; making her realize that he probably saw her mimic murder session.

They stood like that for a while, Marinette desperately looking for an escape route while Adrien’s stare confirmed that he was not a T-Rex who would lose sight of her if she just stood still.

“You have no choice, Mari.” Ladybug’s voice whispered in her ear, “He has you in his sights. Either you stand your ground, or he eats you for lunch.”

“What do mean ‘eats’ me?!”

“Like, metaphorically.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. Now, for gods’ sake, say something before you come off as a creep.”

Without warning, Marinette’s body keeled over, falling flat against the wall. In a wave of panic, she awkwardly twisted her body around, trying to make it look like she meant to lean against the wall and ‘non-chalantly’ gaze down at him.

“Hey. You.” She spluttered.

“Smooth.” Ladybug mentally face palmed.

Adrien blinked rapidly for a moment, which only made Marinette feel more buffoonish. “Oh, Marinette.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”

Holy shit, maybe he is a T-Rex…

Still, Marinette wasn’t going to complain about Adrien somehow missing her embarrassing freak out. She could work with this, she just needed to not say any other weird or lame things.

“Eh, most people don’t.” For some reason she found herself clicking her tongue, trying to play up an unearned ‘Oh yeah, I just casually did something cool’ attitude. “I can go through the entire day with nobody knowing I exist.”

Adrien squinted, a confused frown setting Marinette’s cheeks on fire. “That… Doesn’t sound good for you?”

Marinette laughed, slapping Adrien’s shoulder and throwing her head back. “I don’t know why I’m laughing!”

And, for whatever reason, Adrien started laughing too.

They laughed for two minutes straight and neither of them knew why, they just went with the flow, giving one another pained, confused stares the entire time. But one of them had to break the curse eventually, and once again it fell to Marinette.

“Sooooo…” She started with a breathless drawl, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Are you looking fine?”

She choked.

“I mean DOING fine.”

She smacked her forehead.

“Not that you don’t look fine.”

A completely natural giggle that didn’t at all sound like a dying gasp.

“In a completely platonic way.”

Her body slid down the wall, falling limp on the top step as if the pure embarrassment was physically weighing her down.

“Please say something now.” She squealed.

Adrien shook his head. There was a small smile he wore that suddenly made all the humiliation she felt worth it. “Oh sorry, I blanked out there. I was lost in your-”

He stopped suddenly. She caught a glimpse of a blush on his cheeks before he turned his head away from her. “I sorta have a lot on my mind.”

She shuffled forward a little, dropping down a step or two to put herself on Adrien’s level. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His brows furrowed, “Why would I do that?”

“Because it helps to get things off your chest.” She said quietly, her gaze falling to her knees. “If, uh, you want to.”

“Why would you want to listen to me complain?”

The genuine confusion in his voice made her head snap up, gazing up at him through soft, concerned eyes. He was still giving her that befuddled look, as if she’d sprouted a second head and started talking in an alien language. No one should have to ask why someone would want to know what’s bothering them.

A protective instinct overturned her doubts, flooding her with enough bravery to reach forward and take his hand. “That’s what friends do, Adrien.” She squeezed his hand, not even noticing how close she’d brought her face to his. “We help where we can.”

His eyes lit up, and Marinette could feel her heart skipping. “W-We’re friends? Really?”

“I hope so.” She beamed back at him.

Unfortunately, she had to take one hand away from him for a moment, turning her attention towards her bag where she dug out a box of freshly baked macaroon. “Otherwise, I baked these for nothing.”

“Wow, these look awesome!” It felt silly, but at the same time heartwarming, to see him look over such a basic food item for her with such awe. “You made these?”

She nodded, popping off the plastic cover and presenting them to him. “I live in a bakery; pastries are in my blood.”

He was hesitant at first, but he did eventually pull one from the box, looking over it curiously. “Do I need to make you something now?”

Marinette shook her head, pushing the box into his lap. “No, I made them because I like sharing them. Not because I want anything in return.”

He nodded along, though his eyes tensed and relaxed as he mulled over any hidden meaning to what she was saying. It made her heart ache to see him so naturally distrusting of her intentions, and she knew it wasn’t simply because of their rocky start, he was simply used to expecting to earn it.

However, he seemed to eventually conclude that she was being truthful and took the macaroon to his lips. She watched with baited breath as he took that first bite, finding herself squirming in her seat, waiting for him to spit it out or barf all over her.

Instead, his eyes peeled back and stretched out, surprise and warmth spreading from his eyes to his grin. In seconds he stuffed the rest of the treat into his mouth, letting out a small, enamoured moan that would live rent three in Marinette’s head for eternity.

He sighed, wiping crumbs off his lips. “I’ve never really had a friend before.” He admitted, pausing to scan Marinette’s eyes for judgement, but finding nothing but encouragement. “The closest was Chloe, and-”

“She’s Chloe.”

“Yeah.”

Marinette retrieved a macaroon of her own, looking over it through scrunched up eyes. “But surely you can talk to you Dad about all this too?”

“Heh, yeah right.” Adrien laughed bitterly, only to cut himself off by slapping his hand over his lips. He turned away once more, continuing in a quiet contemplative hum. “Uh, I mean… My Father isn’t really the heart-to-heart type.”

Marinette frowned, “Sorry to hear that.”

For the first time that day, she really looked at Adrien, now highlighted by the sun peaking over the buildings at the other end of the street. She saw how his face had thinned out, the dark circles around his eyes and the ever-present sag to his skin. He reminded her of a dead frog, bloated and spindly, being hung up for everyone to marvel at it’s misfortune.

Whatever was on his mind, it had certainly taken it’s toll on him. And she’d been too preoccupied with how she imagined him to look that she didn’t even notice the appearance shift.

She leaned forward, unsure of the territory that she was approaching, whether it was her place to ask him such questions. “Is… Is he what’s bothering you?”

He winced but managed to wear a small sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

He didn’t follow up immediately, even when it was clear Marinette wasn’t going to interject. Lost eyes gazed out into the mental abyss, searching for something to cling to, something he could tell her without telling her something else. Marinette didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the fact that Adrien was seemingly searching for what context needed to be stripped away for his issues with his father to be ‘safe’ to divulge; it made her wonder just how serious these issues were.

“Do you…” He started. His lips trembled. He froze. And then he sighed, finishing with a huff. “Do you know your dad?”

“Huh?”

It seemed like such a senseless question. Of course, she knew her dad, he was her dad, she’d been with him since she was born. How could she not know him? Maybe he was asking her if she knew her dad too well, like treating each other like they were two equal adults rather than parent and child. But that wasn’t it either, her dad would never stop seeing or treating her as the little girl who almost burned down the kitchen a few times.

He squinted, “Like, know him know him.”

Marinette scratched the back of her neck, “I guess.”

“Because I thought I knew mine.” His voice shook, “I was so sure that I knew who he was, knew everything I needed to know, knew what I had to accept about him.”

Adrien’s brows quivered, and that’s all it took to draw Marinette in, pulling his shoulder against her chest. “I thought… I thought I knew where we stood.”

“But now you don’t?” Marinette mused.

She understood a little better now. She knew her dad, but that didn’t mean she knew every side of him. But that was normal, wasn’t it? Parents always have sides to themselves that they don’t show their kids. Heck, didn’t everybody have sides to themselves they only let specific people see? That wasn’t a bad thing, that was just how people worked.

“That’s normal, I think. I mean, what kid wants to know all the weird, embarrassing sides to their parents?”

God, one of the most embarrassing days of Marinette’s life was breaking open her Dad’s old secret trunk only to find out that he used to be a birthday clown. She was already scared enough of clowns, and now she had to live with that fear every time she saw her father with even a slight red nose!

Adrien continued, “I had this image of him. I’d made peace with the fact that he was a cold guy, not good with emotions, focused on his work, his image; that we didn’t have anything in common.”

Marinette’s fingers glided across his back, soothing him. On any other occasion this should have been enough to make her combust, but even her Adrien-Crazy mind fell silent under the bleak tone he was wielding. She just wanted to help him through this, she needed him to be okay, needed him to know that it was okay for him feel like this.

“Let’s just say that I found out that there’s this whole other side to him that I knew nothing about.” Adrien sighed, “And now I’m questioning every memory I ever had of him.”

He turned his gaze on his feet and his hands, both stretching out, but curling back in. Tensing and relaxing. Clenching and unclenching. There was no rhyme or reason or direction; just confusion. “I feel pissed. I feel scared. Everything I knew might have been a lie, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Surprisingly, Marinette found herself smiling. Her heart broke for him, felt for him, but she could just see a glimmer of silver in his dark day. With a sigh she reached forward, clamping her hands over his cheeks and forcing him, gently, to look up at her.

“You’re pretty cool, Adrien.” She said bluntly.

“Uh, thanks?” He didn’t struggle against her grip, but his eyes did look from side-to-side as if looking for help. “What does that have to do with this?”

“I didn’t always know that about you.”

Her thumb glazed over his brow, pushing tufts of hair out of the way. “Remember? When we first met, I thought you were like Chloe, a rich, standoffish snob.” Her smile crinkled at the memory, the sound of her yelling at Adrien immortalized as a haunting wail in the back of her mind. “Then I found out that you were actually pretty cool. But then, in public, on magazines, you were kind of standoffish and reserved again.”

“And your point is?”

Tilting her head back, she hummed thoughtfully. “You had this other side to you that I didn’t know about because you’re not used to showing, or you’re scared to show, it.”

“On the inside, you’re… Well, you’re kind of goofy.” She didn’t realize that either of them was leaning in until she was brushing up against his nose. She had a need to hold him close, to hug him like her parents would hug her until all the bad feelings went away, but she also knew it was important to look into his eyes, to let him see her. “So… Maybe you and your dad have more in common than you think.”

“That… That actually makes sense.” Adrien gasped, “All this time, he’s been… He’s been playing a role too.”

Suddenly, his hands were on Marinette, the squeeze of his grip enough to shatter the mood and leave Marinette’s inner romantic squealing at their lose proximity. “Thank you, Marinette. You’re so wonder-”

Beeeeeep. BEEEEEP.

Marinette hated her phone. She was going to destroy her phone. The moment she got home, she was taking it apart and imagine that the disruptive little bastard was screaming and crying for mercy.

Biting back a growl she reached into her pocket and procured the beeping menace, finding herself biting back an even worse groan when she was faced with the flashing ‘AKUMA EMERGANCY’ screen.

“An akuma attack?” Adrien gaped, “Now!?”

Against all her wants and desires, Marinette tore herself away from Adrien, stumbling up the stairs. “Uh, I have to use the bathroom!”

Even she had to pause and cringe at herself for that.

“In the middle of an attack?” Adrien asked, staring at her sternly.

“Yes?”

Silence.

Why did she say that?

Silence.

She could have just said she was going to run home and hide.

Silence.

She could have said anything at all, and it would have sounded more nat-

“Well, you gotta go when you gotta go.”

Genius. Marinette was a genius.

However, she wasn’t done yet, as before she could take off, Adrien caught her by the arm. “Oh, and Marinette?”

“Yeah?”

She looked back to him, and she was sure her blush could be seen from space when she saw how intently Adrien was staring at her with that award winning smile.

“You know,” He said breathlessly, “You’re pretty cool too.”

And soon enough, he was gone, and Marinette was left alone with butterflies (the non-supervillain kind) ravaging her body while all motor functions failed her.

“Tikki, is it possible to fall in love with the same guy again in only a couple of weeks?”

---

Today was lousy. The weather was lousy, breakfast was lousy, work was lousy. Hawkmoth was feeling lousy. And it all started with the useless, odious layabout that had yet to inflict a single scratch upon that wretched little pokadotted brat.

His latest akuma, Silver Lining, floated in front of him – a woman with the proportions of a giant doll, entirely made from a cloud. Below, the small form of Ladybug was but a blur, awkwardly staring skyward as the akuma had just up and left in the middle of the fight.

Hawkmoth slapped his cane against the edge of the roof, “What’s going on? Why aren’t you seizing the girl?”

“Uh… You see…” It was hard to gauge the woman’s facial expression when her eyes were tiny dark pools in an already dark haze, but her nervous voice came out clear. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Hawkmoth growled.

“I mean that I literally can’t.” She repeated bluntly, gesturing to her incorporeal form idly rolling in on itself. “I’m made of smoke. I literally can’t touch her or her miraculous.” To make it more obvious, she tried to grasp Hawkmoth’s cane, only for her fingers to go straight through it.

Hawkmoth’s hand shot out, ready to up his aggressive reprimand only to lose steam halfway through the action. Instead, his finger deflated into scratching his chin. He spluttered out “Well, you could probably make Ladybug choke.”

“I can’t see or communicate with any people except you.”

“I thought lacking in one sense boosts your other senses…” Came Hawkmoth’s unconvinced mumble. He went back over his initial akumatization, trying to remember how exactly he phrased the power.

“Can’t you become corporeal?” He said with a slow, strained voice, as if it actively hurt to ask

Silver scoffed, “ Only if Ladybug directly attacks me. Which she has no reason to do.”

For a moment, Hawkmoth just stood there, leaning on his cane for support and wearing a face of utter constipation. A scream. A cry. A swear. So many powerful emotions swirling inside of him that wanted to tear their way out but got stuck behind his gritted teeth.

“Honestly, Master, I’m just not sure how well this plan was thought through.”

He glared into space, wondering where it all went wrong, how his strong start had petered out to this. To his own akuma dressing him down. It was an absolute disaster, a paradox of expectation, an absolutely unacceptable turn of events. He was Gabriel Agreste. He was the mighty Hawkmoth. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Master?”

He was distracted. Ever since Stoneheart, ever since Adrien stumbled upon the truth, Hawkmoth’s thoughts had been elsewhere, and despite how hard it was to admit, his plans were suffering for it. At every critical moment his connection to his akuma would weaken, his focus stolen by a stray thought or a flicker of volatile emotion that felt familiar to his heart.

Adrien hadn’t said a word after they descended into the basement. He just stood there, staring down at Emilie sleeping form as Gabriel explained most of the situation. Gabriel had been tempted to lay everything on the table there, about Emilie, about the circumstance of Adrien’s birth. If he were to part with one major secret, he might as well tell Adrein everything.

But no, of course he couldn’t. The moment he finished telling Adrien that his mother’s current condition was caused by a broken miraculous, he couldn’t possibly tell Adrien just what that miraculous was used for. He refused to let Adrien, even for one second, believe that his own birth was a tragedy.

After that, the two parted, and Gabriel naturally assumed that Adrien understood that nothing about this was to be mentioned to the outside world. It was almost funny to think about how Gabriel didn’t entertain the possibility that Adrien would go straight to the police and expose him. Or sad, depending on if one thought that Gabriel’s lack of suspicion came from trusting his son or trusting his authority as a father.

Adrien hadn’t spoken to him since then. Oddly enough, that didn’t bother Gabriel Agreste, they talked enough and growing boys liked to have their space. But the moment he took on the mask and summoned Hawkmoth to take the wheel, suddenly that fact was all he could think about.

It shouldn’t be an issue. He and Adrien left that day on amicable terms did they not? Adrien didn’t say much, but he must have understood Gabriel’s plight and why this was all necessary. If Adrien had a problem with it, he’d say something. Why wouldn’t he?

He knew that Gabriel had no other choice. If there was even a 1% chance that they could bring Emilie back, they had to take it. Adrien needed her. Gabriel needed her. What else was he supposed to do? Move on from a woman who gave up her life as a rich heiress to settle for some lowly tailor who could never do enough to be worthy of her love?

Bah, even if Gabriel was as disrespectful, as repugnant as to betray his wife like that, what other woman would take him? The only person who didn’t have to force themselves to tolerate his presence was Nathalie. While she may be fine company, and if you put a gun to his head Gabriel could admit she was quite beautiful, it was obvious that someone like Nathalie would never be interested in romance, especially with someone like him.

Why are you even entertaining this line of thought? Gabriel hissed in Hawkmoth’s ear, disgusted and abhorred. Our wife awaits us, there should be nothing on your mind but her.

Hawkmoth’s lips tightened. I’m just worried about Adrien.

The only reason that Adrien wasn’t here, by Ladybug’s side, was because he followed Hawkmoth home that night. If things had been different, if Adrien had still been Chat Noir, Gabriel would have been launching his akumas full force against his own son, potentially harming his own son, all while being none the wiser.

What if one of his akumas became too dangerous? What if Chat Noir was wiped out in a battle? What if he killed his son? Adrien would disappear one day, and nobody would know why, not even Gabriel. Emilie might have found herself awakening to find that her husband had murdered her son.

“You know, Hawkmoth.”

Ladybug was there, on the roof across from him. And suddenly, it was easy to focus. There was no emotion as natural or as easy to Gabriel, nor Hawkmoth, as hatred, and he hated this defiant, wretched little bug. This creature that stood between him and his family. This pest that had nothing to say but buzzwords and repetition.

She had the most annoying power, she waffled on the most self-righteous diatribes and, worst of all, she had no sense of humour.

He would throw out puns like haymakers, work himself well into the night making sure his planned akuma and their powers followed a clear thematical link, and open every avenue for witty banter; and this good-for-nothing ‘hero’ would just roll her eyes at it.

They were two freaks in spandex and colourful costumes, how could someone go into this and still be a stick in the mud?

She clasped her hands together, shaking her head. “In hindsight, an akuma born from a girl’s desire to just be alone and avoid confrontation was a pretty bad pick for a confrontation.”

“Silence, you insolent pest.” Hawkmoth roared.

“I’m just saying.” She whipped her yoyo upwards, wrapping it around her forearm and pulling it taught. “You’re all alone and out in the open. The odds aren’t looking good for you, Hawkmoth.”

He tucked his cane into his elbow, grinning. “Heh, I’m not the only one who’s alone.” There was a certain degree of pleasure to seeing that confident mask of her twitch, knowing that he knew exactly where her ‘partner’ was and she didn’t. “Poor, poor, Bug. A woman so lonely that even cats won’t stick around.”

She thrusted her hand out, her spread out fingers covering her frown. “Even alone, I’m 5/5 on your akumas.”

“Only because your stupid miraculous lets your cheat.” Hawkmoth snapped, crouching down like he was readying himself to lunge forward. “God knows I’d never lose if I had a magic power that just hands me the answers to everything.”

“Hey, it’s a lot more complicated than that!” She yelled back. “I bet you couldn’t even figure out a handwritten note telling you the answer.”

He scoffed, “I am the smartest super criminal mastermind in Paris!”

Ladybug’s face scrunched up, squinting back at him. “You’re the only super criminal in Paris.”

Pause. Grin.

“’Cus no one wants to be you, or fight with you.”

Hawkmoth’s left eye twitched.

“Enough, I don’t require anybody’s help.” He huffed, batting the air with his cane. “After all, why call an exterminator when I have a perfectly good boot to squash you with!”

“Again, with the bug puns.” She groaned, doing that insufferable eye roll once more. “Can you stop with the corny one liners? They’re so annoying.”

Hawkmoth threw his head back, laughing at the fool, the idiot, the incompetent child. “Of course, such wit and verbal jousting would hurt your brutish and bleak brain.”

“Puns are not wit. They’re lazy. And boring.” She leaned forward, smirking as she hissed her final insult. “You’re boring, Hawkmoth.”

The audacity of this bi-

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hawkmoth couldn’t control himself, his body already tumbling through the air and landing on the adjacent roof with his sword drawn before his brain could fully catch up to what he was doing.

“You take that back!” He roared, wasting no time to thrust his blade forward, just barely missing her cheek as the wide-eyed heroine ducked out of the way.

His akuma may have been useless, but the butterfly had more surprises than mere pawns. With furious, adrenaline-fueled gusto, Hawkmoth threw himself into the mix. Immediately, she was on the backfoot. Her only weapon was her yoyo, and a makeshift whip had little use up-close and personal with an opponent wildly slashing and stabbing at you.

He chased her relentlessly over the rooftops of Paris, leaping over gaps and diving under obstacles without breaking a sweat. It had been years since Gabriel had taken up a sword, but damn did he feel as fresh as if his last fight had been yesterday. He didn’t realize how being cooped up so long had zapped his vigour and softened his form, feeling all sorts of pieces pop and click back into place as he extended his body to swipe at Ladybug.

It all came ahead when he thought he had her at a dead end, pinned to the edge of a roof that had nothing nearby to jump to without plummeting to the streets before. He had her dead to rights, or at least he thought he did until she jumped forward, used his own goddamn head as a springboard and launched herself over him.

It gave her enough room to breathe, enough time to call her lucky charm. For a moment, Hawkmoth waited with bated breath, grinding his teeth in frustration as him mind went through all the possible ‘get out of jail free cards’ that the miraculous would conjure for her today.

There was bright pink flash, and then-

A rock.

It was a rock.

It was a fucking rock with god damn polka dots all over it.

“Oh ho ho!” Hawkmoth cackled. “I think Tikki is trying to tell you that you’ve hit rock bottom, Ladybug.”

Ladybug groaned.

“Or perhaps that you’re between a rock and a hard place.”

She groaned louder

“No matter, it’s time I finish this and claim my wish!”

He charged forward. He could see her face, he could see the sweat glistening off her nose, the skin flushing red – She was exhausted, she was done for. After multiple failures, it was finally his time for the sweet nectar of victory. His had the perfect plan.

But in that moment, Hawkmoth forgot one thing.

Everybody has a plan until they’re hit over the head with a rock.

For a split second, Hawkmoth's expression was frozen—eyes wide, mouth slightly open—caught in the raw surprise of the sudden blow. And then, all at once, he crumpled to the ground in a disjointed heap, limbs folding awkwardly beneath his weight.

Vision blurred, limbs useless and head throbbing with pain – all Hawkmoth could do was lie there and watch Ladybug peer down at him through disbelieving eyes.

“Holy shit, that actually worked!?” She gaped.

Ladybug crouched down a little closer, cautiously pushing him over, forcing a ragged groan out of him.

“He’s down? He’s down.” She shot up to her feet, squealing with delight and kicking him in the stomach for good measure. “He. Is. Down. Baby!”

What followed was not for the fair of heart. Hawkmoth assumed it was supposed to be some mad, deluded version of a victory dance, but every bit of those moves conjured up only images of a headless chicken shuffling around the barn yard. At this point, Hawkmoth would have preferred another concussion just to ensure he couldn’t remember this embarrassing display.

Mercifully, the dancing came to an end shortly after, leaving Ladybug to crouch back down, leaning over him with only one object in her sights. The butterfly miraculous.

Hawkmoth closed his eyes tight. Was this really where his quest ended?

“Time to end this once and for all.”

MIRACULOUS. SIMPLY THE BEST. UP TO THE TEST WHEN THINGS GO WRONG!

Halfway through her fingers reaching the butterfly broach on Hawkmoth’s chest, both of them were ambushed by the sudden blast of music that emanated from Ladybug’s yoyo. The two shared an incredulous stare before Ladybug reached down to grasp the offending miraculous weapon.

“…I have a ring tone, apparently.” She muttered, whipping the yoyo out and holding it up to her face. As she did so, her eyes widened.

“Huh? A call from Chat? Now!?” She gasped, before quickly devolving into an annoyed grumbling. “Of all the times.”

Hawkmoth’s eyes narrowed, Adrien!? That’s impossible, why would he be calling her?

Gabriel fired back, He’s going to sell us out!

In a thoughtless move that greatly benefitted Hawkmoth, Ladybug apparently decided that Chat Noir was more important than the villain she had at her mercy. She even went so far as to turn her back on him while she pressed the answer button and pressed the phone against her ear.

“Nice of you to finally call, but I’m in the middle of something.”

Hawkmoth was close enough to hear Chat’s neutral tone loud and clear, “I just wanted to call ahead and tell you in advance that I’m sorry.”

Ladybug did a double take, asking slowly “Sorry for what?”

“For this.”

---

It was pure reflex that allowed Ladybug to throw herself out of the way of Chat Noir’s baton as it came down on her head. She dodged into a backflip, landing just a bit away from her prey with a swear upon her lips and a frustrated growl not far behind.

Between her and her prize now stood the furry one himself, resting the butt of his baton against his chin and looking pretty damn pleased with himself.

“Chat Noir?” She called out.

“Chat Noir!” Hawkmoth repeated, looking just as confused and frustrated as Ladybug.

Chat Noir, taken aback by the uproar, looked over his audience with a sheepish smile.

“Donkey?” He gasped simply, followed by laughing to himself.

Ladybug stared at him, dumbfounded. Weeks of abandoning her, and the first thing he does is almost take her head off. It couldn’t be, there had to be a good reason for all of this nonsense.

“I hope your aim was just off or something.” She growled, crouching down into a fighting stance, “Because it sort of looked like you just saved Hawkmoth.”

Chat’s Noir’s eyes welled up with fake tears, throwing his head back to sigh. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disappoint you, Mi’lady.”

He spun his baton around to slap himself in the chest as he gracefully bowed. “Introducing Hawkmoth’s partner in crime.”

Ladybug’s mouth went completely dry, “P-P-Partner!?”

“Come on, are you really surprised?” Chat Noir looked up from his dim wielding a wolfish grin against her. He lazily ran his baton over his upper half. “All this black and leather, I was born to be a bad boy.”

Hawkmoth called out, quite frustrated bark. “You’re not a bad boy, you’re a dork.”

Ladybug turned her eyes on Hawkmoth for a moment, further surprised by his reaction strangely matching her own. But only for a moment, Chat Noir had suddenly become a top priority.

“You don’t have to do this Chat.” She called out softly, “The guardian chose you for a reason.”

They were partners. They were meant to be partners. He was the ying to her yang, the chaos to her order, the one person who was supposed to stand by her side and understand this new, confusing mess of a life with her.

Was it even possible for them to fight each other? She could only think of the possibilities in horror of what happens when two magically linked partners attack one another. The guardians probably had some sort of safeguard in place that would make it disastrous, it just all fit.

“Ah, but I must.” Chat tutted, bringing his thumb up and jabbing it towards Hawkmoth. “As many issues that I might have with my dad, I can’t allow you to hurt him.”

Both Ladybug and Marinette’s jaws dropped, “Your what now?!”

This couldn’t be happening. This absolutely could not be happening. What were the freaking odds!?

“I was surprised too, and I didn’t know what to think about it all.” Chat stared off into the distance thoughtfully, sighing. “Not until a friend of mine gave me some really solid advice.”

Who? Ladybug bitterly thought to herself. Who was the idiot who convinced a hero that he should give super villainy a try? Who was the clown that needed to be slapped over the head for turning Ladybug’s life upside down? Who could be so God damn stupid!?

---

The moment Hawkmoth was able to stand, he rounded on Chat Noir.

“Adrien, what in God’s name are you doing!?” He hissed quietly over Chat’s shoulder.

Chat looked back at him, looking diabolically innocent. “Saving your ass?”

Hawkmoth felt his mouth go dry, while Gabriel’s inner snob spluttered. It was almost hard to see the man standing before him as his son. This demeanour, this attitude, this crude language; none of it was like the Adrien he knew.

Who’s fault is this?! Our boy is rebelling against us! Gabriel cried.

Not to point fingers, but… We are standing here in a super villain suit. Hawkmoth said back, more enamoured with this new side of Adrien and dismayed

Still, through gritted teeth, Gabriel growled through Hawkmoth’s face. “You’re not supposed to be a part of this. I forbid it.”

And that damn cat had the gall to wink at him, tapping his baton against Hawkmoth’s nose. “Adrien may follow orders, but Chat Noir follows his own rules.”

“Why you-” Hawkmoth spluttered.

The rest of the response was cut off by Chat lunging in real close with a teasing, but dangerous grin on his face that looked all too similar to Hawkmoth’s. “Of course, if you really want to go at it alone and pointlessly endanger yourself, I might just be worried enough to tell everyone about your ‘issues’.”

For a moment, Hawkmoth just stood there, flabbergasted. He was aghast, offended, angry, scared, and most of all; knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

His body language deflated in submission, and both the father and the supervillain growled out “You are so grounded after this.”

Chat nodded, patted Hawkmoth on the shoulder and threw his head back towards the insect brat. “Hey, Bugaboo; what’s the hold up?”

“Seriously, Plagg!?” Tikki cried out through Ladybug’s lips. “Again?”

Plagg peered through Chat Noir’s casual demeanours, leaning back against Hawkmoth’s shoulder. “What can I say, I’m an agent of chaos.”

“And do you know how much cheese this kid promised me?” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and on the verge of drooling. “I’ll be in heaven!”

Ladybug’s eyes widened to near comical degrees, looking more like two giant plates on her face. “You’re teaming up with the bad guy for cheese!?”

Plagg made Chat cock his thumb back like a hammer and finger gun her. “Hey, I wiped out the dinosaurs for less.”

“I guess this is just another cat-tatrophe for these felines.” The pun rolled off so naturally, and so suddenly, that Hawkmoth didn’t even catch it until Ladybug and Chat Noir were all staring at him.

Suddenly, under Chat Noir’s considerate gaze, Hawkmoth felt insecure. He never made puns in front of his son, he never made any of the ridiculously corny one-liners he felt free to dish out as Hawkmoth, and now there was a certain air of self-consciousness, a fear that he just suddenly said the lamest thing possible.

Then Chat Noir laughed.

His son laughed. And smiled so wide, so completely, in a manner that Gabriel Agreste had never seen his son do so.

And it felt good.

“Aw, you’re just trying to butter-fly me up, Daddio.”

He made his son laugh. He made his son smile. He made his son happy.

“No.” And he made Ladybug gasp in terror as the true horror of this team up dawned upon her.

“Well, Ladybug, it seems I’m not so alone anymore.” Hawkmoth’s smug levels were off the charts, but he felt it was more than appropriate as he grinded his cane against the ground. “With Chat Noir and Hawkmoth working together, your defeat draws nears; like a moth to a flame!”

Despair. There was only despair and fear in Ladybug’s eyes, watching the birth of two terrible, terrible punsters. “Oh god, there’s two of them.”

Chat Noir jabbed his father’s arm playfully. Such a casual gesture that could never happen between Gabriel and Adrien, yet neither Hawkmoth nor Chat even noticed. “She’s right, you were totally winging it with that one.”

Hawkmoth drew his hand over his heart, gasping. “That was claw-ful.”

Chat wagged his finger, pushing off Hawkmoth and into a grand gesture, pointing into the sky at God himself. “I’ll have you know; my puns are purr-fection itself. While yours are just... Shall we say, sub-par-asites?”

Hawkmoth doubled over, wheezing. “Oh, that was a good one!”

A minute later, the two were still slinging their wretched puns, so enveloped in their one-liners that they barely noticed the miraculous ladybug sweeping over them.

“I defeated your akuma, by the way.” Ladybug called over to them, desperate and pleading “Can you two stop now?”

Chat Noir mockingly gasped, falling into a dramatic pose beside Hawkmoth, who unfortunately followed suit. “I guess for now, we must retreat until we come up with a more fur-middable plan.”

“You win this time, Ladybug!” Hawkmoth said with more pep and vigour than Gabriel Agreste ever had admitting that someone had beaten him. He tossed his cane upwards and then caught it with dramatic flair. “But beware, next time it’ll be game”

“Set!” Continued Chat.

And then both of them came together to yell out “And moth!”

With that, the two arbiters of Ladybug’s potential future drinking problem took off across the rooftops and into the rising son, leaving the confused hero alone once more. It was all so much to take in.

She’s lost her opportunity to beat Hawkmoth.

Her partner had turned traitor.

And now she had to deal with the two most annoying villains in the world, at the same time, on a regular basis.

With all she could muster, Ladybug declared to Paris, declared to anybody who would listen, a promise she vowed to keep until her dying days. “…Whatever idiot gave Chat Noir advice, I’m going to murder her.”

Chapter 3: Menaces Rising: Fu-umbled

Summary:

Marinette tracks down the Guardian to tell him the bad news. Master Fu proceeds to accidentally tell her how things are even worse than she thought.

Notes:

This chapter was originally a lot more jokey, but I found that much of the humour didn't really fit Fu.

 

It had been two hours since Marinette left school in a rush, telling a confused Alya that she had to go to ‘water my mom’s roommate’s turtle’, and she could safely say that Tikki was lost. For two hours, the little kwami had been peering discreetly from under the collar of Marinette’s shirt and hissing directions every five minutes. And every few callouts were pre-empted by a ‘Wait’, or ‘Actually, it was-‘.

“You can just admit that you don’t know where the Guardian lives.” Marinette muttered, resisting the urge to glance down at Tikki. To avoid any odd stares, she held her phone up to her ear, pretending to be calling someone.

“I know where I’m going!” Tikki huffed, “I’ve just never had to get there without flying before.”

“…Which means you don’t know where you’re going?”

Marinette felt a paw smack her collar bone, “I’m going to the small house that’s… Uh… Surrounded by other houses. It’s where he takes his clients.”

Marinette lightly massaged her temples, but didn’t see the point in talking back. “Clients? So, he has a real job?”

“Protecting the miracle box and preserving the legacy of the Guardian Order is a real job!” Tikki called up to her, holding the stare for a moment before deflating into a begrudging mutter. “…But he pays the bills by giving people massages.”

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Marinette groaned, smacking her forehead as she came to a stop on the corner of the street.

“What are you doing?” Tikki hummed curiously as Marinette brought her phone down in front of her.

“Looking him up.” Marinette said simply, swiping through her apps and bringing up google.

Tikki scoffed, “I doubt your mortal trinket is going to have better luck than me tracking down the holding place of the world’s greatest magical mysteries.”

“Sweet.” Marinette squealed almost immediately after Tikki finished. “He’s only a five-minute walk away!”

“B-B-But how!?” Tikki sprang forth from her hiding spot to look upon the phone screen in awe, staring down at a picture of Master Fu sitting outside of his massage parlour.

With a squeak of panic, Marinette snatched Tikki out of the air and shoved her back down her shirt. Suddenly, she found a couple of passers by staring at her with her arm halfway down the front of her shirt. With a straight face she nonchalantly waved back at them, holding a tidal wave of sweat and regret behind a smile while those people proceeded to hurry to the other side of the street just to avoid the strange girl.

“Sorry…” Tikki cleared her throat, “How did you find him?”

“Easy,” Marinette shrugged, “There’s only a few massage parlours in the area, and only one ran by an old Asian man. I just looked up one of his advertisements.”

“Wow.” Tikki gasped, “This internet must truly possess powerful magic.”

Marinette scratched the back of her neck, “Well, some would argue it is the most powerful and dangerous force in modern times.”

Five minutes later, Marinette stood in front of a small little building sandwiched between a flower shop and an apartment complex. It wasn’t hard to find – Chinese influenced design of the parlour, a deep red, wooden structure fitted with curved roofs and nature-based carvings, stuck out from a mile away.

“Do you think he’ll be expecting us?” Marinette asked.

Tikki peered up at her, unsure. “You weren’t supposed to meet him until Hawkmoth was defeated.”

Marinette felt her entire body slump under a sudden wave of pressure. “So, me being here…”

“Means that the worst as happened.” Tikki tried to giggle, but it did not come through. “Let’s try and take this slow, okay? He’s pretty old. You don’t want to give him a heart attack, right?”

“I-I’m gonna give him a heart attack!?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t wanna kill an old man!”

It took a full minute of reassurance that Marinette wasn’t about get her first kill by just walking into a building before she could walk through the doors. Though, really, it was less walking through and more her body being dragged by her pigtails by Tikki. Honestly, it was coin flip between her giving him a heart attack and him giving her one.

She didn’t know much about this man, but what she did know was that, for whatever reason, he trusted her. He thought that she was worthy to wield one of the most powerful forces on earth, the one of creation, in the fight against evil. He had faith in her, and all she had to show for it was her partner turning villain and Hawkmoth still at large.

Sure, she was angry at Chat Noir. She wanted to throttle that furry rat for the shame and humiliation he put her through, but Marinette was terrible at blaming other people. Even when they weren’t there, even when the only person who could hear her ramble was her, people still made her panic, still felt like they were towering over her every second. And when you were afraid of targeting your distaste towards people, even when they deserved it, your thoughts, your blame, always tended to come back down on you.

Could she have done something different? There could have been something she missed, something she did that allowed this all to happen. She imagined that, in a better life, she nailed it as Ladybug, nailed it as Chat Noir’s partner, made it so he never ever thought about joining his dumb, stinky old dad.

How did she push him away? How did she allow him to think any of this was right? How did her terrible luck somehow manage to interfere with destiny itself?

“Marinette,” Tikki warned softly, tiny paws tapping against Marinette’s cheek. “You’re overthinking it again.”

“No, I’m not!” Marinette moaned, puffing up her cheeks.

“You’re thinking that this is somehow your fault.”

Marinette huffed, “Well, if you heard all the convincing evidence I’m going over in my head, you would know that I’m thinking about this the exact correct amount.”

“Master Fu will understand.” Tikki gave an encouraging smile, “If anything, you’re in luck. He’s probably the only Guardian who would understand.”

“Right. Right.” Marinette paused, bent over and breathed. In. Out. In. Out. “You know what’s best. You’re the little God here.”

She clapped her hands together. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Before she could let her wayward thoughts lead her astray once more, she took off down the hall, turning into the main room of the parlour. It was a small, homely room bathed in the warmth of the morning sun streaming in through the sole window dominating the end of the room. The decorations were quite sparse, a few little shelves and furniture pieces shoved up against the wall, leaving the rest of the space taken up by the matt at the centre.

It was peaceful. And the moment Marinette stepped inside, she felt that peace filling up her lungs, making her feel like she could breathe for the first time in forever.

The man she’d seen from the internet picture stood in front of the window, idly checking his watch. He was a short, weary looking man that seemed to stand in a permanent hunch, the addles of time displayed in every wrinkle.

Without looking up, he spoke. “Ah. I’ve been expecting you.”

Marinette suddenly felt like standing at attention, her voice coming out in squeaks. “You were?”

He shuffled around, revealing kindly eyes and a soft smile. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I knew you would find yourself here eventually.” The smile weakened, dipping with his furrowed brows as he drew closer. “But so soon…”

He sighed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “The chosen aren’t supposed to know that I exist unless it’s an emergency.”

It was remarkable how easily he exuded that aura of a disappointed teacher. Marinette felt the very clear justification die on the tip of her tongue, replaced with a whimper, suddenly feeling ashamed, like she’d clearly done something wrong and was wasting his time for nothing. Even when she knew she had good reason to be here, her brain refused to allow her to settle, to become comfortable.

Ladybug’s voice in the back of her mind pondered that she got too comfortable with Chat Noir, that she allowed herself to drop her guard so easily and that’s why she hadn’t so much as suspected what he’d do.

“I hope you realize the great ris-”

Tikki had to be the one to speak up. “Chat Noir has joined Hawkmoth.”

“Oh.”

Oh? Oh!? He said it so casually. ‘Oh’, he forgot he was meeting with someone. ‘Oh’, he got a minor correction about how to best prepare tea. ‘Oh’, he learned something mildly annoying.

You don’t say ‘Oh’ when you learn that the bad guys now have the miraculous responsible for jumpstarting apocalypses. You don’t say ‘Oh’ when your chosen hero abandons his partner and his duty. You say ‘This is the worst thing that could have possibly happened’, have a heart attack and curse Chat Noir with your dying breath.

You don’t say ‘Oh’.

“Are you sure?” Fu tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips like this was a real deep question.

Marinette reeled back, her pitch hitting the perfect offended squeal. “What do mean ‘Are we sure’?”

He shrugged, “I mean, it could just be a ‘Keep your enemies closer’ deal.”

Marinette felt her left eye twitch, “He almost took my head off, I think he’s serious.”

“Maybe he just wanted to switch up the colour scheme. You know, green and black can be too... Dramatic.”

“This is not about his wardrobe!” She threw her arms out, exasperated. “He’s gone evil now!”

“Evil? Or just misunderstood?” Fu tapped his forehead, “How many people do we really understand, Marinette?”

He leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, and suddenly Marinette felt like she should be hearing a pan flute in the background. “Sometimes, even I don’t understand me.”

Stomping her feet, she huffed. Somehow she still felt like a child. “Master, this is serious!”

“Marinette, calm yourself.” He kneels down upon the mat, gesturing for her to join him. “It might not be as dire as you think.”

“Calm down?” She hissed.

She was scared before, but now she was downright offended. This was one of the worst-case scenarios, she’d spent all days sweating and panicking over it, and now she’s hunted down the very man who saddled her with this fate in the first place; and he has the gall to not take it seriously?

“I may not know everything that’s going on, but from what Tikki tells me, Chat Noir joining Hawkmoth is one of the worst things that could happen.”

Hell, he’s even more responsible for this than she was. After all, he picked Chat Noir. He decided that Chat Noir was someone to be trusted. If this ‘Guardian of the Miraculous’ had taken his job more seriously, or picked his heroes better, or at least done the bare minimum and watched the people he was trusting the powers of reality to; this all could have been averted.

In that moment, Marinette felt like a boiling pot with her head just ready to explode, to release all the pent-up anger she had at herself and this entire situation upon the one target who might actually deserve it. He’s the big, bad guardian. He’s the adult. If anyone should know what they’re doing here, who should be trusted and expected to do their job, it’s him.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t explode, she couldn’t spew her venom, she could just silently fume, following his directions and settling down on the mat. Maybe because he was an old man. Maybe because part of her was still fearful of the mysterious magical man. Maybe because her natural instinct to focus on her own flaws overwhelmed everything else. Maybe it was just because that was the way her parents raised her.

Whatever reason, she sat down, and she listened.

“It is… Distressing, yes.” He nodded, a more understanding look taking over as he looked into Marinette’s eyes and saw her swirling emotions reflected back at him. It was a look that made it harder to be mad at him. “But I’ve learned that many things happen for a reason. Perhaps we’ll find that, in the grand tapestry of history, this is an opportunity.”

Opportunity? Like a silver lining? What possible good could come from Chat Noir being a cheating, rotten, cocky, annoying bastard?

Marinette racked her brain for optimism, but she couldn’t find one side to this that she’d think of as good. At least, she didn’t think Fu would accept ‘At least now I only have to deal with Chat being an annoying, corny dork when fighting akumas’ as an answer. Really, it made sense that Hawkmoth and Chat were related, his annoying habits and terrible puns are just like his fath-

Marinette slammed her hands down on her knees with a start, yelling ‘eureka’ painfully loud.

“You’re right!” She squealed, letting a mad, but victorious, laughter overtake her.

Fu exchanged a worried glance with Tikki. “I am?”

“By joining Hawkmoth, Chat’s led us right to him.” Marinette slapped her palm over her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize this before.”

“I’m not following.”

Suddenly, Marinette lunged forward, roughly grasping Fu by his shoulders with a mad glint in her eye. “That idiot let it slip that Hawkmoth is his dad.”

“…Okay?”

It was so obvious, and so deliciously simple.

“You gave us our miraculous, right?”

“Yes.”

That Ladybug luck was rubbing off on her after all.

“So, you know who we are.”

“That’s right.”

She could take both of those dummies down in one fell swoop. Screw the miraculous hide and seek game, she was gonna call the army on whatever hovel Hawkmoth was hauled up in.

Marinette sighed, Fu still not registering the obvious conclusion. “So, if we know who Chat Noir is, we know who Hawkmoth is.”

Fu let out a thoughtful ‘aaaaah’, realization lighting up his eyes. “I see.”

Then he said nothing.

And continued to say nothing.

For the next minute, he simply stared back at Marinette with his giddy, engaged smile, waiting for her to speak when he was the one with the answers.

“Master Fu?” She said slowly, aggravation slowly increasing.

“Yes?”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a growl. “…Who is Chat Noir?”

Fu nodded, lightly chuckling. “Oh, well, he’s-”

His jaw hung wide, but no sound, no answers came out of it. He glanced to the side, hoping to find some semblance of inspiration in his surroundings, only to turn up an equally dead end. For the first time, Fu’s casual demeanour dropped, instead replaced with a lost gaze mixed with shame.

“Master?”

He took a sharp breath, face tightening in an ashamed cringe. “I forgot.”

Marinette balked, her grip on his shoulder becoming iron tight. “You what!?”

Fu let out a gasp of pain, taking a good amount of time to forcefully pry Marinette’s fingers off of him before this teenage girl snapped something with her grip. He offered her a sheepish grin in the meantime. “Hey, cut me some slack, I’m over 200 years old here.”

Eventually, she relinquished him, her jaw reaching the floor. “T-Two hundred?”

He shrugged. “I have a very particular diet.”

She groaned. She grumbled. She squinted until the colours of the world all blended together in a blinding, painful blur of bright lights. She pushed pain upon her senses until it drowned out all other mental anguish, until she became numb enough to find focus.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t spiral. Be in control.

“Okay, okay, we can still work with this.” She jabbed at her cheeks, massaging them and imagining she’d just splashed her face with water. “This can’t be the first time a miraculous hero has gone bad. You guardian guys have to have like a cool spell or secret technique to deal with rogue miraculous users, at least something to help track them down.”

Suddenly, Fu looked incredibly guilty, like a kid who just got caught breaking their mother’s vase. “We might.”

Marinette could hear her heart shatter into pieces. “Might?”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have any of our sacred scrolls.”

“Would the other Guardians have them?”

“They do.”

What remained of her heart sank. “…I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming along.”

Fu smiled that fake smile that wound so tight you could imagine the pain it caused to keep up. “All the other Guardians were eaten by a sentimonster.” He continued quietly.

Marinette fell back, head smacking against the edge of the mat and legs flying into the air as limo noodles. Her body gave in, her heart was dead and her brain shut down. There was no point, no reason to move, to care, to think anymore.

“We are so incredibly screwed.” She cried out, “It’s game over, man. Game over!”

She didn’t know how long she was there, in that sunken, dark spot in her mind that imagined the worst outcomes. Where all she could see was Hawkmoth and Chat Noir lording over her in their dumb costumes, with their dumbs smiles, laughing their dumb laughs and making their dumb puns. She just knew that, when she emerged from the deep darkness, she was shivering under a cold chill that was entirely sourced from her.

Fu stood over her with a teacup in hand. Leaning forward to get a better view, Marinette realized that she’d been moved to the corner of the room, supported by the wall.

Fu crouched down, holding the mug out to her. “Drink, Marinette. It will sooth your soul.”

Now, gulping down odd looking tea from strangers wasn’t the best idea, but at this point, Marinette was desperate for some comfort.

“It’s a special blend,” Fu said cryptically. “Centuries of wisdom poured into one sip.”

Marinette took a tentative sniff. The aroma was strange – like a mix of mint, flowers, and something else… something earthy. She hesitated, but with Master Fu watching expectantly, she brought the cup to her lips.

The first sip was... weird. It was bitter, then sweet, then bitter again, like it couldn’t make up its mind. Her face scrunched up instinctively. Marinette forced a smile and took another sip, hoping the flavour would improve. It didn’t. Her taste buds went on a rollercoaster ride of confusion.

“Now, pardon this old man for a moment, but I must ramble.” Fu swayed from side-to-side, switching which foot to rest his weight on. Like Marinette, he never settled, he was always moving, always calculating.

He turns his gaze towards the strange box by his side, one that looked similar to an old record player. He gazed at it mournfully, a painful memory flashing before his eyes. “I have been on my own, protecting the miracle box from villains and tyrants for over 100 years. I’ve always had the cards stacked against me.”

The tea still confounded her. But then, something strange happened. A wave of calm started to wash over her, slowly at first. Her jittery leg stopped bouncing, and the anxious knot in her stomach began to loosen. She took a deeper breath, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time in hours.

Fu continued, Marinette’s eyes now wide, attentive and focused on his every move. “But it was in the face of adversity that I found my true strength.”

He wrapped around back to Marinette, placing one hand on her shoulder while the other gestured to Tikki. “This situation is not ideal, but you are not alone, and we are not out of the game just yet. This is a set back, and I have no doubt that everything can still be turned around.”

Marinette took another sip, this time finding the odd taste almost... soothing. But then her eyes went wide as a second, unexpected side effect kicked in. Her head felt a little too light, and for a moment, everything around her seemed... funnier.

She giggled. Then giggled again.

Master Fu raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I used a bit too much ginseng...”

“I’m sorry, Master Fu.” She pressed her thumb down on her chest, trying to push back the giggles. “I’m just… I’m not sure if I’m right for this.”

Master Fu knelt down beside Marinette, his hand still resting gently on her shoulder. His eyes softened, full of the kind of wisdom that only came with age. "There is no one who is 'right' for this, Marinette. Being Ladybug isn't about perfection. It’s about resilience, and you’ve shown more of that than you realize."

Marinette stared down at the half-empty cup in her hands. The calming effects of the tea had begun to settle her nerves, but the weight of everything—the responsibilities, the mistakes—still pressed down on her. "But... I let Chat Noir slip away. How can I be trusted to protect anyone when I couldn't even protect him?"

Fu’s expression turned serious. "Everyone makes mistakes, Marinette. You are human, not a god. Even with the power of the Miraculous, you are bound by your own nature. You can only do your best, and sometimes... even that won’t be enough." He paused, watching her carefully. "But do you know what truly sets you apart?"

Marinette blinked, confused. "What?"

"You don’t give up," Fu said firmly. "You keep trying. You always find a way to move forward, even when the odds are against you. That is the mark of a true hero."

Marinette didn’t respond immediately, the words sinking in as she sipped from her cup again. The strange, earthy taste was now more familiar, and the warmth spread through her like a soft blanket.

Fu gave her a small, knowing smile. "You’ll make mistakes, Marinette. Some of them will be big. But as long as you keep fighting for what’s right, you’ll find your way. And in the end, that’s what matters."

“It was no accident that led to Tikki falling into your hands.” Fu took back the tea cup, shaking it in front of her. “You are Ladybug, and I will help you as best I can.”

For the first time since entering the room, Marinette felt a flicker of hope. She wasn’t perfect, and the situation was far from ideal, but perhaps there was still a chance to make things right. Maybe she hadn’t failed as much as she thought.

Slowly, she nodded. “I’ll… I’ll do my best.”

Fu moved over to the box, which she assumed to be the miracle box Tikki mention, and started fiddling with it. After a moment, the box sprung open, with many different compartments and slots popping free to display various jewellery; the other miraculous.

“There’s the matter of Chat Noir’s replacement. No one man is a temple, you need someone to watch your back.” Fu drew his finger over the selection while he mused, his finger tip eventually landing on the fox miraculous. “The Cat Miraculous is supposed to be your perfect partner. Who could come close to fulfilling their role?”

Just as he said that, Marinette heard her phone buzzing in her pocket. Alya was calling her to remind her of the study/sleepover they were planning that night.

With renewed confidence, Marinette started to rise to her feet. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person, Master Fu.” She grins down at him, awkwardly wrapping her arms around herself as if she were still cold. “Just… Uh… Make sure they’re not related to a super villain this time.”

“I’ll try.” Fu nodded, waving her off. “Take your leave, Marinette. I will send for you if I find anything useful.”

Marinette bowed her head. “Thank you, Master.”

He called after her as she left. “We’ll get through this, Marinette.”

When Marinette was out of sight, Fu returned to the window. The light that flooded through the window had dimmed, blocked by rooftops and planes cutting through the horizon. It had a promising start, but something dark loomed.

As he gazed out towards the sun, he could only shake his head and sigh. “Oh, Nooroo. Plagg. The responsibility for your fate lies in my hands.” None of this would have happened if he hadn’t dropped the miraculous all those years ago, if he hadn’t created Feast out of his own laziness.

All that was left was the memories of the mistakes he made, and the consequences those mistakes wrought. “I shudder to imagine what dastardly plan these vile villains are forcing you to empower at this very moment.”

---

Nathalie passed through the Agreste residence with a slightly raised brow. Someone had decided to bring down all the curtains, leaving the manner suitably dark and moody to fit with the new status quo of their little villain family.

She was drawn to Gabriel’s office, a tray of food in hand, and ominous lighting beckoning her closer from the open door.

Gabriel and Adrien had been cooped up in the office ever since the formation of their little team, giving little more than a quick ‘Adrien’s my side kick now’ the day prior before disappearing entirely. Adrien had missed his Chinese, fencing and piano lessons for this.

The most stunning part of the entire interaction had been how giddy Adrien had looked as he told her that they had big plans, and how his father let Adrien refer to him as ‘Dad’ with no correction.

And now, here she stood on the other side of a door slightly ajar. She could hear them inside, rustling about, snapping something in two and belting out increasingly louder evil laughs. She had to admit, she was curious what they were cooking up that required so much attention.

She breathed in, readied the tray, and her best stoic mask, before pushing through the door.

“Nooroo.”

“Plagg.”

“Give us a beat!”

And then promptly proceeded to turn around and decide that today was her day off.

Chapter 4: Menaces Rising: Henchmen Bennefits

Summary:

Roger Raincomprix has been selected as Hawkmoth's next akuma. He is promised power, respect and justice if he is able to retrieve Ladybug's miraculous... But not before he signs Hawkmoth and Chat Noir's new employment contract!

Notes:

Roger Raincomprix was a man who followed orders, who did his duty and believed in the law. But today, that faith was being tested. He sat slouched over in his vehicle, a sunny day reduced to a dreadful, dark horizon in his eyes, and a phone dropped carelessly by his feet.

His duty was to the law, and the highest order was from the mayor, who just ordered him to break the law. Marinette was innocent of stealing Chloe’s bracelet; Roger knew that the Dupains raised a sweet and law-abiding daughter and there was no proof otherwise – but the mayor still ordered Roger to cuff her because Chloe whined enough.

Roger refused to break the law, and so the mayor fired him. He did his job, he did what was right, and he was the only one suffering for it.

He felt his fingers tighten around his steering wheel, until his knuckles were white and strained. What was he supposed to tell his family? He was out of a job, he’d probably hurt his daughter’s relationship with her friend, and he wasn’t even going to get his last pay check.

Policing was in his blood, it was all he knew how to do, for god sakes, what else could he do with himself? Even in his youth he was getting fired from flipping burgers or working a cash register because his instincts were crying out for him yell at people and blow whistles. He was a man with a very specific set of skills!

So, when the purple butterfly fluttered through his window and dived for his whistle, he didn’t even attempt to stop it.

“Rogercop, I am Hawkmoth.” The voice echo’d throughout his mind as a dark swirling energy engulfed his body, wrapping him in a cocoon of negative emotions. “This city needs a true righter of wrongs. And that is where you come in.”

The energy spread to the world around him, sealing him in that darkness, in that blank mindscape where only he stood. Behind him Hawkmoth materialized, and before him was… Well, him. But not him. It was what he could become, a towering, walking embodiment of justice with an ample arsenal to fix all the wrongs in Paris.

Without hesitation, Roger pulled his arms together and grinned. “Yes, Sir.”

Hawkmoth swept across the mindscape, summoning the image of Ladybug’s earrings before crushing them in his fist. “Ladybug must be destroyed if you want to achieve ultimate retribution. You will seize Ladybug’s miraculous for me.” He blinked away and then appeared by Roger’s side, whispering in his ear. “Do we have an agreement?”

Roger stood up straight, making a dramatic salute. “That’s an affirmative, Mr. Hawkmoth Sir!”

Hawkmoth’s lips unfurled into a feral grin. He leaped back from Roger, sending his cane into the air before snatching it for dramatic effect. He slammed it down on the floor, unleashing a shockwave that cracked the very fabric of the mindspace, ready to break Roger free from the cocoon.

Only to freeze in place.

Hawkmoth’s head snapped to the side, as if he just heard something. Then, the super villain rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at whatever was happening on his end of the mental call.

“…Uh… Sir?”

Hawkmoth held up one hand to shush Roger while the other waved somebody over. Suddenly, a large stack of papers materialized in Hawkmoth’s beckoning hand, a stack that Hawkmoth had trouble wielding as various pieces sipped in and out of his fingers as he turned back to Roger.

“Just give me a minute, I’m just-” He starts flipping through the pile, barely able to hold back his growls of frustration as he kept accidentally flipping over multiple pages at the same time.

After a minute of struggling, something snapped and a high pitched desperate squeak rose from Hawkmoth’s throat. “Blasted stapler, I knew I should have had this as a digital file!”

Roger scratched the back of his head. “Am I getting powers or not?”

Hawkmoth leaned in, one hand still wrestling with the stack of papers. “In a minute, Mr. Raincomprix!”

Roger frowned, still unsure. “I thought I was Rogercop now?”

Hawkmoth waved him off, exasperated. “No, that was just for effect. First, we need to— Ah, here we go.” He finally pulled out a particularly thick sheaf of papers. “Ahem. Rogercop, before you obtain the powers that will enable your crusade of justice against this hive of scum and villainy, you must—” He paused dramatically. “Go over this contract with me.”

Roger's confusion deepened. “...Huh?”

Hawkmoth sighed, looking a bit defeated. “Nothing too complicated, just to ensure you’re aware of our professional relationship and expectations.”

Roger’s brow furrowed as he looked at the papers. “Is now really the time?”

Hawkmoth grimaced, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Look, Chat Noir recently joined my team as a side ki—" he hesitated, his tone dripping with reluctant acknowledgment, "—equal partner, and he’s under the impression that some changes to my tactics need to be made.”

“Apparently, he believes that giving emotionally volatile people superpowers with little explanation other than ‘fetching jewelry’ isn’t cultivating a healthy, nor an effective, ‘villain/henchman relationship.’”

He sighed again, mumbling “And if I don’t comply, he’s sending my identity to the evening news…”. Sometimes, Gabriel Agreste regretted putting Adrien through those Business Management courses.

Hawkmoth straightened his posture and cleared his throat, trying to regain his sinister demeanor. “Besides, a little organization does wonders for my tax records.”

Roger couldn’t help it. “You pay taxes? You’re a super villain.”

Hawkmoth, affronted, glared at him. “Of course I pay taxes! You remember ‘Pain Train’? Villain up in Brooklyn. Started a drug empire out of his construction company. He did it all: tore down entire neighborhoods for real estate profit, kidnapped politicians, ran a goddamn train through the underground that destroyed the city’s plumbing infrastructure.”

Roger squinted. “I think I heard about him on the news once…”

Hawkmoth raised a finger. “You know what ended his empire?” He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Tax evasion.”

Roger raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hawkmoth snorted. “The Government doesn’t care about what you do until you mess with their money.” He jabbed at the contract in his hands. “So, Chat Noir had Nathalie draw up a contract.”

“Nathalie?”

Hawkmoth’s eyes widened and more than few swear words escaped his breath. “Uh, crap, I mean-”

Once more, something reached his ears that Roger wasn’t prvy to and the man whirled around to have a one-sided conversation. “Oh, he won’t be able to remember this conversation later anyway.”

Roger gasped, “Wait, what’s that?”

Hawkmoth casually waved over his shoulder at the man. “Section 4, Clause 8 – Akumatization Amnesia.” He explained with a dismissive twirl of his fingers. “It doesn’t inflict any damage or anything, just something I put in to let you keep plausible deniability.”

His brows furrowed as an unheard voice chided him, Hawkmoth taking to crossing his arms and pouting. “Look, I don’t see why you two are making such a big deal out of this.”

“Is that this ‘Nathalie’ woman?” Roger asked.

Hawkmoth snapped back, “Her name doesn’t matter, she’s just a lady friend.”

‘What’s that supposed to mean!?’ The words, backed by the sensation of a cold stare piercing through him, apparently struck enough of a chord with Hawkmoth to break through his mental connection and be heard by even Roger.

For a silent, tense moment, Hawkmoth seemed frozen in place, sucking in his breath and his eyes following someone’s exit from the conversation.

“What?” Hawkmoth spluttered, eyes turning on, presumably, the other person in the room with him. “What did I do now?”

There was no response.

“S-She’s fine, right?” Hawkmoth let his cane clatter to the floor, awkwardly fiddling with his fingers and looking more and more like a teenager in a suit too big for him. “Son, can you go and check on her? And, uh… Bring her that tea she likes?”

Roger cleared his throat as Hawkmoth awkwardly followed the other person’s exit, unsure. “It’s none of my business Mr. Moth, but you can’t describe your girl as ‘just’ a lady friend.”

Suddenly, Hawkmoth was jumping back with an unbalanced sway, as if he’d forgotten that Roger was on the call. “Wha- She’s not my- I’m married!”

Roger tilted his head, he didn’t know how that made it any different. “Even more reason to make sure that your wife fee-”

“S-She’s just an assistant!” The heavy document stack was slammed into Roger’s hand, Hawkmoth glowering down at him. “We don’t have time for this!”

He took in a sharp breath, and a few seconds of twitching, to try and restore his villainous façade. “So, sign here.” He drew his finger across the document, biting back any excess remarks. “And here. Initial this page.”

“Wait—what exactly am I agreeing to?”

Hawkmoth sighed again as Roger flipped through the document. “Standard stuff. You know, powers in exchange for loyalty, property damage limits, clauses about not attacking me, non-compete with other supervillains…” He trailed off, his head clearly only half in the game, the other half residing with his ‘just an assistant’.

Roger blinked again. “…What about dental?”

“Of course we have dental, we’re not monsters.”

Roger stared at Hawkmoth, his mind trying to reconcile the idea of the sinister villain of Paris discussing dental plans in the middle of an akumatization. “So, you’re telling me I get superpowers and dental?”

Hawkmoth cleared his throat. “Yes. Dental. Comprehensive, too. After all, you can’t uphold justice with cavities, can you?”

Roger scratched his chin, intrigued. “Alright. That sounds useful. But what’s this about property damage limits?”

Hawkmoth sighed, looking irritated as he jabbed at the section in question. “Chat Noir insisted that if akumas are going to wreak havoc, there needs to be… accountability.” He practically spat the word. “So, there’s a clause about minimizing collateral damage. No toppling the Eiffel Tower, no using police cars as frisbees, things like that. Apparently, I need to be ‘a responsible employer’ now.”

Roger was trying very hard not to laugh. “That sounds… fair, I guess?”

“Fair?! I’m a villain, not a daycare manager!” Hawkmoth threw his hands up. “And all the damage gets undone by Ladybug anyway.”

Roger chuckled. “Hey, a happy employee is a hard working one.”

He flipped a few pages ahead. “Uh... I have another question here. What's this about ‘non-compete with other supervillains’? Who else am I going to be competing with?”

Hawkmoth shrugged. “It’s mainly to stop akumas from double-crossing me by working for someone else. The last guy—Fridge Magnet Man—he got way too creative with his powers and tried to franchise himself.”

Roger's expression turned incredulous. “Fridge Magnet Man?”

Thoroughly irritated, Hawkmoth waved dismissively. “It’s not important. What is important is that you're not allowed to switch sides, take jobs from other supervillains, or freelance your services. Once you're akumatized, you work for me, or I snap away your powers. Got it?”

“Got it.” Idly, Roger flipped through a few more pages. “I can only use my powers in the city limits? What if I need to cross a border for justice?”

“Bureaucracy mandates that we need a permit for that.” Hawkmoth grumbled.

“What’s this here about ‘On-Call Benefits’.”

Hawkmoth cleared his throat, adjusting a tie that wasn’t there. “Ah, well, how this usually works is that we akuma- employ you for a single battle and then let you be on your way.” He paced around as his spoke, as if he were explaining this more to himself than Roger. “But sometimes we might want to bring you back again, maybe even as a different akuma.”

He drummed his fingers against his chin. “I don’t know what your powers are until the akumatization starts – it’s easier to be able to plan around the akuma in advance, y’know? So, this is just some boiler plate stuff about saying you’re open to being akumatized again.”

“Okay, moving on.” Hawkmoth sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose, speaking his next words as if he were at gunpoint. “Do you have any special requests? Chat Noir has introduced the concept of suggestions during the recruitment process.”

Roger thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “How about a patrol car that turns into a jet?”

Hawkmoth blinked. “A… jet?”

Roger grinned. “Yeah! Like in the movies! A car that transforms into a high-speed jet! And maybe a robotic partner with a built-in coffee maker.”

Hawkmoth raised an eyebrow but scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “Fine. Jet patrol car, robot sidekick, coffee maker. Anything else?”

Roger hesitated. “Uh… do we get overtime?”

Hawkmoth’s eyes narrowed. “Overtime?”

Roger shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you know, if Ladybug’s running late, or if Chat Noir throws one of his puns at me. That should count as extra time.”

Hawkmoth’s nostrils flared. “Fine. Overtime it is. Now will you please just sign the contract so we can get on with this?”

Roger took the pen and, after a moment of hesitation, scribbled his name down. “Done. Now, when do I get my powers?”

Hawkmoth let out a dramatic sigh of relief and raised his hands. “Finally!” Dark energy surged around Roger, transforming him into Rogercop, complete with a shiny visor, high-tech armor, and a badge that flashed ominously.

As Roger admired his new suit, Hawkmoth grumbled, “Next time, I’m hiring without consulting Chat Noir.”

Roger grinned beneath his visor. “So… when do we clock in?”

Hawkmoth rolled his eyes. “Just get Ladybug’s miraculous already!”

Roger saluted, his robotic voice booming through the mindscape. “Yes, sir! Rogercop reporting for duty!”

And with that, Paris’ newest supervillain—equipped with powers, dental coverage, and the hope of overtime pay—set off to uphold justice, akuma-style.

“Excellent. Now, time to take the corrupt mayor into your custody and lure that rube Ladybug into—wait, where are you going? City Hall is in the opposite direction.”

Roger had already taken off, his flying car taking off in a flash. “I’ve got some illegal parking tickets to issue first!”

Notes:

Is Gabriel is the doghouse? Will the Government ever do their jobs? Who is going to be Ladybug's new partner? Find out... At some point. I dunno. Comments and suggestions are welcome.

Chapter 5: Menaces Rising: Masks

Summary:

Adrien contemplates the difference between Gabriel Agreste and Hawkmoth.

Gabriel Agreste was known far and wide for two things: his immaculate designs, and his terrible attitude. His persona of the ice-cold, sterile, rigid shell of a man who only broke the mask to show his disgust at the utter incompetence of those around him – it was practically baked into his brand image by this point.

Gabriel Agreste didn’t make small talk, he didn’t smile, he didn’t offer warmth, he didn’t waste his time with frivolous things. At home and at work, he was the secluded artist who could only find humanity in sketch books and dresses.

Adrien remembered the day his father’s secret had been revealed to him, the night he faced the truth of his mother’s disappearance, the night he fell to his knees before his mother’s ‘sleeping’ form and learned of Hawkmoth’s righteous mission. He had been so confused, and part of him still was, even while trying to shake off the adrenaline rush of fighting Ladybug for the first time.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. How could they be the same person? His father—Gabriel—was nothing like Hawkmoth. The designer was a shell of a man, rigid, severe, obsessed with appearances and perfection. Everything in their home reflected it: sterile, cold, calculated. A museum of someone else’s life, someone who hadn’t been a part of Adrien’s for years.

And yet… Hawkmoth.

He closed his eyes, replaying that night Chat Noir declared his loyalty to Hawkmoth in his head, returning to the moment he and his father returned to the observatory. They had returned pumped, laughing and clinging to each other like drunks ready to collapse on the pavement and vomit.

Even long after Ladybug’s groans had left their minds, they were still slinging different puns at each other, workshopping the most immature of jokes as they fell in a heap at the centre of the room. Carelessly, Chat Noir let out a chiding comment about Hawkmoth being beaten by a teenage girl, and the Adrien part of him had slapped a hand over his mouth and gasped in fear.

Adrien didn’t insult his father, even teasingly. Adrien didn’t speak out of turn. His father was the head of the house, the one who paid for everything, the one who taught Adrien everything; he was to be respected and his place remembered.

Hawkmoth had merely pouted and huffed like a child, muttering about how Chat Noir was still grounded and that he was totally going easy on Ladybug.

Hawkmoth had smiled, not with malice but with something else, something Adrien hadn’t seen from Gabriel in years—warmth.

His chest tightened. He had waited so long to hear those words, to feel… anything from his father. But it was twisted, wasn’t it? This wasn’t some heart-to-heart in their mansion. This was coming from the same man who terrorized innocent people. How could someone capable of so much destruction also show such care?

Adrien stood up and crossed the room to the window, pulling back the curtains. Paris stretched out below him, the city of lights, now his playground as Chat Noir. He had chosen this path, hadn’t he? When his father had asked for his loyalty, Adrien had accepted, believing that maybe, just maybe, this would bring them closer together. And in a strange way, it had.

He could hear Plagg snoring softly nearby, indifferent to the moral whirlwind spinning inside him. Adrien envied his kwami’s simplicity. The truth was, he had always longed for his father’s approval, for something real between them. But what if the only way Gabriel knew how to love was through the mask of Hawkmoth?

Adrien's mind flashed back to the rare dinners they had together, Gabriel sitting at the head of the table, barely looking up from his work. There were no warm exchanges, no casual conversations about school or friends. Only silence and distance. Gabriel had always kept Adrien at arm’s length, treating him more like a statue in his perfect life than a son.

But Hawkmoth? Hawkmoth laughed with me, talked with me… even listened to me. And didn’t care that I addressed him as ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Father’.

The thought disturbed him. How could the villain be more of a father than Gabriel had ever been? Adrien clenched his fists, feeling his pulse quicken. His father, the real one, was cold, calculating, always focused on his brand. But Hawkmoth, with the mask on, there was a strange honesty. Adrien felt like he had seen the man Gabriel could have been, if only he had allowed himself to be vulnerable.

The very next day, Adrien met his father in passing and it was suddenly like nothing had changed. Thick glasses hid his father’s eyes, his emotions, and the cold returned in full force. His father barely spared him a glance, idly commenting that Adrien shouldn’t be making such ‘unbecoming’ expressions and leaving Nathalie to reveal his schedule before locking himself away in his office.

For a moment, Adrien had been half-convinced that all the Hawkmoth stuff had been a dream.

It wasn’t until Marinette’s pep talk that Adrien saw it, that just like him, his father already wore a mask.

Adrien and Gabriel were identities created by the brand, they were controlled, they were determined by what looked best for the advertisements.

Chat Noir and Hawkmoth were identities created by them, they were free, they were made to express what couldn’t be expressed by the suffocating expectations of the world at large.

Who they really were? That lied somewhere in-between.

“I almost had her!” Hawkmoth had exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement, his grin infectious. “If it hadn’t been for that miraculous move of hers, we would have won!”

Adrien had nodded, still breathless, his heart pounding not just from the fight, but from this newfound connection. For once, they weren’t designer and model, or father and son with miles of ice between them. They were teammates.

“I think you did great,” Adrien had blurted out, the words feeling awkward on his tongue. He had never been good at compliments, especially not towards his father. But they had felt true.

Hawkmoth had laughed, a rich, genuine sound that Adrien couldn’t remember ever hearing from Gabriel. “You’re just saying that because you were there with me, Minou.”

It had been a joke, a nickname, one of those casual things fathers said to their sons. Except Adrien had never had that. He had spent years watching other fathers ruffle their kids’ hair, slap them on the back, give them those small, easy smiles. He had craved it without even realizing, like a plant stretching towards the sun.

And now, suddenly, he had it. But it came from a man wearing a mask. A mask that hid his father’s face but somehow revealed more of him than Gabriel had ever shown.

It was strange the think that Adrien’s mother didn’t enter his reasoning at all, but maybe that was just because he didn’t see it the same way his father did. He’d felt all his grief resurface at seeing her corpse, but that’s what he saw, a corpse.

Hawkmoth monologued about her just being asleep, in a magically induced coma and that all they needed was the miraculous wish to fix everything. But no, all Adrien saw was a corpse, his mother was dead, she was gone, and, in some way, he didn’t believe in this magic wish that would fix all their problems.

Maybe he’d just seen too many movies, but magic never seemed to work that conveniently. There’s always a trick where you don’t actually end up with what you want, just something that’s only what you asked for in a round-about way that’s a play on words.

Adrien sat back down on his bed, feeling the weight of the contradictions pressing down on him. His father was a villain. His father was a hero, too, at least to Adrien. A man who was fighting, as misguided as it was, for his family. He had lost his wife, Adrien’s mother, and he was willing to do anything to get her back.

Maybe, in his own way, Adrien was trying to save his family too.

And yes, Adrien realized how selfish this sounded, that maybe he was using a sad life and a desperation for connection to justify misusing his power. But the way he thought about it, it was better this way. He would never be able to bring himself to betray his father, he didn’t want to see Gabriel in chains or behind bars. As Hawkmoth’s enemy, that’s all Chat Noir would be able to do. But as Hawkmoth’s partner and secret keeper, Chat Noir could stop him from going too far, could help him do this right.

Maybe it was all just cheap excuses from a boy who just wanted to help his father, but he’d made his decision, and there was no turning back now.

‘Sides, there was always the chance that the wish was indeed true, that Adrien’s mother could be returned to him. And that was enough for him.

Adrien laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his own mask heavy on his soul. He wanted to believe that there was a way to bring them together, to save his father from himself, from the mask that had become his reality.

But for now, all he could do was keep playing his part, keep wearing his own mask, and hope that somehow, somewhere, he could find the man he had been searching for all his life.

Even if it meant tearing both masks away to find the truth beneath.

Now, he just had to get Nathalie to help him with his ‘Employee Benefits’ idea…

---

“Sir.” Nathalie said with that deep, strain-laced tone that told Gabriel he’d stepped over some sort of line.

He looked up from his sketch, an hour of artist block making him feel groggy and not at all awake enough to deal with a (silently) angry Nathalie. “Did I do something wrong?”

Was this still about the ‘lady friend’ thing? He gave her extra sugar with her coffee and complimented her hair even if he didn’t know what he did wrong. What else could he do? He glanced over towards Nooroo, who sat on the edge of his desk, looking over his sketches with quiet curiosity. However, the kwami of emotion offered him no easy insight into Nathalie’s state.

She fixed her glasses, trying to mask her frown. “I’ve had to deal with three angry phone calls from instructors asking why Adrien had skipped out on his lessons?”

"He had lessons?" Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. "I had him down in the lair, going over some," He cleared his throat. "Important business."

He left out that said business was workshopping their dramatic entrance speech that would surely wow their bug-themed nemesis.

Nathalie’s frown deepened, her lips thinning as she let out a slow breath through her nose. “Sir, with all due respect, you cannot just pull Adrien out of his schedule without informing me. I’m responsible for making sure he stays on track, and these sudden changes disrupt his education.”

Gabriel’s eyes drifted back to his sketch, and he forced himself to focus. This was important. Nathalie was right; he had a system in place for Adrien’s schooling, his modelling, his every waking moment, carefully curated to produce a perfect son and heir. A system that Gabriel himself had dictated. So why did it feel so meaningless now?

“I’ll make sure to notify you next time,” he said, trying to placate her.

“Perhaps you’d like to look at his schedule first?” Nathalie’s nose wrinkled, something that Hawkmoth’s voice briefly told Gabriel was kind of cute, which meant she was holding back a sigh. “We shouldn’t leave changes to the last minute.”

Gabriel pushed Hawkmoth aside and waved Nathalie over, taking the offering of her pad and looking over the contents. He found his brow furrowing as he took in the list. “Chinese lessons… Piano… Fencing… Gym… Does he really do all this?”

Nathalie’s eyebrow rose above her glasses. “Yes? You signed him up for all these lessons to keep him prepared for anything.”

“Really?” Gabriel frowned. “He barely has time to study, let alone any free time. When did his schedule become so cluttered?”

“Forgive me for saying, Sir,” Nathalie cleared her throat, “But maybe you haven’t thought this through?”

Gabriel wanted to take offense, but his ego was distracted by Hawkmoth laughing in his ear. “I can’t believe you just added things to his schedule without thinking about how they fit.”

Nathalie usually handles all the logistics.

“Well,” He spluttered in a most un-Gabriel-like manner, “We’re going to have to convince him to drop some of these. He can’t help me squash Ladybug if he doesn’t have time to rest his brain.”

He drew his thumb over the screen, tapping the highlight pen option. “Now, which ones do you think he’d be willing to give up?”

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

“Well, there has to be one or two he likes the least.”

“Sir, I’m not sure he likes any of them.”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel chuckled, “Then why would he do them?”

“Because you told him to do them, Sir.” Nathalie stated firmly, “You said that it’s his responsibility to excel in everything.”

Gabriel paused, tearing his eyes away from the screen, a flicker of Hawkmoth’s emotion peering through his glasses. “I… Said that?”

“Most children tend to find education without much free time boring.”

Gabriel shook his head, “But why wouldn’t he tell me if he didn’t like something?”

Somehow, Gabriel could tell Nathalie was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Because he’s an Agreste.” She said in a tone that could be mistaken for either being neutral or insulting.

Gabriel had no response to that, which was more than a little surprising for Nathalie. Gabriel Agreste always had a retort prepared.

Nathalie’s mouth opened slightly in shock, and then she clamped it shut, her brows knitting together. She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Sir, are we sure that it’s wise to let Adrien continue with these... Extracurricular activities?”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the unspoken judgment in her voice. He didn’t like it when people questioned his decisions, especially not when they were so crucial. “He’s learning valuable skills, Nathalie. Ones that will serve him far better than any fencing lesson or Mandarin class ever could.”

Gabriel’s heart thudded against his ribcage, his mind flashing back to the way Adrien had looked at him last night, the way his son’s eyes had shone with excitement, with something like admiration. For once, it hadn’t been fear or disappointment. For once, he hadn’t seen the ghost of Emilie reflected back at him in those green eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “He’s happy. Y-You should have seen him out there, or in the lair. He was… I’ve never really thought about it, but I’ve never seen him smile like that.”

Gabriel remembered how jealous he used to be of Emilie during Adrien’s childhood. How effortless she made it look to just connect with her son, to make him laugh and smile and play no matter what her sons’ current interest would be.

She was the fun parent, the one who children gravitated towards, the one who  had all the right hobbies that made a little boy watch on in awe and interest and could talk with Adrien for hours about the silly things she loved.

Gabriel was the opposite. He was awkward, he didn’t understand anything that kids got up to these days, and nothing about stockholder meetings or making dresses for girls interested a little boy who already hated little Chloe constantly dragging him into her dress collection. No matter how hard he tried, he could never find that common ground to bridge the gap between father and son, even when Adrien had become a model – it was a front Gabriel always knew he’d failed on.

But Hawkmoth didn’t. Hawkmoth made Chat Noir laugh, he made his son smile.

Nathalie looked away, “I… I spoke out of turn, Sir.”

Gabriel sighed and set the tablet down on the desk, the sketch beneath forgotten. “No, you didn’t.” He hated the admission, but it was true. “I’ve been so caught up in the moment that I’ve been… Impulsive, and not considered how my decision would affect you.” Gabriel Agreste didn’t apologize or admit fault easily, but this was different. This wasn’t about his brand or his company. This was Adrien, and Nathalie.

Gabriel felt the frustration bubble up within him, the remnants of his artistic block only adding to his mounting sense of helplessness. He had spent years building a reputation as a fashion icon, a mastermind, a genius. But what did that mean if he didn’t know his own son?

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly tired. He had crafted every aspect of Adrien’s life with the same precision he applied to his designs. Every lesson, every expectation, every constraint—all meant to mold Adrien into the perfect image of what Gabriel thought he should be. But maybe, just maybe, he had been going about it all wrong.

He looked back at Nathalie, who stood there, waiting patiently. Despite the strain in her eyes and the weight she carried on his behalf, she was still his steadfast companion. He wondered if she would noticed it too—how Adrien had changed everything in just a night, how he was finally coming alive in ways Gabriel had never imagined.

“What do you suggest we do, Nathalie?” His voice was softer now, the edge gone. It was a rare thing for him to ask for advice, to show vulnerability, even to her.

She blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. “Sir, I agree that Adrien can drop some subjects. Maybe… some time away from all these expectations. He’s been following this schedule for years, but I think it would be beneficial to let him decide what he wants. And…” She hesitated, her gaze dropping. “Perhaps we should focus on what he needs.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, an automatic reaction to hearing his parenting questioned. But this time, the irritation didn’t come. Instead, a strange feeling settled in his chest—something that felt uncomfortably close to guilt.

He looked back at the sketch on his desk, at the elegant lines and shapes that still didn’t capture the vision he had in his head. Was that what he had been doing to Adrien all these years? Trying to mold him into something perfect, something that fit his idea of beauty, while ignoring what Adrien wanted?

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Very well,” he said finally, the decision weighing heavily on his words. “I’ll speak to him. We’ll… make adjustments.” It wasn’t easy to admit, even to himself, that maybe he had been wrong. That maybe he didn’t know what was best for Adrien. But if last night had taught him anything, it was that there was more to fatherhood than control.

Nathalie nodded, relief flashing in her eyes. “Thank you, Sir. I think it will make a difference.”

He stroked his chin, handing Nathalie’s pad back to her. “Is there any way to cut down on his modelling, or would that cause too many complications?”

“Let me see.” Nathalie stared at Gabriel for a moment in stunned silence before coming to grips with herself and returning to the matter at hand. “We can lower the amount of shoots he’s a part of, but we’d need another young model to take his place for the time being.”

“What was that competition we did a while back?” Gabriel snapped his fingers trying to remember. “We were trying to find a girl to model alongside Adrien for a couples’ theme.”

“The winner got featured in our valentines day collection, but the greater campaign never came to fruition.”

Gabriel hummed, “The winner was some Italian girl, wasn’t it? Is she still in the business? We can offer her some of Adrien’s workload.” He stared off into space, giving a calculating grin. “Could be marketed as a good redemption story on our part, giving her the second chance the industry cruelly denied her.”

Nathalie nodded, “I’ll see what I can do sir.”

She turned to leave, but Gabriel’s voice stopped her. “Oh, and Nathalie?”

“Yes?”

“Uh… You’re…” He looked up at her, his eyes uncharacteristically gentle, almost vulnerable. “You’re not just a ‘lady friend’. You know that, right?”

The words hung in the air between them, and Gabriel heard Nathalie’s heart clench. “Sir?”

“If Adrien had never stumbled upon me as Hawkmoth, I’d have never told him the truth.” Gabriel insisted, his gaze steady and intense. “But I told you day one who I was and what I was planning. Because… Well, you know.”

Because she was… Well, all of the sudden words like ‘assistant’ and ‘friend’ felt too pedestrian to describe Nathalie.

Nathalie shook her head, almost letting a laugh escape her stoic lips. “Sir, you told me because there was no way in hell you’d be able to do all of this without me noticing.”

Hawkmoth’s daring grin broke through Gabriel’s mask. If Gabriel were any more observant in that moment, he might have noticed how easily that wolfish grin got Nathalie looking flustered. “Nathalie, you and I both know that, if I didn’t trust you, I’d try to do exactly that.”

“There’s no need—” Nathalie began, her voice steady but tinged with discomfort at the unexpected conversation.

“No, Nathalie,” Gabriel interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I may have been caught up in the heat of the moment earlier, but I shouldn’t have said something so dismissive. You’re important to me. A gentleman should never make a lady like you feel any less.”

Nathalie’s lips pressed together, and for a moment, the mask of professionalism cracked. Her expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp. “I—Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a flicker of warmth in her usually cold tone.

She left soon enough, leaving behind an odd feeling in Gabriel’s chest that he ignored.

Nooroo spoke up, humming. “Duusuu would love this.”

“Hm?”

“The drama.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “What drama? I thought Nathalie was better now?”

Nooroo’s laugh sounded more like a chew toy getting squeezed. “Maybe if you use me long enough, you’ll understand.”

Gabriel shook his head, sitting back down and picked up the discarded sketch book. There was work to be done, plans to be adjusted, both in his civilian life and as Hawkmoth. But for once, he didn’t feel like he was merely playing a part.

Because maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand what it really meant to be a father.

Notes:

Comments and ideas welcome. Next time, Chat Noir and Hawkmoth work on their entrance. Meanwhile, Marinette's musings on the perfect candidate for the fox miraculous are interrupted by Alya introducing her to the horrifying idea that Chat Noir and Hawkmoth have fans on the internet.

Chapter 6: Menaces Rising: The Internet Was a Mistake

Summary:

Marinette discovers the horrors of internet chat forums.

 

The streets were eerily empty, except for the akumatized victim, a flamboyant figure decked out in sparkling costumes and wielding an oversized cane. She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she took in the spectacle.

It was one in the morning, on a Saturday, and Ladybug had nowhere near enough coffee to deal with this shit.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath. “An aspiring performer.”

The akuma, "Stagehand," was busy arranging the street like a grand stage, complete with glittering curtains and an audience of mannequins dressed in formal wear. He pranced around, gliding across the pavement as if he were skating across ice, humming a show tune.

No Hawkmoth. No Chat Noir. Which meant those assholes were hiding in some cubby hole, giggling their gremlin asses off and waiting for her to walk right into an ambush.

Ladybug glanced down at her yoyo, a sigh escaping her lips as she had to, yet again, squeeze her eyes tightly to try and pressure them to stay open with the strain. The miraculous transformation did a good job of shooting up her body with adrenaline and energy, but after a terrible week of school work, bakery shifts and dealing with Chloe; Tikki could only do so much for her.

All in all, whilst she knew a stealthier approach was more beneficial, if the action didn’t pick up soon, she was going to keel over.

“Can you assholes just come out already?” She called out into the void, “You’re already ruining my weekend!”

A flash of green and purple lit up the sky as a swirl of butterflies and a bolt of energy crackled through the air. Ladybug tensed, recognizing the familiar ominous energy hammering down upon the area. She looked up to see two dark figures descending gracefully from the rooftop opposite her.

Chat Noir landed on the makeshift stage first, his staff twirling dramatically as he struck a pose, the moonlight glinting off his suit. He straightened, his emerald eyes shining with a mischievous gleam, a wide grin on his face.

“Bonsoir, Ladybug!” he called, his voice light and teasing, though there was a hint of something darker beneath. “You might have guessed already, but we’re here to steal the show!”

Before she could respond, Chat’s staff became a microphone, emitting a booming, echoing cry that rocked the streets. “Ladies and gentlemen,” He crouched low with his mic in hand, one arm dramatically flung out to gesture centre stage just as a spotlight descended upon it. “May I present to you the terror of Paris, you’re favourite butterfly, the ooooone and ooooonly: Hawkmoth!”

Stagehand bounced up and down into the ‘audience’, holding his hand aloft to reveal a speaker built into his palm, from which he generated an orchestra of cheers from behind his many mannequins. “WE LOVE YOU, HAWKMOTH!”

Hawkmoth descended slowly, a swarm of dark butterflies forming a cape that billowed out behind him like the wings of a dark angel. He landed beside Chat Noir with an exaggerated flourish, an excited gleam beaming from his eyes. Without hesitation, he took to the front of the stage, presenting himself to the cheering crowd like he was a rockstar, wielding his cane as his fake guitar.

“Goooood Morning, Paris! Tonight, we bring you a performance like no other!” Hawkmoth announced, his voice resonating from different angles and directions, as if coming from a hundred invisible speakers. Part of Stagehand’s power, Ladybug guessed. “With our newest star, the magnificent Stagehand, joining us in a spectacular production!”

Ladybug couldn’t help but groan, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Seriously? You guys are hyping yourself up for a bunch of dress up dolls now?”

Chat Noir winked, tapping his staff against his shoulder. “Can’t have a show without an audience. And besides, you can never have enough flair.”

“Flair?” Ladybug echoed, crossing her arms as she glared at them. “You’re supposed to be the villains, not a traveling circus act.”

“Next thing you know, you’re gonna be producing your own rap.” Ladybug scoffed, “That’ll really connect with the kids.”

Suddenly, the two villains froze, sharing uneasy glances before finding a reason to look in any direction but Ladybug’s. “Y-Yeah, that would be… Preposterous.”

“Don’t you dorks ever sleep?” Ladybug felt a yawn tug at her as she dropped down into the audience, keeping all three villains in view. “How do you have so much energy at 1 in the morning?”

Hawkmoth shrugged, “My sleep schedule is an absolute disaster.”

Chat leaned over the stage, reaching for Ladybug and beckoning her closer. “Of course, a true gentleman could never tire when in lovely company such as yours, Mi’lady.”

“And most ladies can’t do anything, but tire is company such as yours, Scoundrel.” Ladybug scoffed, batting away his hand. “A true gentleman would schedule their antics at a reasonable time so their lady could give them her full attention.”

Chat pulled his hand back to his chest, stumbling away with mock hurt and forcing his lips to tremble in warning of whimpering and tears that never came. He fell to the floor with a dramatic flop, rolling to his father’s feet.

Hawkmoth chuckled, his laugh deep and resonant. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Life’s too short to be mundane, don’t you think?” He gestured grandly towards Stagehand, who was practically bouncing on his heels, eyes wide with glee at the attention. “And our dear friend here deserves a proper debut.”

Stagehand beamed, dropping into a slide that brought them dead centre inside the spotlight. “I can’t believe it!” He gushed, wildly gesturing to the audience that wasn’t there. “I’ve always wanted to be a part of a grand show! It’s in my blood, you know.“

Ladybug sighed deeply, feeling the beginning of a headache form. “Of course, the akuma is happy about this,” she muttered to herself.

Hawkmoth, meanwhile, turned to the akumatized villain, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You, my dear Stagehand, are the star of this production. We’re simply here to support your performance.”

Stagehand looked like he was about to burst into joyful tears. “Thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed, jumping up to spin in place. “I won’t let you down, Monsieur Hawkmoth!”

Ladybug shot them a flat look. “Oh, come on, this is a fight for the fate of the world; can we take this a little more seriously?”

Chat shrugged, his grin never faltering. “What’s wrong with keeping things interesting, Bugaboo?”

“Interesting, right,” Ladybug echoed dryly – choking back her own vomit at realizing Chat had given her another nickname – her eyes shifting back to Stagehand, who was now gesturing towards the makeshift stage. “How about we cut the theatrics and get this over with?”

Hawkmoth clapped his hands together, eyes twinkling with amusement. “But where’s the fun in that, my dear Ladybug? You know as well as I do that the best performances need a little drama.”

Ladybug groaned again, her patience wearing thin. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be one of those days?”

Stagehand, oblivious to the tension, struck a pose, raising his cane high into the air. “Let the show begin!” He declared, his voice ringing out in a loud and booming echo.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Ladybug took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she readied her yoyo. “Call me Statler and Waldorf because I’m about to become the ultimate heckler.”

---

Monday came too soon, leaving Marinette in the school library, drifting listlessly between sleep and death as she sunk into her textbook. All while being forced to hear Alya and Nino re-watch Alya’s recording of Ladybug’s fight with Stagehand for the fifth time. How Alya managed to get that footage, Marinette didn’t know.

The school library was surprisingly quiet for a Monday morning, sunlight trickling in through the tall windows, casting soft patterns on the floor. Marinette sat slumped at one of the study tables, barely holding herself together as her head rested heavily against her open textbook. Her eyes threatened to close at any moment, the exhaustion from the weekend’s akuma attack weighing down on her like a lead blanket.

“That line was so lame,” Nino groaned, cringing slightly as Ladybug’s voice echoed through the phone speakers.

Alya shook her head, chuckling. “Yeah, Ladybug’s not that good at the banter, is she?”

Marinette’s head snapped up, her eyes barely focusing on them. “She was taking on three clowns screaming the full soundtrack to Little Shop of Horrors at her first thing in the morning, I think we can cut her a little slack for her one-liners not being up to snuff.” She shot them a half-hearted glare. “Maybe we should instead focus on her still kicking all their asses.”

Alya raised her hands in mock surrender, a grin spreading across her face. “Fair point. Getting the akuma to mess up their stage directions and blind Hawkmoth with the spotlight was pretty cool.”

Marinette’s lips twitched into a tired smile. “Personally, I liked when she ran Chat Noir over with a truck.”

Nino’s eyes widened, leaning forward in shock. “I didn’t even know Ladybug had a license…”

“Geez, you really have it out for that cat, girl,” Alya teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Marinette crossed her arms, a scowl settling on her face. “What’s there to like about him? He’s unfaithful, dumb, cocky, and a complete jerk!”

Nino looked genuinely bewildered. “Did he piss in your cereal or something? He betrayed Ladybug, not you, right?”

Marinette huffed, her cheeks flushing with anger. “Well, he and one of those lousy akumas totalled my scooter, but that’s not the only thing!”

She took a deep breath, making a sharp gasp push into a high-pitched, bitter laugh. “I just think people should be loyal to their friends, and that you shouldn’t abandon your friend and throw them away like they’re trash so you can help your dad be the most annoying supervillain ever. But that’s just me!”

An awkward silence fell over the group, the only sound that filled the void was Marinette’s huffing. Alya and Nino exchanging worried glances. Before they could respond, a familiar voice cut through the awkwardness.

“Hey guys, what are you talking about?” Adrien appeared, and as far as Marinette was concerned the boy practically teleported over her shoulder.

Nino grinned, immediately shifting gears as he leaned back in his seat and flicking his wrist in Marinette’s direction. “Nothing much, just helping Chat Noir’s biggest hater vent.”

Adrien’s expression tightened as he followed Nino’s thumb, almost seeming like he was trying not to look downtrodden as he looked over Marinette. Marinette, of course, was too distracted to notice.

Marinette crossed her arms, her eyes hardening as she spat out her words. “I’m just saying, if there was any justice in the world—”

She was cut off by Adrien suddenly grimacing, his hand going to his side as if in pain.

“Whoa, bro, you okay?” Nino jumped to is feet, concern lacing his voice.

Marinette’s panic immediately flared, and she shot up from her seat, her tiredness thrown to the wayside. “Do you need a bandage? A juice box? You can eat my emergency macaroons.” She said in quick succession, wracking her brain for what her mom would do for her when she was in pain. “I’ll carry you to the nurse’s office if I need to!”

“He probably just slept on his arm wrong.” Alya, struggling not to laugh, grabbed Marinette’s arm, gently but firmly trying to hold her in place. “Girl, chill. He’s a big boy.”

Adrien waved them off, forcing a convincing smile. “It’s fine. I‘ve just been out of sorts over the weekend.” He chuckled lightly. “Heh, I had an intense dream. Woke up feeling like I got hit by a truck.” He laughed hard enough for everyone but Marinette to be suspicious.

Marinette’s face paled as she stared at him, horror creeping into her eyes. “You’re horrible.”

Adrien blinked, confused by her sudden reaction. “Huh?”

Realizing what she’d said, Marinette’s eyes widened in horror. “I mean, that’s horrible!” she stammered, a high-pitched squeal escaping her. “No one should be hitting you with a truck, even in a dream.”

Adrien laughed, the sound soft and warm on Marinette’s ears. “Hey, dream me might have deserved it. I was being a little cheeky.”

Marinette shook her head vehemently, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Adrien, I’m sure you could never do something that would warrant someone hurting you.”

Adrien’s eyes widened in surprise, a light flush colouring his cheeks. “Mari, it’s okay.”

She sighed. “I know I’m being weird—” She opened her mouth to protest again, but Adrien raised a hand, his smile becoming more genuine.

“It’s fine,” he interrupted gently. “I… Uh… Like knowing that you care.”

They both stared at each other, the tension in the air almost tangible. Marinette felt her heart hammering in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to think of something, anything to say that wouldn’t make her seem even more insane than she already did.

Before she could speak, Nino slid in between them, slinging his arms around their shoulders with a broad grin. “We care about you too, dude!”

Alya groaned, her palm smacking into her forehead as she glared at him. “Nino!”

“What’d I do?” Nino asked, completely oblivious.

Adrien chuckled, the awkward tension broken before Nino dragged him off off to talk about a movie they were planning to watch later. Alya watched them go, still shaking her head in disbelief.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with him? The moment was perfect.” Alya muttered before turning back to Marinette, who was still staring after Adrien, looking like she’d just survived a near-death experience. “You okay, girl?”

Marinette turned to her best friend, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I’m fine! Great even.” She forced a bright, almost manic grin. “W-Why, do I not look great?”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, her skepticism clear. “You look like you’re about to take a gun to the post office.”

Marinette let out a dry laugh, her shoulders sagging as she rested her head back on the table. “Just a… busy weekend.”

Alya sat down beside her, reaching up to cradle her cheek and run her thumb over the dark rims of Marinette’s eye with a grin. “Well, if it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure you make dark circles work.”

Marinette snorted, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “It’s my revolutionary new fashion statement.” She glanced up at Alya with a weak smile. “The new sexy is drop dead gorgeous.”

The ensuring shared giggling was broken up by Marinette’s sudden yawn. “Seriously though, I’ve just had a lot to work with lately. Keeping me up all night.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “Homework, huh?” She scoffed, “That history project was criminal.”

“Yeah,” Marinette muttered, nodding weakly.

Alya placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “How about I help you out on your science project?” She leaned forward, embolden, throwing her hand out dramatically to grasp the ‘possibilities’ before them. “If we put our heads together, and your parents supply me a generous amount of chocolate, I’m sure we can get it done and get you to bed in no time.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “You’d do that for me?”

Alya smiled warmly, but casually. It was simple to her. “Hey, what are best friends for?”

“Thanks,” Marinette groaned, already feeling like a massive weight has been relinquished from her lungs.

As Alya returned to her own seat, Marinette found herself adding “I’m surprised you’re not having trouble sleeping yourself.” She gestured to Alya’s laptop where Marinette’s favourite frame, the frozen image of Chat Noir tied up in Ladybug’s yo-yo, was displayed. “How were you even out and about to get this footage in the first place?”

“Coffee, my friend. An unhealthy amount of coffee,” Alya replied, raising her empty cup in a mock toast. “And the cunning of a fox.”

Marinette chuckled weakly. “Still, I don’t think your blog is going to crash if you miss one akuma fight.”

Alya’s expression grew more serious. “It’s not about getting views, Mari. It’s about showing Ladybug the same dedication she shows us.”

Marinette looked up at her, confused. “Huh?”

“Like you said before, Ladybug’s on her own, Chat Noir abandoned her,” Alya explained, her voice firm and steady. “If I was her, I’d definitely be feeling like everything’s against me.”

And you telling me that isn’t making her feel any less defensive, Alya!

 “She’s out there dedicating herself to dodging akumas with no one to watch her back, all for our sake, even in battles that no one knows she’s fighting.” Alya’s gaze softened, that same determination that gleamed in her eye when she defended Marinette from Chloe shining ever brightly. “I guess I just think it’s fair to show her that we’re there, at least in support, sticking it out and showing just as much dedication to her as she is to us.”

Marinette felt her chest tighten, sinking into stunned silence at Alya’s decleration. “If she has to get dragged out in the early hours of the morning to fight Hawkmoth, then I have to be too. ‘Cause she’s my hero.”

Marinette swallowed hard, barely able to stop herself from blinking tears out of her eye dodging her head out of Alya’s view. It figured that Alya wasn’t just satisfied supporting her in her normal life, but unintentionally ends up championing her even when she’s supposed to be the invincible super hero saving Alya.

Part of Marinette thought to feel ashamed at that. That she’s suppose to be the hero who saves people, that Alya needing to support her was evidence of failure on her part. But she couldn’t help but focus on how thankful she was to have a friend like Alya, even if Alya didn’t know it.

“I think she’d be very touched if she knew, Alya.” Marinette said softly, turning back to Alya.

Alya grinned, once again treating it all as casual. Of course she did, being a hero came naturally to her, unlike Marinette. Honestly, Marinette wasn’t entirely sure that she made the right decision not giving the earrings to Alya. Alya probably would have found a way to track Chat down, expose Hawkmoth and beat their asses if she was Ladybug.

“Plus, the ‘Chatterflies’ probably aren’t making her feel any better.”

Marinette blinked, the fatigue clouding her brain and forcing her to do a double take. “The what now?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “It’s what the Hawkmoth and Chat Noir fanbase call themselves.”

Marinette balked, “They have a fanbase!?”

Alya punched in a few words on her laptop before spinning it around, showing Marinette a brightly coloured website wrapped in purple and green dressings. “Fanbase, forums, fanfics and fanart.”

Marinette slumped in her seat, hands over her eyes, hoping if she just squeezed her head enough, suddenly things would start making sense. “These people do realize that they’re worshipping terrorists, right?”

Alya shrugged, “Hey, even Ted Bundy had dedicated fangirls.”

Marinette heard the groaning of wood, Alya shuffling her chair closer to her own, determined to introduce Marinette to this… This… This filth!

Marinette stared at Alya in horror, her mouth hanging open. "Wait, hold on. What sort of woman would go for Hawkmoth anyway?"

Alya raised an eyebrow, grinning mischievously. "I dunno, maybe look under the 'Hawk Daddy' tag."

Marinette blinked. “What the hell does Hawk Da—" Her face twisted into an expression of pure revulsion as realization struck her with forbidden and scarring knowledge. “EEEEEEEW!”

Alya couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” Marinette gasped, waving her arms in exasperation. “These two are out there terrorizing the innocent people of Paris, and some people are looking at that and... and...” She threw her hands up in the air. She tried to calm herself down by fixing her gaze past Alya, where Nino and Adrien stood nearby, occasionally glancing back at the two.

Thank god Adrien couldn’t hear them. Probably. Hopefully?

Alya shrugged, her grin still wide. “Hey, just because Hawkmoth’s a criminal doesn’t mean he can’t look good in a suit.” She turned the laptop back to her, scrolling through some select images with a satisfied smirk. “I mean, woof."

Marinette buried her face in her hands just in time to miss Adrien suddenly break out into gasping coughs. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Alya clicked through a few more images, clearly entertained by Marinette’s reaction. “Well, yeah, you’re probably more of a Chat Noir girl anyway.”

Again, Marinette’s attention was elsewhere, completely ignorant of the way Adrien was only half paying attention to whatever Nino was talking about. Instead glancing over his shoulder, waiting with baited breath for her reply.

Marinette shot her head up so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “Urg, I’d rather kiss a toilet seat. There is nothing remotely charming or attractive about that fleabag!”

She tilted her head, her ear catching a distant sound of Nino asking why Adrien suddenly looked a little green.

Alya snickered. “I dunno, I’ve seen some very convincing pictures. Man, he could be a model.”

Marinette glared at her, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re a sick, SICK woman.”

"Hey, look," Alya said, holding her hands up defensively but still grinning. "I get that they’re the bad guys and all, but some people just find it..."

“Look, I get that they’re the bad guys and all, but some people just find it hard to see them that way when all damage gets undone by Ladybug.” She trailed off with a shrug, a playful glint in her eye. “And then they spend most of their fights just goofing off.”

She leaned back, looking up to the ceiling and humming softly. “Honestly, I’m half convinced that this is all just some convoluted scheme to get time off work.”

Marinette groaned, her head dropping to the table with a loud thud. "If I have to hear one more person defend those two morons, I swear I’m going to turn into an akuma myself."

Alya raised an eyebrow, her tone turning teasing. "Oh? And what would your akuma name be? ‘Grumpybug?’ ‘Drama Queen?’"

Marinette gave her a deadpan look. "How about ‘Had-Enough-of-This-Bullshit Bug’? That sounds about right."

Honestly, of all the dark, awkward, disgusting secrets of Alya’s she was expecting to stumble upon, she couldn’t imagine Alya being a Hawkmoth ‘admirer’ in her wildest dreams. And why did Alya sound so damn proud of it!?

Marinette lifted her head off the table, still trying to shake the images of "Hawk Daddy" from her brain. “What’s the ‘Akuma Corner’?” she asked cautiously, almost afraid to know the answer.

Alya's face lit up with a playful grin. “Oh, that? It’s a forum where people debate on how best to get akumatized. They talk about what powers they’d get, who they’d get revenge on. It’s pretty wild.”

Marinette blinked, processing the idea. “…You know, I can actually see the appeal of that,” she admitted, her voice trailing off thoughtfully. Goodness know she had a list of people she’d love to take out her issues on if she ever gave into an akuma.

Alya chuckled. “Right? Not gonna lie, it’d be tempting. Who wouldn’t want to have superpowers and take out their frustrations? But then again…” She shrugged. “Superpowers ain’t worth being the bad guy.”

“You’re stronger than me, Alya,” Marinette muttered, her gaze softening as she looked at her best friend. The weight of being Ladybug—the decisions, the sacrifices—sometimes felt so crushing, and hearing Alya speak so casually about resisting temptation felt like a reminder of how hard it was for Marinette to stay the course.

“Hey,” Alya smiled warmly, nudging Marinette gently. “You’re so much stronger than you think you are.”

Marinette felt a lump rise in her throat, but she pushed it down with a weak laugh. “Alya?”

“Yeah?” Alya replied, her tone softer now.

“Ladybug’s cool and all, but… You’re my superhero, you know?” Marinette said, her voice barely above a whisper. There was an honesty in her words that made her heart tighten.

Alya blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her expression melted into a wide, affectionate grin. “Don’t I know it.”

Marinette smiled back, throwing her arms around Alya in a hug. “And if Ladybug was looking for a partner she could trust, I’d recommend you in an instant.”

Alya let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She didn’t know what was going on, and she didn’t ask, all she did was accept the hug and hug back. “I appreciate it, girl, but I could never accept the position.”

Marinette frowned, confused. “How come?”

“’Cus I already got a partner.” She leaned forward, tapping Marinette lightly on the arm. “Right here.”

The sincerity in her voice made Marinette’s heart swell. All the pressure, all the doubts that had weighed on her just moments ago, seemed to lighten, if only a little. Alya wasn’t just her best friend—she was her anchor. And no matter how hard things got, she knew Alya would always be there, ready to pick her up.

Marinette grinned, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “Lucky me.”

“I just feel sorry for Ladybug.” It took a moment for Marinette to realize that it wasn’t her voice that spoke. Adrien now stood over the two, close enough to get Marinette blushing again as she detangled herself from Alya’s snickering embrace.

“She’ll be fine.” Marinette played it off as cooly as she could.

Adrien frowned, “Yeah, she’s pretty awesome.” Marinette and Ladybug high-fived in her head. “But it’s gotta be hard being all alone out there.”

“I’m sure she can manage. Somehow.” Marinette said more to herself than him, turning to look at Alya thoughtfully. “Besides, I’m sure she won’t be alone forever.”

She thought back to Fu, to the fox miraculous he was considering in his hand, to Alya’s dedication, to how easily Alya made Marinette feel better equipped.

Yeah, it’s like Alya said; she had an unhealthy amount of coffee, and the cunning of a fox.

She’ll be the perfect hero.

---

She had been so close, so damn close. It was the last spot of her patrol, a quiet, beautiful night she could sleep through like a log. She was so ready to go home and hit the hay and for once get a good amount of sleep.

But no! It wasn’t her night. Those dynamic dumbasses hadn’t decided to give her the mercy of a night off. Oh no, no, no. They waited, in the dark, probably watching her and giggling their asses off waiting for her to come across the package they left for her at the end of her patrol.

This time, Ladybug had just enough energy, and patience, for stealth, landing on the roof in a quiet crouch. She’d been across these rooftops enough to easily spot something out of place from a distance, even if she couldn’t make out the details yet. It was something large and lumpy, sitting at an odd angle up against a chimney.

She approached it cautiously, her mind running down the list of possibilities and threats. It could be a message from Hawkmoth to announce that he has a hostage, or a bomb hidden in a stuffed bear, or an akuma that turned into small packages and stole her face or something.

Soon enough, she advanced upon the mysterious package, making out a leaning tower of plastic and badly taped wrapping paper. She held her yo-yo at the ready, eyes darting back and forth between every shadow, trying to pinpoint where they could strike from.

After a moment, she was forced to swallow her doubts, take a deep breath and reach for the package. “I swear to god, when I get my hands on those two, I’m gonna-”

Her fingers tore through the packaging with ease, doing so with such forcefulness that the package immediately fell over, spilling its contents across the roof. “The hell?”

Ladybug’s eyes widened curiously, crouching down to inspect further. “Are those flowers?” She muttered to herself, snatching up the bouquet of roses and curiously holding them under her nose. “They don’t smell explosive.”

With her foot, she prodded the package further, peeing off the rest of the wrapping paper to reveal a wicker basket holding an assortment of chocolates, candles and cake. “And a gift basket?”

Rummaging through the basket, she procured a card signed off with a cute little doodle of her and a miniature, apologetic Chat Noir.

Sorry for keep you up late. I may not be your partner anymore, but I’m proud to be your nemesis. – Ladybug’s #1 Fan

P.S Dad won’t say it, but he thinks you’re pretty cool too.

Against all odds, she found herself brandishing a small smile involuntarily. “Okay, maybe that fleabag is a little charming. In his own stupid, obnoxious way.” She held the card to her chest with a soft sigh, Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted two distinct cat ears poking over the edge of the roof.

Quickly, and spluttering, she yelled out “I still hate him though!”

Chapter 7: Menaces Rising: Curiosity Killed The Cat

Summary:

Nathalie has a lot of explaining to do when Gabriel finds out about her... Browsing habits.

Notes:

No Nathalies were harmed in the making of this chapter.

As long as Nathalie had known Gabriel Agreste, he was never a smoker or a drinker. He was strict about what he took into his body, and Emilie’s own drinking tendencies put him off alcohol outside of a little wine here and there. Yet just looking at him, it seemed like it’d be such a natural fit.

He was sat back in his chair, staring off into the early morning light at just the right angle for the glare to reflect off his glasses and swallow his eyes. Without eyes to emote, he gave off the sort of intense, cold aura that made you feel small, that he whatever he was contemplating was more important than your entire existence. And Nathalie could so easily picture him swirling a glass of something bitter and puffing away the tension that wound him as tight as steel knots with a bulky, classy cigar.

“Miss Bourgeois called again.”

To the naked eye, he didn’t move a muscle. But Nathalie watched him closely, as she always didn’t, watched him intensely, seeing just enough detail to notice the slight curve of his lip. That disgruntled grunt bubbling underneath.

“I told you to only inform me of important matters.” His voice was low and velvety, a snarl wrapped up in something soft and plush. It was both a delight to listen to, but chilling on her ear, making Gabriel sound much, much closer than he actually was.

Nathalie continued, “She’s quite insistent on meeting with you.”

His eyes dulled, limping over to the corner to barely make the effort to look at her and her tiresome response. “And when she is worthy of my attention, that will matter.”

“Sir-”

“I am not under her thumb, Nathalie,” he cut in, his tone suddenly more pointed, though still controlled. “We saw to that when we created the Gabriel brand. I no longer need betters to kneel before.”

Nathalie didn’t flinch, though his words felt sharp. “Sir, I don’t mean to put my needs above your own,” she said. “But I am the one who still has to deal with her when you’re not there.”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly agitated, but kept his composure. “Then remind her that you are there as my representative. Any disrespect against you is a strike against me. If she thinks such petty behavior is acceptable, I’ll have to reconsider our company’s partnership.”

Gabriel didn’t wait for a reply, the conversation was moving on. ”Is everything in order for Adrien’s stand-in?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation back to something more productive.

“Yes,” Nathalie said. “The new model is delighted to come to Paris next month.”

“Excellent,” he replied, his tone briefly returning to something more neutral. “And how are Adrien’s studies coming along?”

“Smoothly,” Nathalie answered, but her hesitation caught Gabriel’s attention.

“But?” Gabriel’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, his voice growing suspicious.

Nathalie took a breath. “Adrien got a B on his latest history test.”

Gabriel’s calm mask shattered instantly. “A B!?” he exclaimed, straightening in his chair, his voice rising with disbelief.

“A B+ to be specific,” Nathalie corrected, though she regretted it immediately.

“There must be some sort of mistake,” Gabriel declared, his tone now straddling incredulity and fury. “Adrien is a smart boy, and he’s never gotten anything less than an A.”

“Everyone has their off days, sir,” Nathalie reasoned, keeping her voice steady. “It’s just one test. Adrien loses nothing from getting a decent score in it.”

Gabriel’s hands clenched tightly on the armrests of his chair, his mind racing as if Nathalie’s words hadn’t even registered. “Ah, but what about when it’s a test that matters, Nathalie?” he shot back, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to obsession. “We can’t let this imbecile of a teacher threaten my boy’s perfect record with his incompetence!”

Nathalie could see it now—the manic energy building in him. That insatiable drive for control, for perfection. He was slipping. “If it bothers you that much, I could take Adrien aside to help him study,” she offered, trying to defuse the situation before it spiraled.

But Gabriel’s gaze sharpened. “Or,” he said, the word lingering with dangerous intent, “we can akumatize his history teacher—”

“Sir!” Nathalie snapped, cutting him off before the idea could take root in his mind.

“What?” Gabriel blinked, genuinely confused by her outburst.

“You can’t solve everything with an akuma,” Nathalie said firmly, holding his gaze without wavering. She knew he was prone to these bursts of irrationality when it came to Adrien, but it was her job to keep him grounded, no matter how far he drifted into his Hawkmoth persona.

Gabriel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest like a child caught misbehaving. “Not everything,” he muttered, sulking slightly, “but some things.”

“Akumas are strictly relegated to villainy-related activity.” Nathalie shook her head, her tone softening. “Adrien’s schoolwork is not a part of Hawkmoth’s jurisdiction. I forbid it.”

Gabriel pouted slightly, his intense, brooding facade cracking as he slouched back into his chair. “I wasn’t gonna do it,” he mumbled, sounding more like a scolded teenager than the menacing villain he prided himself on being. “I was just… making a hypothetical.”

Nathalie sighed, rubbing her temples. “Let’s keep the hypotheticals out of Adrien’s education, sir.”

For a moment, there was silence. Gabriel’s brief flare of passion had simmered down, leaving behind the cold, meticulous man once again. He straightened his glasses, his gaze returning to the window and the light that reflected off his lenses, making his eyes disappear once more.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But if that teacher keeps dragging Adrien down—"

"I’ll handle it," Nathalie interrupted before he could finish. Gabriel sat back in his chair, the earlier flare of emotion over Adrien's B+ dissipating into the usual cold, analytical air that he exuded. Nathalie, standing nearby, shifted slightly. Eager to move on, she started blurting out. “Besides,” Nathalie began, her voice carefully neutral, “from my observations, Adrien’s history teacher doesn’t have a good profile for a useful akuma.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly; his curiosity piqued. “I don’t recall him being one of the akuma candidates I asked you to look up.”

Nathalie stiffened for a moment, her usual calm demeanour faltering as she realized she might’ve overstepped. She cleared her throat. “He isn’t, sir,” she admitted, feeling a slight warmth creep into her cheeks. “But there are—Ahem—other sources of information on potential akuma candidates.”

Gabriel’s gaze sharpened as Nathalie moved to her laptop, opening it and quickly navigating to the source she was referring to. She hesitated for a split second, hoping Gabriel wouldn't see anything he wasn’t meant to, before showing him the forum.

Gabriel squinted at the screen, his expression unreadable for a moment. “What’s a Chatterfly?” he asked, his voice dripping with distaste. “It sounds like a disease that makes your teeth chatter.”

Nathalie quickly snapped the laptop shut before Gabriel could get a proper look at the posts—especially her posts. Oh god, if he saw what her account got up to, she’d die from embarrassment. She’s just been curious at first, honest! And some of the pic- Articles there were just so… Gripping. She fought the rising heat in her cheeks, maintaining her professional facade with a discipline honed over years of working for Gabriel. “Your fans, sir,” she said as evenly as possible, though her voice betrayed a hint of discomfort.

Gabriel blinked, staring at her with visible confusion. “Fans?” he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. “I have fans? They… do realize I’m the bad guy, right?”

Nathalie cleared her throat again, this time less out of nerves and more to suppress her growing embarrassment. “Some people don’t see it that way. Some think you and Ladybug are all part of an elaborate fake publicity stunt.”

Gabriel leaned back, a strange look of amusement crossing his face. “You’d be surprised at some of Disney’s marketing campaigns,” he muttered, recalling a few peculiar incidents from the media giant’s history.

Nathalie nodded, moving the conversation forward. “Others,” she continued, “aren’t that concerned with your criminal activities due to Ladybug undoing any damage you inflict.”

Gabriel’s gaze turned thoughtful for a moment, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That is a nifty little power she has,” he mused, tapping his chin. “Wish I could do that with all the mistakes in my life.”

Nathalie’s mask of professionalism faltered again, but she maintained her composure. “There’s a sub-forum here based around attributing a political statement on mental illness to you,” she said, delicately broaching a particularly odd topic.

Gabriel’s brow furrowed, and he let out a long sigh. “Sounds like a headache,” he muttered, his amusement quickly souring at the thought of people overanalysing his actions. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, still processing the idea of people trying to justify his villainy.

Nathalie, sensing the slight dip in Gabriel's mood, cleared her throat again, preparing to move on to more important matters. “Sir, while these forums may seem ridiculous, they provide a lot of insight into how people view you... and perhaps how we can manipulate public perception.”

Gabriel glanced at her, intrigued again. “So... you’re telling me that these ‘Chatterfly’ people think I’m just playing a role?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Nathalie nodded. “Some do. Others idolize you in a way that could be useful. You’d be surprised how much people romanticize villains when they believe their actions aren’t truly harmful.”

Gabriel’s smirk returned, wider this time. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping to a playful, dangerous tone. He glanced at the now-closed laptop. “And here I thought I was the only one who understood that villainy had its perks.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t be too put out that some, enlightened individuals dig my style.” He laughed, pushing himself back against the chair with Hawkmoth’s grin. “I wouldn’t be the world’s leading fashion designer if I didn’t have an impeccable dress sense.”

Nathalie just nodded along, thankful that she’d avoided exposing Gabriel to anything too bad. “Of course, Sir.” She turned away, ready to leave and get on with her day and forget this ever happened. But something nagged at the back of her mind, something she’d forgotten.

“Oh, ‘Akuma Corner’, that’s a nice little name.”

Everything froze. Time. Space. Logic. Everything was out the window, they didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the cold, sharp feeling of multiple daggers tipped with utter humiliation turning her into a pincushion.

Nathalie’s heart dropped into her stomach, her blood running cold. No. She turned around, moving as though the weight of the world had descended upon her; a woman facing her own funeral. Gabriel sat there, her laptop now fully open in front of him, his fingers moving across the trackpad with casual ease. His eyes, uncharacteristically wide and curious, scanned the screen as he hummed in delight.

He didn’t seem upset. Yet.

This is it. I’m done. My career is over. Nathalie’s mind raced as she watched the man she’d so carefully served for years, a harboured many unspoken feelings towards, poke through her most humiliating secret. She had never been so utterly mortified.

Gabriel sat there, his eyes uncharacteristically innocent and naive; and he held her now open laptop. It was over for her, it was all over. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again.

“W-Wait, Sir!” She cried out desperately.

Her panic seemed to fall on death ears, Gabriel humming with delight as he moved the cursor across the screen. His eyes narrowed with a curious edge. “You made an account, Nathalie?”

Nathalie, focus. She spat at herself. There was still time to fix this, to squash his curiosity and save her relationship, and perhaps even her job. She just had to channel her inner Audrey and pull victory out of her ass.

“I- I- I had to, Sir.” Her brain was working overtime, and it was only by the grace of Gabriel’s attention being split that he didn’t notice Nathalie, of all people, stuttering. “The forum is members only. A-And I had to get into character.”

And oh god did she get into character when she had the benefit of anonymity.

She coughed into her hand, “Like I said, it’s a great source of information.”

Gabriel’s grin widened, looking like a kid who had just discovered a new toy. “Yes, yes, very clever. You’re like a spy!” He sounded genuinely impressed with her initiative. Then his eyes narrowed in curiosity again. “Just one question.”

Nathalie’s stomach sank further. Please, no. Not that. Anything but that.

“Yes, sir?” she answered, bracing herself.

“You and your friend here, you keep saying this word…”

Her heart stopped. He found it.

“Word?”

Gabriel looked up from the laptop, his face still full of that awful, naive curiosity. “Nathalie, why am I a ‘Hawkdaddy’?”

Silence. Complete, soul-crushing silence. Nathalie’s thoughts imploded. The cold dread in her chest was overwhelming, and she tried desperately to regain control of her expression. She was trained to deal with high-pressure situations, but nothing, nothing, had prepared her for this.

The only shred of mercy the universe had for her poor heart was that Gabrie and Emilie were apparently the most vanilla romantic partners in the world, leaving Gabriel blissfully ignorant of the connotations of what his assistant had been calling him behind his back.

“…Hm,” she managed, stalling for time.

Gabriel tilted his head, genuinely waiting for an answer. “Hawkdaddy?”

“Yes.”

“The word?” she repeated, voice higher than she intended.

“Uh-huh.”

“You want to know what it means?”

“Exactly.”

Her mind raced for a solution. Think, Nathalie. THINK! She inhaled sharply and put on her best poker face. “Well, I will tell you what it means,” she said, desperately trying to sound authoritative. “It means…”

“It means…?”

“Of course, it’s a play on your name,” she said quickly, her voice gaining confidence. “Hawkmoth.”

Gabriel nodded along, still completely absorbed.

“And it’s referring to your role as… a daddy,” she continued, her face burning. Oh God. “Because… you are a parent. Obviously.”

Gabriel blinked. “Really?”

She nodded furiously. “I-It’s an affectionate term people use to compliment you on being such a good father to Chat Noir.”

For a moment, Gabriel said nothing. He stared at her, processing the explanation. Nathalie prayed to every deity she could think of that he would just accept it and move on.

“Really?” Gabriel repeated, slowly. His expression softened slightly, and his usual cold exterior seemed to melt for just a moment. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Nathalie nodded vigorously. “What else could it mean, sir?” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at the laptop before shrugging. “I guess you have a point there,” he said, sounding almost pleased.

Her body instinctively turned back to the door, to her only escape route, her only respite from this conversation. She just had to get there quick, but not too quick as to arouse suspicion. Just get to the damn door before Gabriel found anything else to talk about, before she lost the will to live, before her blush was bright enough to light up the entire room.

“Do you agree, Nathalie?”

Everything inside her screamed. Swears, curses, bitter bile and fury, all heaped upon every God that came to mind. It wasn’t just that Gabriel was still talking, it wasn’t just because escape had been so close; it was entirely that Gabriel was so close.

She turned around and he was right there, right in front of her and boy did it feel like he was towering over her. Every light huff from his lips caught the corner of her ear, smouldering her skin with his warmth.

And oh god, his eyes. Here she could see through the lens, see how intently he stared down at her, how even without a wall at her back she still felt like he was pinning her against- Bad thoughts. Not the time, Nathalie. Focus!

“Hm?” She murmured absentmindedly.

“Do you think I’m a… Hawkdaddy?”

He threw out the word like a whip, his tongue lashing out the final syllable against the roof of his mouth, a sound that would forever echo in her head. The worst part is that she knew he was ignorant, that he had no idea what effect he was having on her, how much his suddenly low voice was making her sweat even when saying what should have been a hilariously cringe-worthy word.

The word hit her like a slap, but not in the way it should have. Gabriel threw it out there like it was nothing, but the way he said it—slow, deliberate, with his voice dropping to an almost intimate level—it turned her insides into a chaotic mess. Nathalie bit down on the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to break under the pressure. He doesn’t know, she reminded herself. He doesn’t know what he's doing to you. He’s just… completely unaware.

For a moment, Nathalie had to stop herself from imagining how effective he could be if he’d been doing it intentionally.

“Y-Yes, sir. You… Uh… You…” Nathalie could feel the heat in her face now, a flush so strong she knew it had to be visible. “You’re great.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, clearly satisfied with her response, though there was no hint that he knew how badly she was unraveling inside. “I’m relieved to hear that, Nathalie.”

She nodded, praying that this was the end, that maybe now he’d leave her in peace. But just as she was preparing to make her final escape, Gabriel's demeanor shifted again, this time with a mischievous glint that could only be described as pure Hawkmoth.

“Well,” he said, stretching out the word with a playful tone. “I think it’s time to start on breakfast.”

“Daddy is thinking pancakes. Hehehe.” He was so damn proud of his own joke and he didn’t even get the punchline. Nathalie wanted to punch him, among other things.

Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief. That sound—that laugh—echoed in her mind like a bad dream. Gabriel's rare, unguarded chuckle was far too close to something utterly ridiculous, and hearing him, Gabriel Agreste, say "Daddy" with such careless enthusiasm left her completely stunned.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.

“…Pancakes?” she repeated weakly, her voice barely above a whisper, her brain struggling to comprehend the absurdity of it all.

“Pancakes,” Gabriel confirmed, smiling in that Hawkmoth way that sent shivers down her spine for entirely different reasons. "It’s important to start the day with a good meal, Nathalie."

Nathalie didn’t move, still shell-shocked. She was trapped in a surreal nightmare, unsure if she should laugh, cry, or just run out the door and never look back.

Nathalie took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to regain control over the situation. She cleared her throat, standing tall with whatever dignity she could muster, before addressing Gabriel again. “Sir, for future reference, I would suggest you leave all browsing of this site to me. You already have enough on your plate, after all.”

Gabriel, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d unleashed on her mental state, simply nodded, his attention drifting elsewhere. "Yes, yes, you’re right, Nathalie," he murmured absentmindedly as he headed for the door.

He pulled it open and there stood Adrien, frozen mid-knock, his eyes wide and his face pale. The boy looked like he had seen something… or rather, heard something, that his mind would never be able to process. His gaze flickered between Nathalie and Gabriel, panic swirling in his expression.

“Breakfast in ten, Son,” Gabriel announced as he breezed past Adrien, completely oblivious to the state of his shellshocked son.

Adrien didn’t move. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring blankly as Gabriel walked down the hall.

Nathalie approached Adrien slowly, her eyes narrowing as she took in the deep horror etched onto his face. She lowered her voice, cautiously asking, “How much did you hear?”

Adrien didn’t respond right away. His gaze was distant, like he was no longer present in the real world, trapped instead in a swirling vortex of cringe and trauma. When he finally spoke, it was a low, muttered response, barely above a whisper. “Enough to make my future therapist a very rich man.”

She leaned in closer, her tone dropping to a stern, no-nonsense whisper. “From now on, until the day we die, we are to never mention this again.” Her eyes locked onto his, ensuring he understood the gravity of the situation. “Are we clear?”

Adrien blinked slowly; his voice flat as he replied. “Crystal.”

They stood there for a moment longer, both in a silent agreement to bury this day deep, never to resurface. And with that unspoken pact, Nathalie nodded firmly and walked past Adrien, already mentally preparing herself for the rest of the day.

Adrien, still standing in the doorway, exhaled deeply. “Hawkdaddy…” he muttered under his breath. "Why me?"

Plagg cackled, “You know what they say; curiosity killed the cat.”

Notes:

Even when Gabriel's trying to be good he's still traumatizing his son and torturing his assistant.

Next Time - Errors Have Been Made: We finally get to meeting Ladybug's new partner.

Chapter 8: Partners In Crime: Errors Have Been Made

Summary:

Ladybug finally meets her new partner. It doesn't go as expected.

Marinette stood before Master Fu, her arms crossed in frustration. "Just give Alya the miraculous already!"

Master Fu didn't even flinch at her outburst. With his usual calm, he replied, "That’s not how this works, Marinette."

"Then how does it work? Because Alya is the perfect fit for the fox miraculous!" Marinette's voice pitched higher as she spoke, clearly exasperated.

Fu closed his eyes, resting his hands on his knees. "Holders are chosen, not by me, but by fate. Destiny will guide me to a potential candidate."

"But you chose me and Chat!" Marinette pointed out, her hands flailing as she made her case.

"I didn’t choose you," Fu responded, as serene as ever. "I was merely placed on the path that allowed me to discover you."

"Oh, that is such—" Marinette groaned, cutting herself off before she said something she might regret. "Look, maybe destiny is working through me to point you in the right holder's direction! Because you’re missing all the hints!" She threw her arms up in the air dramatically.

Master Fu stroked his chin thoughtfully, as though the possibility hadn't occurred to him until now. "Hm, that is possible…"

"Thank you!" Marinette sighed in relief, already feeling victory within her grasp.

"Very well," Fu said with a slow nod. "I will look into this Alya girl. In the meantime, you must take your leave. I must return to my meditation."

Marinette shot him a skeptical look. "You mean napping?"

Fu's eyes remained closed, but his expression turned slightly more serious. "Meditation, Marinette. It’s about clearing my mind of all distractions and relaxing my body so that I may find the truth that lies within."

Marinette crossed her arms again, unimpressed. "That sounds like napping."

"Well, you’re wrong," Fu said simply, settling into a more comfortable position, already tuning her out as he prepared to "meditate" again.

Marinette threw her hands in the air one last time. "Sure, whatever you say, Master Fu," she muttered under her breath, turning on her heel to leave.

As the door closed softly behind her, Master Fu drew his breath in deeply, closing his eyes and letting his inner peace fill the room.

A faint snore soon followed.

---

Hours later, Marinette found her own snores being swept to the side by fingertips rattling against the back of her head. To her surprise, she’d managed to somehow fall asleep on the bench outside of school. Her house is literally a three-minute walk away and somehow she couldn’t even make it to the door before exhaustion hit her.

She grumbled to herself. It’s official, this akuma bullshit is getting to be too much. Shifting into a sitting position, she threw her legs over the side, rubbing vision back into her eyes. How am I supposed to keep up my sleep schedule when every akuma battle is wiping me out?

Once her eyes adjusted to the world of the living, she realized that the one who’d woken her up had been Nino. And once more, his fingers were hanging  over her face.

“Dudette, you got something-” She was suddenly aware of something thin and rough clinging to her left eye brow. Nino’s thumb and forefinger formed a crab claw and tugged it right off, yanking on a few inches of skin while he was at it, eliciting a yelp from Marinette. “Right there.”

“Gabriel, huh?” Nino whistled looking down at the paper. “Sounds like your time to shine.” He turned the offending piece of paper around to show her an advertisement symbolized by the silhouette of a hat. A designer competition the Gabriel brand was running.

As she snatched up the paper and stuffed it into her pocket, Marinette suddenly realized that Nino looked… Overwhelmed. He stood before her in an awkward hunch, a mountain of books adorning his back, forming a leaning tower of literature that he barely managed to balance with one foot on the ground and one desperately trying to form a counterweight in the air.

“And you got… A lot of things there.” Marinette squinted, “What are you doing, Nino?”

“What does it look like?” Nino gave a confident smile that his eyes betrayed as fake. “I’m winning.”

Marinette peered back at him skeptically, getting up to perform a closer inspection of Nino’s situation. “Did Kim and Alix make another stupid bet?”

“…Maybe.” He laughed awkwardly at a joke nobody made. “They wanted to see how many books someone could balance on their head.”

Marinette rubbed her eyes, shaking off the remnants of her unplanned nap as Nino stood awkwardly in front of her, a tower of books teetering on his head. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“And you let them use you as their human guinea pig?” she asked, heaving a disbelieving sigh.

“W-Well, yeah!” Nino tried to smile, though the stack of books seemed to weigh down not only his body but his spirits.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Where are they anyway?”

“They went to go get a camera or something,” Nino replied, shifting slightly to keep the books from toppling.

“And how long ago was that?” Marinette pressed, crossing her arms.

“About an hour ago,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

Marinette sighed deeply, shaking her head. “Nino, I don’t think they’re coming back.”

As long as she had known him, Nino was a boy who wanted to ‘be somebody’. Always said that he was a DJ at his core, born to hype up the crowd and get everyone on their beat.

Where she grew up striving to keep her head down and stay out of people’s way out of abject fear of social interaction (she was, ahem, still working on that), Nino was desperate to do anything he could to endear himself into the group. And this meant a lot of ‘tests’ at his expense that included him gleefully humiliating himself under the hopes that he’d be considered one of them.

Nino’s face fell, but his hope wasn’t entirely extinguished. “Could you at least take a picture? You know, for proof?”

With a groan, Marinette pulled out her phone, snapping a quick photo. “There, now can we put the books down?”

“Please,” Nino said, almost pleading.

As the last book slipped from his hands and hit the ground with a thud, Marinette shot him a look of exasperation. “Honestly, Nino, I don’t know why you keep letting them do this to you.”

That was partly a lie, she had an inkling, a suspicion that Nino’s homelife made him feel a little lonely and unappreciated. But she’d kept that theory to herself always, and Nino never invited anyone back to his house or talked about his parents enough for Marinette to test it.

“It’s just a little hazing, Mari,” Nino replied, trying to brush off her concern. “It’s how you get in with the cool kids.”

She arched an eyebrow. “They’ve been hazing you for three years.”

“It’ll all be worth it in the end, Dudette.” He smiled, though it wavered slightly under her glare.

"Sure, sure.” Marinette crossed her arms, trying to hide her smirk. “What, am I not cool enough for you?"

Nino gave her a sideways glance. "You’re cool. Just, you know, in a really personal ‘She has a nice personality’ way."

Marinette’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. "I hate you so much right now. I did not cover your ass through middle school just to be treated like this."

Nino grinned. "Yeah, but I carried your ass through middle school so I could have enough slack to treat you like this."

"Oh, that’s it.” She reached forward, flicking the brim of his cap. “Your hat is stupid."

Not one of Mairnette’s finest insults, but it was the best she had the energy to make.

"Love you too, Mari," Nino chuckled, picking up his stuff and giving her a playful nudge.

It was odd, she’d known Nino for longer than she’d even known Socqueline, and after she left Dupont, Nino was the only friend she had until Alya and Adrien turned up. But the two had never gotten close enough for best friend status, and while she and Nino loved their current best friends to death, she couldn’t help but feel like she missed out and should have done more with him while she could.

Though part of it could probably be attributed to Nino still believing the girls had cooties at the time.

A high-pitched ‘aw’ announced Alya’s arrival, the girl popping up between them, a patronizing finger wagging back and forth. “Girl, if you and Nino keep talking like that, Adrien’s gonna get jealous.”

Marinette jumped up, squeaking. “D-D-Don’t say that, Adrien could be listening!”

Marinette gave Alya a half-hearted smile, trying to play it cool. “She sounds great, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Nino, ever the joker, gave her a sideways glance. “Your face looks like a balloon that’s about to burst.”

Marinette’s cheeks puffed up indignantly, the warmth creeping up her neck. “Then stop making it worse, you guys!”

Alya laughed, clapping her hands together in delight. “Come on, Marinette, we’re just teasing. You know we love you.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “Where is Sunshine Boy today anyway?”

“He left early,” Marinette said, still trying to regain her composure. “Stomach cramps.”

Nino frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That dude has had a lot of cramps lately. You think it’s a condition or something?”

“Beats me,” Marinette muttered, shaking off the weirdness. “I was thinking of hitting the café later, you guys in?”

“Sorry, my dad needs me for something,” Nino said, making a face as he adjusted his backpack.

“And I’m supposed to be helping the new girl settle in,” Alya added, glancing at her phone. “She’s foreign, Italian, I think. Mr. Damocles wanted someone to give her a tour after school.”

“Do you know anything about her?”

“Apparently, she’s a big philanthropist and headed up a lot of charity efforts while abroad.”

“Oh, fancy,” Nino said with a grin. “Ladybug better step aside; sounds like we’ve got a new hero in town.”

Oh yeah, sure.  Her inner Ladybug growled, I bust my ass all month getting akumas flung at me, but she throws a few euros at charity. We’re practically on the same level.

Marinette’s smile twitched, but she still tried to make a genuine effort to quell her petty jealousy. “She sounds great, I can’t wait to meet her.”

---

It was a swirling feeling, an unbearable gravity pulling her deeper while cold ghostly fingers squeezed her throat. She couldn’t scream, lest she let the vile liquid seep into her lungs and choke her out once and for all. All she could do was struggle, desperately clawing at whatever she could reach for leverage, hoping that the next tug would break her free.

She was left in the cold, wet dark, contemplating all the decisions that led her to this moment.

In other words; she didn’t really remember how she ended up with her head lodge into a toiler, but she did know that flea-ridden furry little cat bastard was going to fucking pay for it.

The sounds of rushing water filled Ladybug’s ears, followed by the distant hum of someone vacuuming in the next room. This was definitely not how she pictured her day going.

Ladybug groaned, her voice muffled by the cold, porcelain bowl her head was currently stuck in. She squirmed, trying to free herself from the toilet’s tight grip, but it only made her feel more wedged in. Water dripped down her face as she kicked her feet in frustration.

This was not her proudest moment.

"Ugh, seriously?!" she muttered internally, her voice echoing in the cramped space of her head. “You know, I thought that, at the very least, I still had some dignity left.”

A few moments earlier, she had been battling an akuma who, in true Parisian fashion, had turned into some sort of human trebuchet. With a well-aimed launch, the villain had flung her through a random window, and now here she was.

“But then the Mr. Fantastic wannabe cosplaying as a daytime flasher who lives in the sewers is all like ‘I’m gonna turn the Eiffel tower into a fucking bounce house and ping-pong Ladybug across Paris like we’re in the god damn Loony Tunes’!”

She squirmed again, trying to wriggle out of her awkward position. "Why does it always have to be me?"

It took a lot of pulling, propping her feet up against the back wall and struggling to not let super strength just rip the bathroom apart, but soon enough she heard a loud pop. Ladybug’s head finally freed itself from the porcelain prison. She stumbled back, rubbing her neck and trying to shake off the water still clinging to her face.

“Mommy, Ladybug’s in our toilet.” a voice called, followed by a gasp.

“Oh my gosh!”

Ladybug’s cheeks burned red, which wasn’t ideal given the current water exposure. The last thing she needed was a civilian seeing her like this.

From the doorway, a young woman—likely the homeowner—stood frozen, eyes wide, clutching a mop in her hands and pushing a little girl behind her leg. “Ladybug?”

Biting back the bile rising in her throat as she tried to slick back her toilet-water drenched locks back, Ladybug slowly inched towards the hole her entrance had left in the bathroom wall. “Just your routine… Plumbing inspection, Citizen.”

There was a long pause before the woman stifled a laugh. “Hold on, let me grab my phone—”

In that moment, Ladybug became the roadrunner, dashing through the hole and out of sight before the woman could finish her sentence.

She shivered as she felt the water leaking down the back of her suit. “I’m gonna kill that Cat.” She swore under her breath. “I’m gonna make him choke on sewer water, dump his body in a junk yard and do the macarena on his grave!”

In record time, she returned the site of her battle where, thankfully or to her distaste, Chat Noir had graciously waited for her return. He stood on the edge of a roof, resting his chin on the end of his baton, grinning down at her with enough sadism to convince her that he was clearly born to be an insufferable villain.

“You’re looking a little flushed there, Buggabo.” He coo’d, barely holding back his laugher.

Ladybug didn’t hesitate, throwing herself forward in one swift movement, lunging for his throat with her hands stretched out wide. “Brave words from a pussy cat in throttling distance.”

As annoyingly graceful as ever, Chat whirled around and dropped into a low crouch, letting Ladybug sail over him and land at the other end of the roof.

He pressed two fingers against his lips, allowing his eyes and his voice to sink into a low, teasing façade. “Ah, the fight’s only just begun, and you already want your hands all over me.” He groaned, pretending to be touched by the notion as Ladybug made a gagging gesture in kind.

After a moment, his eyes narrowed. Pursing his lips, he pulled his hand up and waved it back and forth, making an exaggerated groan of disgust. “Oof. Maybe after you’ve washed your hair.”

In his need to get his jab in, he’d swayed his focus long enough that Ladybug’s yoyo lashing out like a whip easily caught him by the waist. With one hard yank, Chat was thrown up and over, allowing Ladybug to swing him around like a lasso before slamming him into the floor with a mighty crash.

She smirked, rushing in and driving her foot into his shoulder. “I wonder how well you’ll mouth off when I give you a swirlie.”

She went for another blow, but this time his cat reflexes kicked in, spinning around on the spot to avoid her feet until he could press his palms flat against the ground and launch himself back up onto his own feet.

Ladybug reeled back to try another crack at yoyo domination, but she was stopped mid-movement when a loud, crunchy pop escaped her shoulder.

Chat grimaced, hissing “Ooo, that sounded like a bad crack.”

Ladybug growled, rotating her shoulder back and forth in soothing stretches. “Listening to your quips day in and day out tends to make one dead stiff.”

The smug twat had the audacity to bow like she was complimenting him. He cupped his hand over his mouth and called out over his shoulder. “Bouncer, how about you show Ladybug the benefits of being more flexible?”

A cartoony spring sound effect boomed throughout the area. It was followed by a blue spindly man clothed in a tattered trench coat, his limbs proportioned like a stretch Armstrong doll pulled to it’s very limits. He bounced into view and landed beside Chat.

“I suppose I could give her a hand.” He flipped his left arm over, letting the limp forearm curve downward and slap the ground.

His power was simple, effective and, most importantly, annoying. With his left hand, he made things bouncy, and with his right he made them sticky. There was a dirty joke in there somewhere, but Ladybug refused to make it.

“Lame.” She groaned, “You’re all lame.”

His left hand thumped against his chest, while his right hand pointed at her. “Ah, but I am rubber and you are glue, Ladybug!”

Ladybug, already sick of this bit, charged forward with her fist drawn back. “All you are is a pain in my a-” Punching the man in the gut felt like punching into mud, complete with a thick, squelching noise as her arm sunk in. “Okay. Ew.”

And then she felt something wet trickle up her arm and pulled out faster than Chloe pulls out a credit card.

She jumped back, violently shaking her arm, now slick with an unknown substance she was too afraid to name, as Chat laughed in the background. “Oh god, it’s like I was being sucked into a fat guy’s stomach rolls.”

This time Ladybug went for a wide, sweeping kick, hoping that an all-encompassing hit would work better against the invisible wall of flab. Unfortunately, this just meant that her attack sunk in from the side this time, the rest of Bouncer’s form crumbling like it was inflatable.

Squelch. Squeak. Squelch. Stretch. And suddenly a bulge in the shape of her leg was hanging out of the man’s hip. “Did I just see my foot?” She exclaimed.

Ladybug tried to retreat once more, but this time the flabby flesh around her leg tightened, trapping her in his body in a tight seal. She was scared, she was grossed out and she was pissed, whipping out her yoyo to grab anything it could reach and slamming said object over Bouncer’s head. “Hey! Let me go-”

Then she saw Bouncer bite down on his thumb, ready to blow, and suddenly she regretted her choice of words.

“No! Wait! Poor choice of words, poor choice of words!”

But it was too late as, with one blow, Bouncer ballooned out his body into a bulbous monstrosity. As a side effect, this meant that Ladybug’s foot, dragging the rest of Ladybug along with her, was shot out of him like a cannon ball.

“CHEAP SHOTTING LITTLE BITCH!” She yelled out with all her spite as she once again sailed through the air, crashing through the roof of a warehouse and landing in a pile of crates in a tangled mess.

Ladybug lay sprawled in a heap of wooden debris, dazed and groaning as she tried to make sense of her latest impromptu flight across Paris. Her body ached from the impact, and the sound of broken crates settling around her was almost soothing compared to the chaos she'd just endured.

"Okay..." she muttered to herself, rubbing her sore shoulder. "If I don't kill Chat Noir after this, it's only because I'll be too tired."

She groaned, struggling to her feet as she dusted herself off. “I’m really getting tired of this crap.” Her hand went to her side, troubling her fingers with untangling her yoyo. “Maybe it’s time for my lucky charm to shine.”

However, before she could go any further, a jolt struck her spine as a strange melody passed through the building. It was a soft, yet haunting tune – belted out by a pan flute, she was sure of it. But as quick as it had appeared, it passed, and she was left alone in silence. It shouldn’t have bothered her so much, but something about it set off her sixth sense.

Speaking of senses, her ears could suddenly pick up Chat Noir and Bouncer’s approach. The direct attack didn’t work out so well, so she decided that maybe it was time for a more subtle approach. Quickly, she bounded off to the darkest corner she could find, hiding herself behind a stack of crates.

Her heart stopped when Bouncer’s head, stretched out and hanging from a thick noodle neck, slithered through the hole in the roof, his jaw hanging so low that Ladybug was sure he could actually fit her in his mouth. “We know you’re here, Ladybug.”

Chat Noir hopped in after, forcing Ladybug to duck down to avoid his night vision gaze. “Come on, Bugaboo. Come out and pla-ay.”

“I’ve gotta rest a bit, and I definitely can’t go out there without a plan.” She muttered to herself. “Think, Ladybug. How do you defeat a rubber man?”

As Ladybug crouched behind the crates, strategizing her next move, a flash of movement caught her eye. And it caught the other two’s as well.

Standing at the edge of the hold in the roof she shamelessly revealed herself. A woman, looking down at them with a predatory smirk, like a hunter preparing to pounce on its prey. A woman with dark hair, weaking red spandex with black spots do- Wait a minute.

"If you want to play, I have the perfect game in mind," Ladybug purred, her voice dripping with mischief as she casually dropped down into the warehouse.

Chat Noir froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Huh?” he gasped, blinking rapidly. “How did she get up there?”

Marinette, still hidden behind the crates, was just as confused. "How did I get up there?!" she whispered furiously to herself.

Chat Noir, caught off guard, turned to Bouncer, gesturing wildly at the roof. “Well, don’t just stand there! Get her!”

Bouncer didn’t need to be told twice. His head stretched impossibly long, snake-like as it lunged toward the fake Ladybug, jaws wide as if he intended to take a bite out of her. But with every attempt, she dodged with feline grace, always just out of reach.

Fake Ladybug darted along the roof beams, leading the bouncing head on a wild chase. "Here's a riddle for you, Bouncer," she called over her shoulder, voice taunting. "Why did the elastic band retire?"

Bouncer hissed in frustration, his head stretching further and further, each miss tightening the tension in his spring-like body. The real Ladybug watched in awe from her hiding place as Fake Ladybug deftly maneuvered around him, dodging and weaving until—

Snap!

Bouncer had coiled himself into an accidental knot, his limbs tangled around each other as his head came to a screeching halt in midair. He was completely immobilized, bound by his own stretchy abilities.

“Because he was stretched too thin,” Fake Ladybug answered her own riddle, a satisfied grin spreading across her face.

Real Ladybug could hardly believe it. Not only was this person pretending to be her, but she was being her better than her!

Chat Noir, however, didn’t seem to care. He tipped his head back, offering a slow clap as he smirked down at the now-knotted Bouncer. “Okay, I’ll admit, Bug, that was some good work. But you still have me to deal with!”

The fake Ladybug didn’t miss a beat. Her smirk turned coy, her eyes half-lidded as she adopted a sudden, almost seductive tone. "Oh my, Kitty," she purred, walking towards him with a slow, deliberate sway. "You didn’t need an akuma just to get some alone time with me."

Chat’s confidence faltered, his eyes widening as his bravado crumbled under the unexpected shift in tone. “H-Huh?” His voice cracked with nervousness.

The real Ladybug, watching from the shadows, felt her jaw drop in disbelief. "Huh?!" she gasped, louder than intended.

Chat Noir, his usual witty banter nowhere to be found, tried to regain some semblance of composure. “I... uh... that’s not—”

Fake Ladybug slinked closer to Chat Noir, her voice turning sultry. “Oh, come now, Kitty. You don’t have to be shy.” She reached out, tracing a finger along his arm. “We both know you’ve always wanted me all to yourself.”

Chat Noir swallowed hard, stepping back but finding himself against a wall. “I... uh...” He stammered, his face flushing as his usual playful composure unraveled. “That’s not—”

From her hiding spot, the real Ladybug could feel her eye twitching. What the hell is this? she thought, biting back a growl. Her fist clenched, her irritation growing with every word out of the imposter’s mouth.

Fake Ladybug leaned in closer, practically purring. “Oh, come on. It’s just the two of us now, no need to play hard to get. You can drop the mask.” She winked, her smile predatory. “We could make such a dangerous pair, don’t you think?”

Chat’s eyes widened, darting nervously between the imposter and the space around him. “I—I don’t think—”

Meanwhile, Ladybug was practically vibrating with fury. Her mouth dropped open, completely scandalized. Is she seriously pretending to be me and flirting with him?! She could feel her face growing hot, and not from the leftover toilet water dripping down her suit.

Her knuckles turned white as the fake Ladybug pressed even closer to Chat, her voice dripping with a false seductiveness. “You know, I could really use a strong partner like you.” She leaned in, whispering softly. “Just thinking of what you could do to me with all that power. Mhm”

“That’s it!” Ladybug whispered furiously, unable to take any more. Her mind raced with how absolutely wrong it was for anyone to even pretend that she’d say any of this to Chat Noir, let alone in that tone. The very thought made her sick. There was no way she’d let this continue.

Before Chat could even stutter out a response, Ladybug burst from her hiding spot, her face flushed with a mix of anger and indignation. “Absolutely not!” she shouted, her voice ringing out with enough force to make both Chat and the fake Ladybug freeze.

Chat’s jaw dropped as he whipped around to look at the real Ladybug. “Wha—Ladybug?!”

The fake Ladybug blinked, still standing too close to Chat for Ladybug’s liking. “Well, it took you long enough.”

Ladybug stormed toward them, her fists clenched at her sides. “There is no way I would ever—ever—say that!” She pointed an accusatory finger at the fake version of herself, her eyes blazing with outrage. “You are making me sound like some... some desperate, lovesick sidekick!”

The imposter raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the reaction. “Oh please, I just saved you. Show some appreciation.”

Chat, still processing the scene, blinked in disbelief, his head swiveling between the two. “Wait—so that’s not you?”

Ladybug shot him an incredulous look. “Of course it’s not me!” she snapped. “And even if it was, I would never flirt with you! I’d rather get all my teeth pulled out or chopped into little pieces and fed to a hungry shark.”

Chat’s shoulders sagged, a small pout forming on his lips. “You don’t have to be that harsh about it...”

Ladybug ignored his comment, rounding on the fake version of herself. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m shutting it down. Right now.” She cracked her knuckles, her stance wide and ready for a fight.

The fake Ladybug did nothing as the original advanced upon her, just staring ahead with that self-satisfied smirk. Ladybug whipped out her yoyo, slamming it down on the faker-

“Huh?!”

Only to go completely through the fake Ladybug’s body and then, with a puff of smoke, the fake Ladybug completely disappeared.

“D-Did you kill her?” Chat asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to!” Ladybug suddenly screamed, panic racing through her body. “Am I a killer now? I don’t wanna be a killer!”

Chat’s response was stopped in it’s track by the neon butterfly symbol materializing over his eyes, symbolizing that Hawkmoth was sending him a message. Chat’s gaze scrunched up “The fox miraculous?”

Ladybug blinked, the fox miraculous? But only Master Fu had the other miraculous, how could someone else be using it?

Ladybug gasped, “Unless…”

Fu finally gave Alya the fox miraculous, of course!

Alya saved me! Marinette squealed in her head.

…

And then Ladybug felt like throwing up again. And she was hitting on Chat Noir. Gross.

Lost in her own thoughts, Ladybug failed to notice Chat Noir end his conversation with his father, as well as Chat rushing her with his baton raised high. Indeed, it wasn’t until his staff extended for a full power sweep that crumpled her like a tin can and smashed her through the nearest wall that she noticed things may have gone wrong.

“Looks like I’m staging a strategic retreat for now, Bugaboo.” Chat called out to her as he took off.

Ladybug groaned, still sprawled on the ground, her body aching from the full force of Chat Noir’s attack. She blinked through the haze of pain, her head pounding like a drum. “Thaaaats right…” she muttered weakly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You better… Run... Ow, my head.”

Before she could collect herself, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Damn it, did I miss everything?”

Ladybug’s eyes fluttered open, recognizing the voice immediately. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know what you—” She turned her head, expecting to see the person she thought had saved her. Instead, she found Alya standing there, phone in hand, filming with no fox miraculous in sight.

“Alya Césaire?” Ladybug blinked, her mind struggling to keep up. “What are you doing here?”

Alya grinned, lowering her phone slightly. “I’m always here to support my favourite superhero!” she said with a wink, ever the devoted reporter.

Ladybug’s heart raced in confusion. “But... If you’re here... Then... Who saved me?”

Just then, a figure dropped down from the warehouse roof, landing gracefully with a soft thud. She wore a striking orange and white spandex suit, big fox ears poking out from her head, and a sleek domino mask covering her eyes. The woman hoisted her long flute over her shoulder, her lips curved in a playful pout.

“That would be me.” The mysterious woman gestured to herself with a flourish, though she didn't look too pleased. “Gotta say, you sort of ruined my debut back there.”

Ladybug slowly pushed herself up, wincing as she moved. Her instincts flared up, cautiously taking in this new figure. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice firm despite her still-rattled state.

The woman tilted her head, a smirk dancing on her lips. “Isn’t it obvious?” she teased, spinning her flute between her fingers with practiced ease. “The only superhero Paris really needs.”

Her smirk deepened as she stepped forward, her voice dripping with confidence that Ladybug never had. “I’m your new partner, Volpina.”

Notes:

Master Fu has some explaining to do...

Chapter 9: Partners In Crime: Popular

Summary:

Marinette meets Lila Rossi. Adrien has the misfortune of re-uniting with Lila Rossi.

Notes:

Okay, this chapter would have been finished earlier, but... New Dragon Ball game just came out and I needed to unlock Great Saiyaman.

For the first time in a long time, Marinette had been able to wake up in time for school. And she felt awful. She was still late, that wasn’t what irked her. In fact, she didn’t really know what irked her. The Chat Noir role had been filled, she was no longer on her own, and while she had wanted Alya in the role, Volpina had already showed off how useful an ally she’d be.

And best of all, Chat Noir looked like a total dumbass getting fooled by a fake Ladybug.

All things considered, this was a win, she should be feeling great.

So why didn’t she? Why was there this gnawing sensation in her gut that told her something was wrong with all this? It reminded her of a sensation Tikki empowered her with as Ladybug, a probability sense, an extension of her ladybug luck, that pushed and pulled her towards positive and negative outcomes. It’s part of what guided her when trying to figure out her lucky charm’s meaning.

But she wasn’t Ladybug at the moment, she was just simple old Marinette. She didn’t have that sense any longer. So, this had to be something else, something stupid. Maybe it really was just her being subconsciously bummed out that her best friend wouldn’t get to be a superhero.

That sensation sat there as she walked to school, phone to her ear with bated breath as she listened to Master Fu’s explain his latest recruit.

“I thought you said you were looking into Alya?” Marinette couldn’t help but let her disappointment leak into her tone.

Fu chuckled lightly, sounding more than a little embarrassed. “I was, but in doing so, I stumbled upon a far better candidate.”

Was it childish to be offended? Marinette didn’t know, but she did know that her body instinctively tensed up to bite back a growl, hating how dismissive, even if unintended, Fu sounded towards Alya. Alya would have made for a damn fine hero, Marinette knew that, she was worth the effort of at least pretending it hadn’t been easy to choose somebody else.

“She’s that good?” Marinette murmured.

“I overheard a lot before I even reached her to perform the test.” Fu hummed, “She’s practically already a hero in her normal life, and she’s as sharp as a whip; she managed to trick me straight away during her test. The perfect candidate for the fox.”

Marinette felt her curiosity rise. Fu’s test for her was simply the act of helping an old man, and she always assumed that Chat Noir had a similar test. But there was no real room for trickery in asking ‘Will you help an old man to his feet?’. Did Volpina get a different test more in line with the powers of the fox miraculous?

“I’m sorry about your friend, Marinette, but it just wasn’t meant to be.”

She sighed, letting the tension drain. She couldn’t be mad at him. She could be annoyed, or disappointed, but not mad. He was the master here with over two centuries of experience, she was just some kid desperate for something convenient, but this business wasn’t meant to be convenient.

“If you really think Volpina is the one, I guess I just have to trust your judgement.” She reached the front steps, throwing her head back to groan. “Can I at least know who she is this time?”

Fu fell silent on the other end.

It really felt like something physically slapped her there and then.

“Seriously?” She hissed into the phone, trying to avoid the odd looks of the people around her as she pushed her way through the entrance doors. “The whole reason we’re in this mess in the first place is because we don’t know who Chat is.”

“Ah, but that works both ways.” Fu warned, “If she does become another Chat Noir, do you want her knowing who you are?”

She paused, that wasn’t something she’d really considered. They were lucky that Noir’s betrayal was timed before he could take any dangerous information with him, such trust was a risk. Was it better for them to both know and risk that information being used against the, or for them to remain ignorant and that lack of information being used to separate them?

Another sigh, it wasn’t like she was making the decision anyway, she just had to accept whatever the master chose. “…Did you at least write down her name this time?”

“Of course I-.” Marinette felt her right eye twitch when Fu came to a sudden halt, followed by the sudden rustling of Fu rummaging around his room. “Wyzz, where’s my pen?”

Marinette slapped her hand over her forehead, but made no sound, just standing there listening to Fu hastily scribble a name down on a pad.

After a minute, Fu awkwardly spluttered out. “Ahem, you must excuse me Marinette. You still have school after all.”

“More meditation, huh?” Marinette asked skeptically.

“Yes, napping is-” Fu coughed, “Meditation is important!”

Marinette walked into the classroom and was immediately greeted by the sight of a crowd forming around the new girl. She stopped at the door and stood beside Alya, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"So, that’s the new girl?" Marinette asked, crossing her arms. "She’s popular."

"Yeah, Lila is a blast, you’ve got to meet her," Alya replied, her excitement practically buzzing.

Marinette raised a brow. "I’ve never seen you this excited. Should Ladybug be jealous?"

Alya waved her hand dismissively. "Lila scored me an interview with Paris’ hottest new hero. Ladybug can’t even score me an interview with herself."

Maybe because Ladybug is too busy saving the city, Alya. Ever thought of that!?

Marinette forced a neutral tone, despite the pang of annoyance in her chest. Alya was talking like Ladybug was old news. "Hottest new hero, huh?" She played dumb. "Oh yeah, that... Volley Pena girl was it?"

Alya rolled her eyes. "Come on, Nette, everyone and their mothers know Volpina."

"She’s literally only been active for two days." Marinette said dryly.

"And she knows how to make the most of them," Alya said with a grin. She glanced at her phone as it pinged, and her expression brightened even more. "Aww, she just posted herself saving a litter of kittens from a tree."

Marinette’s brow furrowed. "Wasn’t that tree cut down last year?"

Alya huffed. "There are ten tiny, cute little fluffy angels on screen, and you’re focused on the tree?"

"I’m more of a hamster girl anyway. Chat Noir has soured my taste on cats."

Alya rolled her eyes again. "You and your Chat Noir obsession."

"I don’t have an obsession," Marinette said defensively.

"You talk about him a whooooole lot," Alya teased. "More than Adrien even."

Marinette gasped in offense. "First of all, how dare you. That flea-bitten slime ball has nothing on Adrien. Second, he’s a public figure who is constantly in the middle of major happenings. What, are you obsessed with Ladybug and Volpina just because you stalk akuma attacks a lot?"

Alya leaned in with a smirk. "I mean, I am obsessed," she said with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. "Though not in the same way."

Marinette blinked, narrowing her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"I’m just saying," Alya whispered, leaning in closer, "imagine Adrien..."

"Uh-huh..." Marinette said cautiously.

"...And Chat Noir."

Marinette made a disgusted face, blowing a raspberry. "Bleh."

Alya leaned even closer, her voice hushed. "At the same time."

Marinette’s face flushed bright red, and she spluttered incoherently. "Your mind is filthy! You’re just—urg, ew! Eeeeew!"

As Marinette paced back and forth, muttering variations of disgust under her breath, Nino arrived at the door, looking perplexed. "Hey, girl—" He paused, noticing Marinette ranting to herself. "Is she in the middle of a moment?"

Alya chuckled. "She’s pulling out the entire thesaurus."

Nino snapped his fingers over Marinette’s nose, but she continued her tirade. "Marinette?"

"—detestable, perverted—"

"Marinette!" Alya tried.

"—repulsive, sickening, ab-... Ah, ah..."

Alya raised an eyebrow. "Abominable?"

Marinette gasped as if the word had eluded her. "Abominable ideas!"

"Marinette!" Nino called again.

“What!?”

He gestured toward the girl beside him. "This is Lila Rossi."

Marinette stopped mid-rant, her mind suddenly catching up with the situation. Still full of energy, she accidentally shouted at the top of her lungs, "HELLO. GREAT TO MEET YOU."

Lila, taken aback, blinked. "Wow, you’re kind of intense."

Alya snickered. "Only when it’s about Chat Noir or Adrien."

Marinette whirled around, her face burning. "Alya, I will get a hose."

Alya leaned back with a teasing smile. "You see the abuse I have to put up with? This girl is a monster."

Marinette sighed and rubbed her temples. "S-Sorry about that. I’m Marinette, and I swear I’m normal most of the time."

Lila smiled, waving it off. "Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you. You made Jagged Stone those awesome shades!"

Marinette blushed, brushing it off. "Hey, t-they’re not that good."

"Are you kidding?" Lila exclaimed. "He couldn’t stop talking about how much he loved the design. He’d still wear them indoors at night."

Alya’s eyes widened. "You know Jagged Stone?"

Lila shrugged, playing humble. "Well, I wouldn’t say ‘know.’ He’s too big a star to be friends with a nobody like me. But I had a cool week-long backstage experience after I saved his cat a few months back. It was so awesome."

Nino's jaw dropped. "That’s amazing, Lila!"

But Marinette frowned. Something about that didn’t seem right. "Isn’t Jagged... allergic to cats?"

Alya shot her a warning look. "Marinette, don’t be rude."

Marinette blinked, she wasn’t being rude, she was just curious. Why was Alya so defensive of the new girl? Marinette is the best friend, Alya should be defensive over her.

No, Marinette wasn’t jealous!

Lila smiled sweetly. "Alya, she’s just asking a question. Yes, he’s very allergic to cats. But he loves them so much that he takes care of them anyway."

Jagged Stone isn’t a subtle guy. If he kept a bunch of cats, he’d be blasting them up on social media with Fang. Marinette’s confusion wasn’t sated. However, looking between Lila’s smile (that Marinette could swear was challenging her) and Alya’s pleading look, she got the sense that the best move here was to not rock the boat, so she just nodded along thoughtfully like everything made sense in the world.

Another ping sounded from Alya’s phone, she pulled it up and, as expected, her face lit up. “Huh, another Volpina post.” Clicking her phone to life, Alya’s eyes widened and she let out a small gasp. “Whoa!”

“What?”

Suddenly the screen was thrusted into Marinette’s face, giving her a painfully bright, close-up view of Volpina striking a pose in front of a pillar of black smoke. “She just stopped a giant meteorite from hitting the city!”

“A giant what?” Marinette murmured, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Wouldn’t there have been an alert or something?”

“It just came that fast.” Alya pulled away, tapping her phone against her chin. “I wonder why Ladybug wasn’t on the scene.”

Marinette spluttered, “S-She was probably somewhere else fighting an akuma or something…”

“Volpina’s faster, that’s all.” Lila cut in, leaning over Marinette’s shoulder in a way that Marinette instinctively felt was too close for comfort. “Her powers do include super speed and strength after all.”

Marinette’s head snapped up, her bullshit detector on full alert. “I thought her powers were illusions.” She said, maybe a little too aggressively.

Lila’s lips widened into a grin that was less than sweet, something more taunting. But for nobody else but Marinette. “That’s easy to think for the uninformed.”

I never thought I’d be so tempted to reveal my identity for such a petty reason…

Marinette hid her growing scowl behind her own phone, pulling up Volpina’s social media -- Marinette really needed to get an account for Ladybug now that she thought about it – and vigorously scrolling through it. Her suspicions grew as she noted the timing and the sheer amount of activities that Volpina managed to get up to in a single day. It made no sense, some of these had her appearing on two different sides of Paris in a matter of minutes; even with their enhanced attributes, the miraculous didn’t make them that fast.

And so many of these instances included multiple uses of her power. Volpina would have had to be running off, detransforming and force feeding her kwami a bag full of treats before rushing to her next destination. Even if she had the mother of all poker faces, Volpina would show some strain.

And really, this was just tacky all around. Public stunts were one thing, but all these press interviews, media gossip and- Fucking brand deals? Why didn’t Ladybug get an- W-Why would a hero waste time with any of this when their duty was to protecting the city?

“Volpina has a donation link?” Marinette swore under her breath.

Of course, Lila had super hearing whenever it came to a chance to correct someone. “Well, obviously she can’t get paid directly for being a vigilante when she’s not a legal servant.” Lila drew her finger across her eyelid, wiping away a tear that didn’t exist and yet everyone around her acted like she was actually crying. “But people can send her tributes to thank her for a good job. I mean, heroing really messes with your schedule, y’know. You’d never be able to hold down a good paying job if you had to leave to fight every akuma.”

“Huh.” Marinette blanked for a second. “Why didn’t Ladybug think of that?”

She could feel Tikki’s eyes judging her from her purse. Look, Tikki, I get being selfless and it’s not like I’d stop being a hero if I didn’t get paid. But she has a good point!

“Well, it doesn’t exactly seem like Ladybug is the brains of the operation.” Lila laughed, and in Marinette’s opinion, it was a laugh that was really getting on her nerves. Not that Marinette was getting defensive or anything. “I mean, isn’t her power just giving herself the answers she can’t figure out?”

Marinette’s pursed her lips, trying to hide gritted teeth and push back a snarl at this odious Ladybug slander. “Hold on a min-”

Then Adrien came into her field of vision and suddenly Marinette lost the plot.

He was radiant, dreamy – just like the commercials said.

“Hey, Adr-”

And before she could get a word out, she was unceremoniously shoved aside by Lila as she charged forward, tackling Adrien in a hug that almost knocked him flat against the floor.

“Adrien!” Lila squealed.

Lila was hugging Adrien and nobody acted like it was weird except Marinette.

Marinette couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene, nor block out the sound of her heart cracking at how intimate the two looked. “…Alya?”

“Yeah?”

Marinette wringed her hands together, twisting and turning the skin in a vain hope of distracting herself. “W-What is she doing hugging my crus- My Adri- Our good buddy and pal?”

“Didn’t you know?” Alya said thoughtfully, “She was Adrien’s old modelling partner.”

“Oh.” Her eye twitched, and suddenly it felt oh-so cramped in here. “That’s uh… That’s great.”

Ten seconds later, Marinette’s lips loudly smacked together. “They’re hugging for an awfully long time there.”

Once glance at Alya showed Marinette that the girl found this whole thing wholesome, clasping her hands together and ‘aw’ing. “They must be close.”

Marinette awkwardly breathed in. “Good for them.”

Alya leaned closer to her, a teasing grin on her face. “You are seething, aren’t you?”

“N-No!” Marinette squeaked. “Just making sure Adrien is comfortable.”

Alya patted her on the shoulder, but offered no mercy. “You know, I’m just gonna put this out there, but you can’t exactly be mad until you’ve at least attempted to make a move on Adrien.”

“S-Shut up.”

“Lila might go for it.” Alya warned, lightly trying to push Marinette forward. “Window of opportunity closing. This might be your last chance to confess.”

But all the coaxing and pressure in the world couldn’t make Marinette face the daunting task of telling a boy that she wanted to be the one jumping up to hug him every time he entered the room.

Alya sighed, “You can’t hide from all your problems, Mari.”

“Watch me.”

Maybe Ladybug was a smidgen jealous of Volpina, maybe Marinette was very jealous of Lila; after all, in only a day these two had managed to easily handle everything she was struggling with and were reaping all the rewards she’d thought were impossible to get. God, thinking about it, Marinette was being such a jerk, wasn't she? She shouldn't refuse to give Lila a chance just because she's a better people person than her, or because Adrien probably likes her more than clumsy, and now judgemental, Marinette.

Alya’s right anyway, they do look close. How could Marinette hope to compete with that? Just look at Adrien’s expression, he’s so smitten by that Lila girl. Reuniting with Lila was probably the best day of his life.

---

Seeing Lila again was the worst thing that could have possibly happened to him. It was only years of posing for photoshoots that allowed him to put on a convincing enough face that didn’t betray the sudden impulse to vomit all over her.

Lila Rossi was here. When did she get here? Why did nobody tell him that she was here? Why did he have to bump into her in front of everyone else?

Just her presence was enough to get his heart pumping – and not in the thrilling, excitable sort of way like when he was Chat Noir, or the unexpectedly nervous yet joyful sort of way it got when Marinette helped him through his family drama (that he was 50% sure was helped by her holding his hand). No, it was the forceful, almost hurtful sort where it felt like your heart was trying to escape from your chest, beating a rhythm so loud you couldn’t hear anything except what caused; what scared you.

And she didn’t just settle for being around him, she decided to throw herself at him, her arms wrapped around his body like chains while she buried her nose in his chest.

“L-Lila Rossi, is that you?” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, just letting his body freeze up, hoping he didn’t give her anything that might provoke her to step up her game. “It’s been… A long time.”

Not long enough.

Adrien had the misfortune of spending an entire summer with Lila back when her and other young models were applying for the Gabriel brand’s Valentine Collection. She’d definitely been charming at first, and she’d still technically be charming right now, but it was all surface level charm. Once you chip away at it, or once she knows she has enough control to drop the act, what you’d find was pretty ugly.

What Adrien learned over the course of that summer was that Lila Rossi always got what she wanted. She didn’t have a weapon, she didn’t have a powerful name to back her up, and she didn’t even have a miraculous; all she had was a silver tongue and the uncanny ability to pinpoint everyone’s blindspot the moment she met them.

She spun lies, oh god did she spin lies, but she also knew how to sell those lies. Sometimes they were carefully crafted, leaving no detail that could be fact checked by your everyday person. But others? They were ludicrous, easy to disprove, but were slung in just the right way with just enough confidence that enough people missed them. Thing about lying to a lot of people is that you don’t need to convince them all, you just need to convince enough of them to pressure the doubter into shutting up.

Or, in Adrien’s case, when you’re a boy with little social skills that went beyond the bare minimum of his role, and who is caught up in the high of finding a ‘friend’ who isn’t Chloe; you fear spending too much time questioning whether your new friend is exaggerating about the orphanage she helped build in England.

Suffice it to say, she fooled him long enough to get her claws into him, to convince him that he had to grin and bear her constant grabbing, flirty remarks, and insistence that they were close. To know that complaining would just inconvenience everyone around him. She could be caught by the body, holding the murder weapon and covered in blood, and she could make people swear to god she was sparkling clean.

“Silly, didn’t’ you hear? I was invited back to Paris to fill in your spots.” Her giggle echoed in his ears like an ache, her nails more like claws as they idly cut down his side. “Isn’t your father so considerate?”

Oh, of course, his father had to invite a new model to give Adrien more free time. A blessing Lila had turned into a curse, because Adrien never told him about Lila, about how many of her opponents she sabotaged or manipulated into dropping out of the competition that got her into the valentine collection in the first place.

Half of him felt it was silly, childish thing to bring up to his father. The other half was afraid that even his father wouldn’t be immune to Lila’s charms.

“That’s great. For you.” He set his face into a wide expression, not a grin, but his lips masked his gritted teeth enough to make it look like one. “Does that mean-”

“I’ll be here for a good long time, yes.” She practically hissed it, making it sound more like a threat than anything. “I missed you, y’know.”

“Oh. That’s uh…” He had to force himself to clear his throat to stop himself from gagging. “That’s great.”

She was here, with his friends. She was here, threatening his friends.

He suddenly felt something gentle patting at his leg. Somehow, Plagg could see his discomfort – or did he sense it? Adrien wouldn’t be surprised if the transformation process made the kwami’s more aware of the holder’s emotions. He lowered his hand into his pocket, idly stroking Plagg’s head with his forefinger.

Plagg was there, and as long as Plagg was there, Adrien was still Chat Noir. And Chat Noir wouldn’t be afraid of Lila.

“It’s fantastic.” Lila mercifully pushed herself to gain some distance, but kept her hand on his arm to maintain the connection. “Hey, maybe we’ll get to model with each other again sometime.”

Adrien forced out the most awkward laugh, his breath like sandpaper on his throat. “I-I doubt that! Heh. Father is really strict on following his plans and-“

He wracked his brain for anything, any excuse, anything to sway her. He was a terrible liar, but against her, he could suddenly find his inner snake oil salesman. ”And the rest of the schedule this year is allllllll solo.”

“That’s too bad.” She deflated but it was all for show, letting go of him just so she could lean over, near his ear, whispering. “Of course, we could always do a private shoot.”

The only shoot I want to do with you will involve an actual gun.

He didn’t have the confidence to voice that little thought, but in the midst of Lila’s repositioning Adrien found his anchor to pull him through it all.

Marinette was standing there, right next to Alya. And to be honest, where Lila’s presence made his confidence shrink, Marinette’s made him feel cocky.

On top of that, there was a crestfallen look she was failing to hide as she looked at Lila, and that just flared up his instinctual desire to see her happy. She was his friend, she was the girl who helped him at arguably one of his lowest points, and since then she, along with Nino and Alya, helped him in so many ways just by casually hanging out with him every day. Of all people, she deserved to be happy.

Together, those two emotions left Adrien determined and suddenly detaching himself from Lila to rush forward and slide between the two was the easiest thing in the world.

“Hey! Marinette, Alya!” Adrien clapped Alya on the shoulder, curiously looking her over before letting out an impressed whistle. “Nice hair.”

Alya scoffed, making a full show of flipping her curls over her shoulder. “I’m glad somebody finally noticed.”

Meanwhile Adrien caught Nino’s narrowed stare trying to decipher what was even different about Alya’s hair, but the poor boy never found the answer.

“We were just talking about the new hero, Volpina.” Alya explained, gesturing to her phone. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

Adrien shrugged, shooting off his reply with no need to even consider the thought. “Eh, I’m sure she’s nice and all, but I’m still a Ladybug fan through and through.”

Volpina’s first outing being tricking him into thinking Ladybug was flirting with him might have left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Y-You are?!” Marinette squeaked, before covering her mouth to try and hide out hopeful she looked. It made sense to Adrien, Marinette must have been a big Ladybug fan to, that was why she was so adamant about speaking up for the hero.

“Well yeah, she’s awesome.” Adrien gave a real laugh, firing off a real smile, while he rubbed the back of his neck. It made him feel a little bashful to rave about his own nemesis, but hey, it was the truth. And it made Marinette smile more. Though Adrien didn’t know why it made her blush too. “You gotta be to be fighting akumas all on your own for this long.”

Lila spoke up, trying to play off how frazzled she’d looked after Adrien had left her in the dust. “She’s not alone anymore.”

It didn’t help his view of Volpina, a hero based entirely around trickery and deception from what his father told him of the fox miraculous, that Lila showed him how damaging such abilities can be even without powers. He didn’t want to imagine how much damage Lila could do with literal super powers that can convince you of any reality.

“Good for her. She deserves someone to back her up.” He said simply, trying to stuff down the wave of guilt at remembering that he was the one who left her without back up in the first place.

Lila held up her phone, weakly spluttering. “D-Did you see this post about Volpina saving cats-”

Adrien shot her his most model perfect smile, locking her with a dead stare as he replied “I’m more of a hamster kind of guy.”

He didn’t know why Marinette suddenly, uncontrollably, squealed; he just knew he really, really liked that sound.

Even if it meant Plagg bit his leg for being a ‘traitor’.

Notes:

Lila's certainly shaping up to be an even bigger menace in this continuity.

Next Time, in 'The Great Bakery Heist', it's time for Chat Noir and Marinette to meet for the first time!

Chapter 10: Partners In Crime: The Great Bakery Heist

Summary:

In which Chat Noir is caught red handed, and he and his father realize that they may or may not have type.

Notes:

If anyone tells you that I accidentally posted this chapter on the World On Fire fic, they're liars. And you should hit them really hard with a stick.

The chill of the night stretched over a withered Paris, sweeping through the empty streets and scraping at the doors of it’s slumbering population. In the stillness of the night, lost souls were left to wonder with no company or activity to sate their hunger. In the wake of Hawkmoth’s rise, there had been less and less nightly activities on the quainter side of town, away from the bustle of clubs and drunken rendezvous.

There was beauty in such a sight, seeing the city in it’s purest expression of peace, where all the senses were treated to a gentle stimuli with no interruption. It was the stuff of great art, carefully splattered across a canvas or lovingly woven into the verses of a poem.

But all Hawkmoth could focus on was the fact that he was really, really hungry.

He perched himself on the edge of a rooftop, the head of his cane tucked under his chin, desperately trying to ignore the cries of his stomach. It was like a sea of needy children in the back of his mind, wailing at the injustice of him missing one or two meals today and battering him at full force as recompense.

He let his eye lids fall, reaching out through his miraculous to tug on his tether to Chat Noir. “Kitty Paw, come in Kitty Paw.” He spoke through their connection, Chat Noir’s point of view materializing in his head.

On the other side of the street, Chat hung from a signpost advertising a general store, his gaze firmly fixed on the target that towered over all other shops in the corner: The Dupain Cheng Bakery.

Chat moved his finger over his ear to mimic an ear piece that wasn’t there. “Reading you loud and clear, Wingman.”

They were silent for a moment. Patiently and judgementally waiting.

Hawkmoth cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

Nathalie’s voice eventually came down the line under protest, dazed and short – like she was struggling to stay awake. She was essentially playing their ‘woman in the chair’ for today. “…Red Queen, standing by.”

The projection of Chat’s vision focused on the roof of the bakery, a neatly decorated extended balcony that led into an unlocked hatch. A weak point in this fortress of sugar and bread.

---

Chat Noir crouched low on the balcony, his black tail flicking side to side as his eyes narrowed on the unlocked hatch. The Dupain Cheng Bakery stood like a fortress, and tonight, he was the thief who would plunder its delectable treasures. “Entry point spotted, Wingman. Advancing on the objective now.”

Nathalie’s sleepy voice came down the line, almost a yawn. “Why are we burglarizing a bakery again?”

Hawkmoth’s reply was immediate and unapologetic. “Because we’re hungry.”

Chat fought back a snicker. His father, the grand villain who tormented Paris with akumas, sounded like a disgruntled kid missing his after-school snack.

Nathalie wasn’t buying it. “We have food at home.”

Hawkmoth huffed, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “But the Dupain Cheng’s have the best treats in all of Paris.”

Chat Noir’s lips twitched into a smirk as he carefully swung over the railing. “Dad, couldn’t we just buy their food?”

“It’s about the principle of it, Son,” Hawkmoth declared with an air of self-righteousness. “We’re villains, we don’t buy what we want, we take it!”

Nathalie remained unimpressed. “You don’t want to make things awkward between you and your school friend. Marinette, was it?”

Chat waved it off, inching closer to the hatch. “It’ll be fine. She already hates Chat Noir.”

Hawkmoth made a sound of genuine disbelief. “Hmph, she must have terrible taste then.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at that. “Oh, you have no idea.”

But the conversation was cut short as Chat paused on the ledge of the hatch, slowly pushing it open with a faint creak. The soft scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries wafted up through the opening, making his stomach growl. His convenient night vision gave him the wide berth of the room, allowing him to take in the quaint design. Well, he could, if the room wasn’t so damn messy. There was art supplies everywhere, scrunched up sketches and loose material thrown against the wall or draped over a table.

“You know,” Hawkmoth mused, his voice soft with nostalgia, “this really makes me nostalgic.”

Chat slipped through the hatch, landing on his feet with feline grace in Marinette’s bedroom. “How?”

As he crept within, he marvelled at the small elevated slope leading up to the bed. A glimpse of a small, Marinette-shaped bump in the covers was enough to leave Chat with his breath caught in his throat. Thank God his father communicated with him mentally and didn’t need him to actually speak.

“Oh, I used to poach goodies from this bakery all the time back in my younger days. It was just Dupain Bakery back then.” Hawkmoth’s voice carried the tone of fond memories, but it quickly turned sour. “Of course, that had to end after the owner’s pet giant threw me in a dumpster.”

Chat froze. “You mean Marinette’s dad?”

There was a stunned silence before Hawkmoth spoke again, his voice rising in shock. “That was a person? And he’s still around?!”

Chat had to bite back a laugh.

Hawkmoth’s voice dropped to a low, sombre warning. “Be careful, Son.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chat muttered under his breath, already halfway to the door. He peered through the crack, making sure the coast was clear. All quiet. This would be easy.

He tried not to linger in the room. It was easier to justify this petty heist to himself when he wasn’t looking at the adorable victim whose room he was violating the privacy of. And it was harder to focus and get a move on when Marinette had so many things to be distracted by.

So, for all intents and purposes, he speedran the door, slipping through the night with the grace of his namesake. He crept down the spiral stairs, his heart racing not from fear, but from the thrill of the mission. Just one floor down. One quick raid of the kitchen, and then—bam—he’d be back out on the rooftop before anyone could notice.

Chat Noir padded softly into the bakery’s kitchen, the smell of butter and sugar heavy in the air, tantalizing his senses. The dim moonlight trickled through the windows, casting long shadows over the rows of trays filled with fresh bread, croissants, and pain au chocolat. His stomach rumbled at the sight.

"Okay, objective in sight,” he whispered to himself, crouching down to eye the gleaming pastries on the countertop. "Time to bag the loot."

His eyes drifted over the array, and he quickly grabbed a few of his father's favourite treats: a couple of pain au chocolate, a freshly baked baguette, and a small tart that looked too good to resist. He stuffed them into a cloth bag he had brought along, ready to make his escape.

"Perfect, easy," Chat murmured, sneaking a glance back toward the stairs. He was already imagining the smug look on his father’s face when he presented the bounty.

But just as he was about to dart back upstairs, his eyes landed on a family photo tucked into the corner of the counter. It was Marinette and her parents, all grinning with flour smeared on their aprons. The warmth in their smiles struck him like a punch to the gut.

Suddenly, the idea of stealing didn’t feel quite as fun.

Chat frowned, clutching the bag of pastries tighter as guilt gnawed at him. He stood frozen in place, his feet refusing to move. Could he really go through with this? Break into the home of the girl who had always been kind to him as Adrien? He wasn’t a bad person. Not really.

"No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. "You’re a villain, remember? Villains don’t pay for stuff, they take it."

But the picture was still there, smiling at him, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

With a deep sigh, Chat slowly walked to the cash register and glanced around. "Dad’s gonna kill me," he grumbled under his breath. "But it’s better than stealing."

After a quick search of his suit's hidden pockets, he pulled out a wad of bills and counted out more than enough money to cover the pastries—probably way too much, but guilt was making him overcompensate. He slapped it down on the counter next to the family photo, along with a scribbled note: For the treats. Totally not a thief. —C.N.

He gave the pastries one last longing look before retreating upstairs. As he crept back toward the hatch in Marinette’s room, he felt oddly proud of himself for doing the right thing—even if his dad would definitely not approve.

"This stays between us," Chat whispered to the quiet room. "Hawkmoth never finds out I went all goody-two-shoes."

There was an itching that told him the Plagg part of him wanted to make a sarcastic remark about him talking to an empty room. But Chat ignored it a gracefully scrambled back up the stairs, climbing through the attic ladder once more and popping his head through the hatch.

His ears picked up, unable to hear Marinette’s gentle snores anymore. A casual glance still saw her vague shape peering over the bed frame, but it still left him worried if it meant she was waking up or not. Either way, he proceeded with caution, slowly pulling himself up the hatch and sliding down into a prone position on the floorboards.

On all fours, he crawled through the room, occasionally sneaking a glance back to his potential witness to make sure he wasn’t disturbing her. During his slow journey, he found his attention stolen when his fingers brushed against the cover of a thick binder that had seemingly been knocked off of Marinette’s desk.

‘Fashion Journal’, it was labled. Now, Chat Noir liked to think that he wasn’t a snoop.

But he’d never had the chance to see Marinette’s designs before (no matter how many times Alya and Nino raved about them to him), and, well; he is a cat, and they are unfortunately curious.

With a quiet sigh, Chat opened the binder, flipping to the first page. His eyes widened immediately, taken aback by the intricate designs sketched out on the paper. Dresses, suits, accessories—all of them meticulously detailed. The lines were bold yet elegant, the patterns flowing naturally as if they had leapt straight from Marinette's imagination onto the paper.

"Wow..." Chat whispered, his gaze tracing the curves and angles of each piece. He'd seen his fair share of fashion in his father’s line of work, but this—this was different. It was fresh, playful, full of life. He could almost see people wearing these creations, strutting down a runway or gracing the red carpets.

He flipped to the next page. More designs, this time themed around animals—birds, butterflies, and even a sleek black cat. He blinked in surprise, his eyes lingering on a particular outfit. It was clearly inspired by him, Chat Noir. A sharp, black leather jacket with green accents and a belt buckle shaped like a cat’s paw.

"She’s got taste," Chat muttered under his breath, unable to stop the grin tugging at his lips. The jacket looked better than his own suit, and that was saying something. He imagined what it would be like to wear something she had designed specifically for him, not just as Chat Noir, but as Adrien—something that showed how much thought and care she'd put into it.

He turned another page. This one was different. The sketches were still beautiful, but there was something softer about them. Less polished, more personal. His breath hitched slightly as he recognized a few familiar faces in the designs. One sketch was of Alya in a stylish, fitted blazer, clearly something Marinette had tailored with her best friend’s personality in mind. Another was a dapper suit for Nino, complete with a snapback hat that screamed "DJ."

Then came the design that made his heart skip a beat. It was for him. Adrien. Not Chat Noir, but Adrien. The model. The boy who sat a few desks away from her in class.

The suit was simple, elegant, with clean lines and soft hues of white and grey. It had a classic feel to it, like something his father would approve of for a formal event. But the details—the small, thoughtful touches—those were what made it uniquely Marinette. A small pin on the lapel in the shape of a star, a subtle nod to something brighter, warmer.

Chat found himself tracing the design with his eyes, the thought of her making something like this for him swirling in his mind. Did she see him like this? He knew she was kind, always supportive, but this felt like something more. There was an intimacy to the design that he couldn’t quite put into words.

Before he could dwell on it too long, he flipped to the next page, hoping to distract himself from the strange fluttering in his chest.

It was another suit—only this time, it was unmistakably for Adrien Agreste, the model. Not Chat Noir, not a friend, but the public figure. The son of Gabriel Agreste. The design was sleek, cold, and impersonal, with stiff lines and sharp edges. It was a suit that screamed formality, lacking the warmth or creativity of the others.

Chat's fingers twitched, and a frown creased his brow as he stared at the contrast between this design and the one before it. Was this how she saw him sometimes? A distant, unreachable, a figure behind glass?

"Like what you see?"

The voice came out of nowhere, sharp and cold, snapping him out of his thoughts. Chat jumped in shock, his ears flattening as he whipped around. Standing behind him, arms crossed, was Marinette. She was not amused.

"Ah! Marinette, fancy seeing you here!" he stammered, forcing a nervous grin, though he was all too aware of how stupid that sounded.

"In my bedroom? At 2 in the morning?" Marinette’s glare could melt steel, and Chat felt his bravado rapidly crumbling.

He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I can explain—"

Before he could finish, a sudden blow landed on his head. He blinked in surprise as Marinette swung a chair at him, the leg breaking off on impact. It didn’t hurt much, thanks to his super strength, but he could still feel it.

"Ow!" Chat yelped, taking a step back.

"Take that!" Marinette shouted, raising the chair again and smashing it over him a second time, fully breaking it.

"Marinette—"

Before he could even catch his breath, Marinette grabbed a fan from the corner of her room and lunged at him. She smacked him with it, the fan shattering to pieces.

"And that!" she added, her eyes blazing with fury.

Chat, his patience wearing thin, caught the broken fan between two fingers, giving her a calm, almost mocking look. "You know this isn’t working, right?"

Marinette shoved him, her strength nowhere near his but still enough to send him stumbling into a chair. "Yeah, but it makes me feel good!" she shot back, clearly more focused on expressing her outrage than doing any real damage.

Chat sighed, his ears drooping as he tried to reason with her. "Can we just—"

Before he could finish, Marinette moved with a speed he hadn’t expected. In the blink of an eye, a blur of fabric, ribbon, and... was that glue? He couldn’t make sense of it, but suddenly, he found himself bound to the chair, several layers of cloth wrapped around him, and stapled tightly in place.

"Aha!" Marinette exclaimed, stapler still in hand, standing triumphantly over him.

Chat looked down, wriggling a bit to test the restraints. "How did you—"

"I only work with the best materials, Kitty," Marinette replied smugly. "Even with superpowers, that sticky old cloth is going to be super annoying to get through."

Chat gave her a baffled look, tugging at the fabric. "How are your parents not hearing this?"

Marinette gave a shrug. “They’re very heavy sleepers.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "But if they do wake up and find a cat burglar in my room, what do you think they'll do?"

Chat gulped, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. "Right. Yeah. You’ve made your point."

Marinette tossed the broken stapler aside, crossing her arms. "Start talking, Kitty. What are you doing sneaking into my house and going through my stuff?"

Chat Noir wriggled in his makeshift restraints, trying to figure out how he had gotten himself into this mess. His brain raced, looking for a way out—both literally and figuratively.

“Marinette, I’m not here to hurt you!” he blurted out, hoping to calm her down.

“Oh, please,” Marinette scoffed, but then her eyes narrowed as realization hit. “Wait… how do you know my name?”

Chat froze, his brain short-circuiting. "Uh…"

“Uh?!” Marinette snapped, hands on her hips. “That’s your answer? How do you know my name, Chat Noir?”

Thinking fast, he gave her a sheepish grin. “You just look like a ‘Marinette,’ you know? Like... it suits you!”

Marinette’s eyes widened in horror as she took a step back, pulling her blanket up to her chin as if it could protect her from whatever twisted reasoning he was giving. "You've been stalking me, haven’t you?! Or—or watching me, or something creepy like that!" Her voice grew more hysterical. "I knew you were a creep, but this is a whole new level!"

“What? No! I—”

Gasping dramatically, Marinette suddenly wrapped her blanket even tighter around her body, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Did you break into my room hoping to watch me sleep, you perv?!”

Chat’s jaw dropped in pure panic. “What?! NO! I was just—” His words caught in his throat. He had no good explanation. “I was just robbing your parents!”

The room fell silent. They stared at each other, both processing what he had just said. She looked at him like he was stupid. He felt stupid.

She squinted, exasperated. “Our food is dirt cheap. What do you need to steal it for?”

“Well,” Chat started, clearing his throat, “Dad says it’s our villainous duty to perform inconveniently petty crime.”

Marinette stared at him, her expression unreadable. “...But I left money on the counter, I swear!” he added quickly, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left.

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “You couldn’t have gone through some other window?”

“Your balcony was open,” Chat explained with a shrug, as if that made all the difference. “It was the easiest way in."

Marinette blinked at him, then let out a groan of frustration. “Unbelievable. I’m dealing with an idiot cat burglar.”

Chat didn’t really hear the insult, he was distracted by a fact that just became very clear to him.

“What are you staring at?”

His fingers wobbled as he raised his hand, weakly pointing at the object of his fixation. Her hair, no longer bound by pigtails, cascading delicately down her back in wild, unkempt curls. It was messy, uncoordinated and made her look just the slightest bit crazy; and it perfectly framed her.

“Y-Your hair is down.” He murmured.

Marinette blinked, not getting the significance. “Yeah, it does that.”

“It just looks nice, is all…”

Marinette’s face turned a deep shade of red, and she awkwardly tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “T-That’s a stupid thing to say,” she mumbled, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.

Chat’s grin returned, sly and teasing. “Oh my, is the Princess getting all flustered?”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, her blush deepening. “Princess, really?”

“What?” Chat smirked. “You’re surrounded by all these fancy dresses, you live in a tower, and I could totally see you in a Disney movie. Marinette, the Bakery Princess,” he added with a playful twirl of his finger.

Marinette groaned, rolling her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched upward against her will. “Cute.”

“I know, right?” Chat grinned, shifting in his chair as much as the fabric binding him would allow. “You could even have a theme song! Something about pastries and… stapling cats to chairs.”

Marinette’s lips pressed together as she fought a smile. "Just wait until I add the next verse about hitting cats with fans."

“Oh, you’re really leaning into the villain role now, aren’t you?” Chat chuckled.

“Maybe," Marinette replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "but I don’t need a theme song. I have a stapler. And it’s far more effective."

Chat sighed dramatically. "Villains with staplers. How terrifying. What’s next, you’re going to bind me with glue?”

“Don’t tempt me, Kitty.”

---

“Chat’s taking an awfully long time.” Nathalie hummed down the line.

Hawkmoth could hear her idly typing on her keyboard, hammering the keys with a ferocity that contradicted how casual she managed to sound. She must be working really hard on something… Hawkmoth thought to himself.

He sat rather lazily on his post, feet dangling over the edge while his side was slumped against a chimney across from the bakery. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the hunger pains hitting his stomach repeatedly, he’s be self-conscious about anyone finding him there without being in a dramatic villain pose.

“Give him time, Nathalie.” He waved his hand dismissively at his mental picture of her, imagining her hunched over a desk, her usually orderly hair drawn askew and perfectly framing her gloomy expression. It was an image that was sufficiently warmer than the late night chill currently beating against Hawkmoth’s exposed mouth. “He’s a sweet boy; needs time to ease into villainy.”

She nodded along, and he knew she wasn’t really in the mood to care about whether or not his mission failed. “Whatever you say, Sir.”

Hawkmoth shook his head, she didn’t understand what was at stake here. “Trust me, after the first bite of their croissants, you’ll understand that this is all worth it.”

He could practically hear her blink, sitting up straight in her chair with an unsteady tone. “I thought this was your snack?”

“It’s all of our snacks.” Hawkmoth corrected immediately; his head tilted to the side thoughtfully. “We’re a team, we all have rights to the spoils.”

Did Nathalie really think he’d leave her out of it?

“I am sort of hungry…” She admitted, a tinge of embarrassment leaking through her measured tone.

He chuckled, “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things, Red Queen!”

“Why ‘Red Queen’?” She asked curiously, a wave of bubbling irritation passing through his miraculous. “What, am I supposed to be from Alice in Wonderland?”

Hawkmoth shook his head, jumping to his feet, as if explaining a superficial reference name was the most important part of his night. “No, no, it’s like chess.” He exclaimed. “And red’s your colour.”

The irritation was replaced with amusement, and something about that felt soothing for Hawkmoth. “If I’m the queen, what’s the king I’m defending?”

“Obviously, I’m the king.” He stated firmly, crossing his arms and trying to stand all regal and proper. Sometimes he really regretted not having a cape. “You know, I was originally going to call myself ‘Monarch’. But I figured that was more intensity than I wanted.”

He really liked the name Monarch, but it was sort of thing you built up to, you know? He couldn’t just start calling himself the king right out of the gate, he needed to set the stage, make a name for himself, get some major wins. Maybe if suddenly decided to be darker, or got a few more miraculous, or went plum crazy or something; then he could whip out the new name and scare the crap out of people.

However, Nathalie seemed to focus on a different aspect entirely. Suddenly, her breathing was short, held back by an eager curiosity. “Wait, so what you’re saying is…” She said quietly, an undiscernible emotion hitting him. “I’m your queen?”

She said it so low, with so much audible breath whipping every syllable, that it sounded as if she was speaking directly into his ear. He made him feel… Things. Things that he shook off and scrambled to save face and focus.

“Naturally.” He cleared his throat after a moment, “But if you really don’t like the code name, I could-”

“No, no.” Nathalie said with more desperation than Gabriel ever thought possible for the woman, “You’ve convinced me, my king.”

He narrowed his eyes. There was that feeling again. All because Nathalie, and he knew it was specifically because she said it, called him some fun title. He didn’t know what it was, but, for one reason or another, he knew it would make Emilie smack him upside the head.

So, he did what Gabriel Agreste was best at: Repress everything.

---

“So, you’re a big Adrien Agreste fan?”

Adrien saw pictures of himself all the time, on his father’s desk, on billboards, on some sponsorships that were very unfortunate in hindsight. But he’d never seen them all lined up on a board, a collage of faces reflected back at him like a cracked mirror. It was kind of spooky.

He certainly wasn’t sure how he felt about finding it in his friend’s room of all places.

“Wha-” Marinette followed his gaze only for her face to break out into panic. She dived towards the entire wall dedicated to Adrien Agreste, desperately snatching the curtain that hung over it and yanking it down. “Hey! That’s none of your business!”

He leaned to the side as much as he could within the limitations of his bounds, trying to peak around her while she flapped her arms around trying to protect whatever remained of her dignity. “Is it normal to have that many pictures of a guy?” A part of him was teasing, but another part of him was genuinely asking. He wasn’t an informed people person, as far as he knew this could be a very normal thing.

Should he start a collage of Marinette pictures? She would look good on a wall… no, wait. That was definitely weird. Plagg would never let him hear the end of it.

“I-I am a fashion designer!” she blurted out, pacing across the room like a trapped animal. “And he’s the perfect model, that’s all!” Her voice wavered between determined confidence and utter hopelessness, bouncing back and forth as she tried to explain. “It’s good for when I’m drawing up ideas.”

Chat tilted his head, watching her stumble through her explanation. He’d only gotten glimpses of this side of Marinette before, the more charged, passionate one that only appeared when she thought he wasn’t looking or she got too lost in thought to consider his presence. Or when he distracted her with a personal problem he was having. Normally she was all nerves around him, stuck in stiff expressions, desperately trying to find a way to avoid his attention like his mere gaze would make her burst.

She certainly never had the guts or fierceness she so carelessly threw at Chat Noir. He couldn’t imagine the Marinette he got to see attacking him on sight, or charging into him and tying him up whilst getting snarky and short tempered with him.

He thought it was just a little quirk of hers, or that maybe his awkwardness was just making her awkward. He’d never considered it was because she liked him enough to keep all his pictures.

Was this what Marinette was like when she wasn’t around him? Was this the girl he was missing out on because she was always so nervous around Adrien? The more she talked, the more he found it kind of… Adorable.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was adorable. And she liked him.

Suddenly, he paused that thought, glancing back over to the journal, flashing back that cold, distant, unreachable version of him drawn inside that book. The same version he saw plastered all over her wall.

No, she liked Adrien Agreste, the model.

She hated Chat Noir.

What would she think of the guy in between them?

He shook himself free from that gloomy thought, stuffed it down deep, somewhere he could ignore it. Instead, he focused on Marinette’s flushed cheeks, he focused on the screech of her voice, he focused on how he didn’t really want to escape at the moment.

Marinette continued, seemingly trying to convince herself as much as him. “And I’m a huge fan of his father, so that’s even better.”

“Uh-huh.” Chat smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “That makes total sense.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Kitty,” she snapped, shooting him a glare. “It doesn’t suit you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe such a refined lady is still falling for that old pretty-boy routine.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed playfully, smirking. “Do I hear some jealousy, Fleabag?”

Chat’s smirk faltered for a second. “I’m not jealous,” he said, his tone more defensive than he intended. “I just know you could do so much better.”

“Pfft.” Marinette scoffed, crossing her arms. “There’s nothing better than Adrien Agreste.”

I can bench-press cars and make cat puns; how am I not the hottest person you’ve ever met?

Chat’s grin returned, more mischievous now. “I don’t see him being a bad boy in a leather cat suit.”

Marinette gave him a sideways glance. “Unlike you, Adrien could actually pull it off.”

That was simultaneously the worst insult and the best compliment.

Chat gasped dramatically, wishing he could place a hand over his heart. “Ouch! That hurts, Princess.”

“He’s a fake, you know?” Chat said after a beat, leaning back in the chair as much as his bindings would allow. “The perfect boy act? It’s all a marketing ploy.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

“If you really got to know him,” Chat continued, his tone softening slightly, “You’d probably find out that he’s pretty pathetic. Or weird. Or something.”

“Shut up,” Marinette snapped, her voice suddenly sharp.

Chat’s eyes widened at the seriousness of her tone, like he’d ripped out a raw nerve. “Whoa, okay, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t know what your beef with Adrien is,” Marinette interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger, “But I don’t care.” She stepped closer, plunging her forefinger into his chest, teeth bared like an growling animal. “He’s my friend. And he’s also one of the sweetest, kindest people I know. I won’t tolerate anyone bad-mouthing him. Especially you.”

Chat fell silent, staring at her with wide eyes. Her words hit him harder than he expected. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. She was defending him—and she didn’t even know it.

“Well, uh…” he stammered, glancing away awkwardly. “Maybe I’m a little jealous…”

Silence reigned for a while, Chat not willing to say anything to ruin the tone any further as he watched Marinette sigh and turn away. “I mean, what can a guy like me do to stack up to Mr. Perfect over there?”

“Look,” Marinette started softly, “I know you probably have reason to think that about him. Hell, I… I thought he was like that when I first met him. But trust me, if you get to know him, and you’re not screwing it up by being a clumsy, stupid, over-thinking fangirl around him-”

She cleared her throat when she caught Chat’s little smile. “Y-You’ll find that he’s pretty cool. And cute. And sweet. And kind of a dork.”

“So…” Chat put on his thinking face, “Kind of like you?”

He thought it was pretty smooth. Marinette, evidently, did not, pinching the bridge of her nose and groaning. “When did you become such a flirt?”

“Since I found someone who attracted my interest.” He said honestly, like even he just realized he was flirting.

Marinette didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes.

“So, what’s your plan here?” Chat asked playfully. “’Cause I don’t think you can just keep me locked up in your bedroom forever. People might start talking.”

“Not that I mind being wrapped up by a beautiful lady,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

“In your dreams, Cat,” Marinette shot back. “I do have standards, you know.”

Chat grinned. “Ah, but bad never looked this good.”

“As it turns out, evil is pretty ugly,” Marinette said with a cruel smile. “I’m really into good boys, sorry.”

“Oh, I can be a good boy,” Chat teased, his voice dropping. “For the right lady.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Do I need to get the spray bottle, Kitty?”

Chat chuckled. “I need a whole lot more than cold water to cool down, Princess.”

Without missing a beat, Marinette whipped out a spray bottle and doused him with cold water. Chat yelped, hissing like an actual cat as he squirmed in his chair. “W-Wait! Put down the spray! I yield, I yield!”

Satisfied, Marinette lowered the bottle with a smug grin. “Now that’s a good boy.”

Chat, still dripping, chuckled breathlessly. “You know, if you keep me here any longer, my dad is going to get worried. And I think Ladybug would appreciate you not triggering an akuma this late.”

Marinette tapped his hand playfully. “I think she’d appreciate me snatching your ring and cuffing you for her even more.”

“Good plan, Princess.” Chat raised an eyebrow and wiggled his fingers as much as he could under the layers of fabric she’d bound him with. “Small problem though—you wrapped my ring under three layers of bindings.”

Marinette leaned forward, her hand hovering over his. “Then I’ll cut them open and snag your ring.”

Chat, cocky as ever, grinned. “And if I break out before you get the ring?”

“You won’t,” Marinette replied sharply, meeting his gaze head-on.

Their eyes locked, neither willing to back down, both leaning unconsciously closer. The challenge hung between them, unspoken, as they grew more intense with every second.

“I’m pretty fast,” Chat murmured, his voice low, playful. “Cat-like reflexes and all.”

“I’m fast too,” Marinette replied, her eyes glinting as her fingers traced the fabric binding his wrists. Chat suddenly felt his heart beating louder and louder, each pulse quickening as her touch lingered a little too long. “And the rest of me isn’t bound.”

Chat swallowed hard, his cocky exterior cracking ever so slightly. “Not too sure about that.”

Marinette’s gaze softened, but there was a challenge behind it. “You’re a dumb guy. You’re not sure about much.”

He leaned forward as much as he could, feeling her breath warm against his skin, so close now that he could barely think straight. “Okay, but I warn you,” he hissed, “when I get out, I won’t be merciful.”

He had no idea how he got here. It was just playful teasing earlier, easing the tension, making Marinette comfortable and not try to call the police on him or take his ring. But now she was here, she was so close and- Damn, how did he never realize how good Marinette looked until she was right up in his face? And he didn’t know what conditioner she used, but her scent was driving his enhanced sense of smell insane.

Her eyes were soft and daring, just radiating the sort of warmth you could curl up to, and suddenly Chat never wanted to look at anything else again. She was staring at him, determined, with her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, a layer of sheen over her soft skin, and her lips ever so slightly apart. They were plump too, with the sort of texture that just immediately made Chat want to know what they feel like, to reach up and brush across them with anything.

Suddenly his heart was doing flips and telling him that nothing in his life would mean anything if he couldn’t get Marinette to look at him like that every day. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was adorable. She was also beautiful, and right now she was also hot. He knew that technically those words could all mean the same thing, but he felt it was important to himself that he separate them into three categories that Marinette managed to dominate individually.

“Oh, I think I can handle you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with playful defiance.

“Really?” Chat whispered back, his lips mere inches away from her own, the tension between them thickening.

“Really,” Marinette murmured, her forehead now pressing gently against his, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. Chat’s pulse raced, and suddenly, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her. The thought hit him like a freight train—he wanted to kiss her, really kiss her. More than anything.

Chat smirked, the tension unbearable. “We’ll see about that—”

Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted, blaring inside Chat’s mind. “Kitty Paw, status report!”

Chat jumped, his eyes widening in horror as the butterfly symbol appeared over his eyes. Marinette, equally startled, gasped and shoved his chair in panic, causing it to tip over with a loud thud.

“I’m getting a lot of strange emotional signals from you,” Hawkmoth’s voice continued, oblivious to the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Gah!” Chat yelped, scrambling back to his feet. “D-Dad, don’t scare me like that!”

Oh god. I almost- My Dad almost saw- Oh, this is so embarrassing! He found his fingers rushing through his hair, desperately gripping his scalp to numb the sensation of his heart thumping out of his chest.

“Did anything happen? Did the giant get you?” Hawkmoth pressed, his tone demanding.

Chat hissed, “He’s gonna if you make me jump and wake him up!”

“Well, hurry up! I’m starving!” Hawkmoth moaned like a needy child.

He raised his hands up, imagining himself throttling his father for interrup- Wait, hands? Chat glanced down to see that the bindings, as well as the chair he was tied to, had been broken apart from the fall. “Oh, hey, I’m free.”

Marinette had retreated into the corner of the room, desperately trying to hide her blushing face. “Y-You should probably go now,” she stammered.

“Right, right…” Chat said, brushing himself off as he stood.

He got up and fled toward the balcony hatch, only to come to a stop on the first step. He stroked his chin, pondering. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Huh?” Marinette asked, peeking out from her corner.

“I got the haul, I left the money…” His lips curled into a mischievous grin as he rounded on her. “Oh, right, I remember now.”

“What’s with that look?” Marinette asked, unease creeping into her voice. “Chat?”

“Kitty?” she repeated, taking a step back.

“Say something!”

The Black Cat pounced.

---

An hour later, as the transformation fell and Adrien was back in the comforts of his bed room, he was sure that Marinette would, eventually, look back on this night and laugh. Really, when you  think about it, it was a really cool prank!

…

If not, it was a good thing that she didn’t know that he was Chat Noir.

Plagg headed straight to the cheese fridge the moment he was free, grumbling. “After what you put me through tonight, there better be camembert in the fridge, Kid.”

Adrien flopped down on his bed, munching on his own special treat. “Aw, come on, it’s not that bad.”

Plagg scoffed, spraying gooey cheese chunks across the carpet with every word. “I merge with my holder to deal out chaos and stylistic destruction; not to play the awkward third wheel to your teenage wet dreams.”

“Hey, it’s not like that!” Adrien shot up, spluttering. “I was the perfect gentleman.”

“Kid, I was a part of you.” Plagg threw out his cheese-drenched paw out towards Adrien, giggling. “There was nothing gentle about your thoughts when your little girlfriend got on top of you.”

That was a slanderous lie! Adrien had nothing but pure thoughts and noble intentions. Now, Chat’s eyes may have focused on how much shoulder Marinette’s pajama top offered him, but that was just because her shirt was really cute. He wasn’t being… Perverse or anything.

That was his story, and he was sticking with it.

“S-She’s not my girlfriend.” He turned away from Plagg’s amused, disgusting gaze. “She’s just a friend.”

Plagg raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “She practically has a shrine to you in her room. She’s head over heels for ya, Kid; you just need to smile at her, and she’ll be putty in your paws.”

Adrien shook his head, frowning. “She’s head over heels for Adrien Agreste. It’s his smile she wants.”

“...Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you were Larry Agreste,” Plagg replied, deadpan.

“She likes the model, Plagg! She hates Chat Noir, and the guy under the mask is just some sheltered dude who’s good at pretending to be someone else.”

Plagg’s expression softened slightly. “I think you’re thinking too much about this.”

“Look, I’ve never dated before or had a crush on a girl before—”

“Believe me, everybody knows,” Plagg interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“BUT I know that I couldn’t be with someone who I had to lie to about who I am to keep her happy,” Adrien confessed, his voice dropping. “God, it would kill me inside, and I’d probably end up hurting her too.”

Plagg looked at him seriously for a moment before countering, “So, Pigtails doesn’t get Prince Charming then? Geez, you find a girl who’s crazy about you, and you give up instantly.”

“I’m not giving up,” Adrien insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. “I just… need to get Marinette to see that Chat Noir is super cool.”

“Now that, I can get on board with,” Plagg said, grinning. “’Cause there’s no cat cooler than this black cat!”

Adrien laughed, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Plagg, I’m going to make that girl love me if it’s the last thing I do.”

---

Meanwhile, back at the bakery, Marinette watched in resignation as Tikki’s tiny hands worked on the clusterfuck of tape, glue and material Chat had used to bind her to her bed frame.

“He thinks he’s so fucking funny…”

“It is kind of-”

“It’s not!” Marinette bellowed, eyes twitching as Tikki continued to giggle, nibbling at the tape.

“You know, you could just go ‘Spots On’ and rip all this off as Ladybug.”

“And let that rat bastard beat me?” She laughed like a woman gone mad, “I don’t think so!”

Tikki shook her head, humans were so strange.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Plagg.

“Tikki, I’m going to murder that cat if it’s the last thing I do.”

Notes:

*Chat being tied down and getting aggressive.*

Chat Noir and Marinette: "Oh boy, I sure hope this doesn't awaken anything in me!"

Chapter 11: Partners In Crime: Hero Management

Summary:

Volpina educates Ladybug on how she's not using her full marketing potential.

Ladybug was all nerves today. She found herself obsessively patting down the creases of her suit as if it were a skirt, desperate to smooth out any slight imperfection while the various possible rejections played out in her head.

Volpina was her new partner, someone who’d play a very important role in Ladybug’s life, her sole confidant when Master Fu was not available. Their rather rushed introduction and Volpina’s surge of antics sweeping Paris may not have endeared Ladybug to her, but that didn’t stop all the Marinette parts of her pre-planning a freak out.

She was meeting Volpina, officially, for the first time today. They needed to talk, lay down some ground rules, get to know the person they were trusting to have each other’s backs. And all Ladybug could think was how she’d stack up to Volpina. What if she took one look at Ladybug and saw straight away that she was no good? What if she was really awkward with her? What if they started off on the wrong foot and spent the rest of their career tolerating each other’s existence?

What if she turned around, decided that Hawkmoth was cooler and pulled a Chat Noir on her?

Suffice it to say, Ladybug was glad for the gleam of the sun peeking over the skyline just as she landed on the rooftop. The glare was perfect for shielding her obvious nerves from view.

Volpina had arrived before her, now perched atop the edge of the roof, giving her a perfect high view of the world below them. It was a dramatic sight, crouched low with one leg tensed up and bent forward, as if raring to jump into action at any minute. The fur of her costume billowed in an impossible lashing of winds that seemed entirely localised on Volpina and no where else. And if Ladybug really opened her ears, she could just hear the faint tune of a theme song in the background.

Her new partner wanted to make an entrance clearly.

Ladybug cleared her throat, "Volpina, I think we’re long overdue for an actual introduction."

"Ah, Buggy!" Volpina replied with an exaggerated wave, her voice dripping with faux enthusiasm. "I was wondering when we’d get to chat. I’ve been so busy."

I did not consent to another dumb nickname, damn it!

Ladybug raised an eyebrow and held up her phone, scrolling through countless Volpina posts surrounding various public stunts, all tagged with "#VolpinaMagic" and "#FoxTricks."

"Yeah, I’ve noticed," Ladybug said, unable to hide the exasperation in her voice.

"Oh, are you one of my followers?" Volpina’s eyes lit up as she excitedly clapped her hands together. "That’s great!" She paused, smirking. "I’d follow you back, but, uh, you don’t seem to have a profile."

Ladybug’s mouth fell open slightly, suddenly feeling sheepish. "W-Well, I didn’t see the point. My job is to save the city, not gossip about saving the city."

Volpina laughed, a little too loudly, flipping her hair back. "Yes, yes, you’re dedicated. I love that. It’s adorable. But it doesn’t exactly dazzle the adoring crowd, does it?"

"I’m not here to dazzle anybody," Ladybug said, standing a little straighter, though a slight screech to her voice, and crossing her arms.

"I can tell." Volpina’s grin widened as she waved a dismissive hand.

Ladybug felt the irritation rise in her chest, but she forced it down. They were supposed to be partners now, right? She had to try and make this work. Push Volpina so hard and she might leave, and Ladybug would be abandoned, again, on her own again, and feel completely stupid, again.

"Look," Ladybug said, trying to refocus, "I know we haven’t had a chance to set some ground rules—"

She reached forward to place a hand on Volpina’s shoulder, only for her hand to pass right through the fox heroine, who dissolved into mist.

Ladybug blinked, momentarily startled, before hearing Volpina's shrill laughter behind her once again. She spun around to find Volpina reclining lazily on another part of the roof, her legs crossed in the air, her fake tail curling upwards to wave.

"Aha! The look on your face," Volpina giggled, tapping the end of her flue against her forehead. "Priceless."

Ladybug sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Is this really a good use of your miraculous?"

"Oh, don’t give me that sour look," Volpina replied, pushing herself off her comfy slope and hopping onto Ladybug’s level. "Tricks like that are a raging hit online." She flashed a mischievous smile. "I’m hoping to start a new trend – Volpina Pranks."

Volpina suddenly dropped down and launched herself at Ladybug, almost looking like she was going to go for a hit, only to dive past with another cackle. Before Ladybug could respond, Volpina raised her flute to her lips and blew a playful note. An illusion of a giant meteor came crashing down from the sky, landing on the rooftop in a dramatic explosion. Ladybug flinched—only for the meteor to dissolve into thin air a moment later.

Ladybug peered past her arms, having thrown them up as a shield when she spotted the sudden danger, feeling completely moronic. She literally saw Volpina activate her power, and yet she still instinctually fell for the lie; was she really that gullible?

Another illusion!? Ladybug cried out internally, How many times can she use her powers before she detransforms?

Ladybug stared, her nerves now replaced by sheer confusion. "How are you even doing all this?" she asked, eyeing Volpina suspiciously. "Your miraculous should be beeping right now…"

Volpina smirked, waving her finger in front of her lips, bathing in Ladybug’s rapt attention. "It would be," she said, twirling her flute, "If I didn’t take the limiters off."

Ladybug’s jaw dropped. "You did what?!"

There are limiters? You can remove them?

Volpina twirled her flute lazily, as if this was all very casual. "The little child lock the guardians placed on the miraculous? I wasn’t content to just wait until adulthood to get to the good stuff, so I figured out the password."

"You can just… do that?" Ladybug asked, disbelief etched on her face. "Isn’t that dangerous?"

"The only rewards worth getting are the ones that come with a risk," Volpina said with a wink. "As long as I’m responsible with my power and don’t overexert myself, I’ll be fine."

Volpina had full reign over the power of illusion. That thought honestly unsettled Ladybug, just imagining what sort of havoc you could wreak, how much you could distort someone’s sense of reality, with such power. If Ladybug had never tried to touch Volpina, she’d have been none the wiser to the fox sitting right behind her.

Ladybug ran a hand through her hair in exasperation. "You call this being responsible?"

Volpina waved off her concern with a flick of her wrist. "I know the limitations of my body. Besides, my miraculous isn’t part of the big boys' club like yours and Chat Noir’s. My abilities have a lower cost than yours."

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. "How… how do you know all this?"

"I asked my kwami. Duh." Volpina smirked again. "I guess mine is just more open-minded than yours."

Thanks for nothing, Tikki!

Ladybug stared at her, stunned into silence. This was not how she’d expected this meeting to go. She came into this looking for a new partner, but all things considered, she was facing the upgraded model. Volpina had a handle on everything, she knew more than Ladybug and managed to even screw around with the Guardian magic for her own advantage. In just one week, Volpina had Ladybug feeling less than equal in this formula.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Volpina cut her off again.

"Look, anyway you slice it, we’re putting our lives on the line here. The last thing I’m doing is going in without knowing what I’m doing in the first place." Volpina lunged closer to Ladybug, slinging an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends. "Hey, don’t sweat it. We all got different processes, Buggy. But we’re partners, so we’ll learn to work through it."

Ladybug gave Volpina a sideways glance, feeling like she was in way over her head. "Partners, huh?"

Volpina smiled, but it was never genuine, never warm; there was always something smug about it. "Chat Noir probably gave you some trust issues, I get that. But I’m determined to help you out, Buggy." She winked. "Make you believe in the magic again!"

Volpina grinned slyly as she leaned back on the rooftop, her tail swishing with satisfaction. "And my first miracle, Buggy, will be to teach you how to manage your image."

Before Ladybug could even respond, Volpina swiped open her phone and, with a few quick taps, brought up a series of viral posts. The screen was a blur of perfect poses, fan selfies, dramatic rescues, and motivational quotes. But what really struck Ladybug was the timing of it all.

"Wait… how do you have any time to do all of this?" Ladybug asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. She had been through countless battles with akumas, and between school and patrols, it was hard enough for her to stay on top of life, let alone run a full social media campaign like Volpina seemed to be doing.

Volpina smirked, flipping her phone closed with a flourish. "Oh, I don’t." She winked. "That’s why I set it all up in advance. Posts, events, greetings—they’re all scheduled some time before I actually put them out."

Ladybug’s eyes widened. "You… you schedule everything that far in advance?"

"Of course!" Volpina twirled her flute, perfectly balanced, perfectly in control; just like her. "Did you know I can set my illusions to a timer? I can write the perfect scenario days in advance, then when the moment comes, boom, I sweep through it in a minute, greet the fans, make them happy, and voilà! All without completely disrupting my life."

It’s like the universe is mocking me…

"Okay, that is what I wanted to talk about." Ladybug crossed her arms, her expression turning serious. "I don’t think you were given this amazing power just to use it for showboating."

"It’s not showboating." Volpina leaned in, her lips pursed, revealing enough of her teeth to make them briefly look like fangs. "It’s marketing. Gotta work hard to stay on top in this world, Buggy."

Ladybug sighed, rubbing her temples. "What does getting likes on Twitter have to do with being heroes?"

Volpina’s eyes gleamed as she leaned back. "A hero isn’t just someone who punches the bad guys, Buggy. They’re a servant of the community."

Ladybug tilted her head. It sounded right, but she had the sneaking suspicion that they didn’t see that description in the same way. "A servant of the community?"

"Exactly!" Volpina straightened up, her voice taking on a more theatrical tone. "If a hero isn’t keeping the community happy, people start fearing and hating them; and when that happens, everyone suffers." She leaned in dramatically. "And then things get ugly."

Ladybug blinked, genuinely confused. As long as they do their jobs, nobody would have any reason to hate them, right? "We… we fight akumas. We save people. How is that not enough?"

Volpina gave a mock sigh of pity, shaking her head. "Oh, Buggy. You’re so adorable. It’s not enough just to save people. We owe it to ourselves and the good people of Paris to keep them not only safe but entertained."

Ladybug looked back sceptically. "So, all the sponsorships, donations, and attention—that’s for the people?"

Volpina winked, giving a playful shrug. "There’s nothing wrong with us enjoying some appreciation."

Ladybug rubbed her temples again. "That’s not what heroes do, Volpina."

Volpina grinned, clearly unconvinced. "Says the girl who doesn’t even have a single follower."

Ladybug’s patience was wearing thin. "You’re missing the point. Heroes don’t need to be liked to do their jobs. We do what’s right, whether or not we get applause for it."

Volpina rolled her eyes. "Sure, that’s the bare minimum. But if you’re smart, Buggy, you’ll realize that the applause is what makes you stick around longer. You might want to give it a shot."

Ladybug huffed, her frustration finally bubbling to the surface. "I’m here to protect the city. I’m not here to be famous."

Okay, true, Marinette absolutely enjoyed not being the class charity case for once and having all those people cheer for her really brightened up her life. But she didn’t save people for the attention, she wouldn’t stop saving them just because they didn’t throw her a parade.

Volpina stood tall, her tail swishing confidently as Ladybug tried to ground herself. The entire conversation had gone off the rails from the start, and now, as Volpina pranced around her like a predator sizing up its prey, Ladybug’s frustration was starting to bubble over.

“Why not?” Volpina teased, her voice sickeningly sweet. “You know, I may not be able to peek behind the mask, but I think I have a good impression of who you are.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Don’t hurt your brain too much.”

But Volpina wasn’t done. She began to slowly circle Ladybug, her movements calculated, like a lioness hunting its next meal. She pressed her finger flat against her chin, pretending to think, pretending that she needed any time at all to figure out such a simple person. "Let’s see... You’re probably a daddy’s girl, raised on how special you’d be, right?"

Ladybug stiffened. The jab hit closer to home than she'd expected, but she bit her lip, refusing to give Volpina the satisfaction of knowing she was getting to her. She loved her dad and he said sweet things, what was wrong with that? Why’d she say it like it was some sort of insult?

"You don’t have many friends," Volpina continued, her voice sickly sweet. So sweet it would leave holes in you. "At least, not ones you don’t constantly worry are getting bored of you.”

Ladybug clenched her fists, trying to ignore the stinging truth buried in Volpina’s words.

“I bet behind that mask,” Volpina purred, “You’re a raging storm of meek insecurities, scared of your own shadow. You never ask why someone wants you to do something or act a certain way, that’s too scary. You just do whatever you need to appease them, because any frown or irritation will live in your head for weeks after.”

“S-Shut up,” Ladybug stammered, her voice wavering.

Volpina grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “I know the truth hurts, but I already told you, Buggy; we’re partners now.”

Before Ladybug could protest, Volpina pulled Ladybug’s head into her hands, fingers digging into her cheeks and forced Ladybug to stare into her reflection in Volpina’s eyes. It was only now, with Volpina literally grabbing her, that Ladybug knew for sure that this was the real Volpina.

Volpina’s stare was scrutinizing and piercing, breaking through Ladybug’s mask and finding Marinette underneath. And from her sneering grin, she found potential in what she saw. "We’re superheroes, capable of doing anything we put our minds to. We save lives, make the tough choices, and put our lives on the line to protect all the people who’d never do the same for us."

She found what she wanted, an opening, and she started digging. Volpina twisted Ladybug around, settling her chin on Ladybug’s shoulder so that her lips hissed in Ladybug’s ear. “People like us, we deserve to be adored. Don’t you want to be adored, Ladybug?”

Ladybug tried to pull away, but her eyes were drawn to something in the distance—an Adrien Agreste billboard, his handsome face plastered across the skyline. He liked Ladybug, he said he thought Ladybug was awesome. Did he adore Ladybug as much as she adored him?

Volpina noticed immediately. “All he does is flex his muscles in front of a camera, and girls worship him,” she said with a smirk, watching Ladybug’s longing expression. “Oh, even you, it seems.”

Ladybug blushed furiously. “H-He’s just… Very attractive is all.”

Volpina laughed, revelling in Ladybug’s sudden embarrassment. “Oh, I understand. He really inherited his mother’s genetics.” Volpina, however, wasn’t done twisting the knife. Her hiss as sharp as a razor. "Sadly, I’ve heard he’s off the market."

Ladybug’s heart sank. "R-Really?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice betrayed her disappointment.

Volpina leaned in, her eyes glinting with malicious delight. “Some girl—Lila Rossi, I think—managed to steal his heart. On patrol, I even caught the two in the middle of a heated moment.”

Ladybug’s jaw dropped. “You usually use your powers to perv on unsuspecting couples?” she snapped, trying to mask her growing anger.

Volpina feigned innocence, shrugging. “I didn’t mean to pass them, you know. But from what I saw, the Agreste boy really knows how to make a girl scream.”

Ladybug’s teeth ground together, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles turned white. “That’s great,” she bit out, her voice strained. “I’m so happy for her.”

She already knew Lila and Adrien were a thing, she saw how close they were, how buddy-buddy they were. But a small part of Marinette hoped that there was still room for… For something. Having it directly stated just suddenly made it real.

Volpina smiled wickedly. “It does feel a bit unfair, doesn’t it?” she asked, leaning in close, her breath hot against Ladybug’s ear.

Ladybug jerked back, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“All that power, all the work you do,” Volpina whispered, her voice a dangerous gasping cry, “And you don’t even get to be with your dream boy.”

“It’s fine,” Ladybug muttered, her voice tight.

“I believe you,” Volpina said softly. “But I’m just saying… Nothing fills the hole of rejection quite like the acceptance of adoring fans.”

Ladybug’s hands shook as she tried to keep her cool, but Volpina was pushing all the wrong buttons, and she knew it.

“See ya at the next akuma, Buggy,” Volpina called, her voice dripping with smugness as she stepped away. “I’m really looking forward to our partnership.”

Ladybug watched as Volpina disappeared into the shadows, her taunting laugh echoing in the night. Ladybug stood there, feeling a mix of anger, frustration, and… Doubt.

She couldn’t help but feel that the universe was saying that she was better off alone.

Notes:

Next time, Adrien seeks out someone who can instruct him in the way of endearing himself to his crush. Sadly, he has to settle for Nathalie.

Chapter 12: Partners In Crime: The Talk

Summary:

Adrien needs advice on wooing his lady. Unfortunately, he has to settle for Nathalie.

Nathalie's mood:

Nathalie was an organized woman. From her wardrobe to her schedule, to even her diet, everything was neatly arranged into strict categories, dates and backed by pie charts. She was especially good at organizing her fantasies, locking them away when she needed to focus, before plucking them from her mental vault in the few fleeing hours of free time she dared indulge in.

It was specifically because she was so organized that she knew exactly what hours she could push aside for herself, a time where everyone was set to be out of the mansion, lost to meetings or mindless entertainment. See, people, especially those growing up in such a rigid machine as a corporate entity, had their own rhythm. An unconscious schedule synced to their internal clock that, unless disrupted, they stuck to just out of natural habit.

Gabriel has a meeting until three, where after he will sink into his seat and spend ten minutes grumbling about a niggling little detail of how someone spoke that stuck inside his head as disrespectful. Then he’d wonder off to the kitchen to refill his coffee mug, forget where the coffee is kept for the forty-sixth time and rifle through the cupboards – and without fail, it would always be in the same order – until he found his prize in the last place he checks.

And, thinking nobody was looking, he’d commit to a cheeky air fisting motion while making an incredibly smug sneer like he’d just pulled off the mother of all sneaky, villainous schemes.

Adrien would stew in his room, trading barbs with Plagg, idly perusing his twitter feed for memes and Chat Noir gossip and would take roughly fifty minutes talking himself into trying to sneak out.

It moved like clockwork, everyone had their positions, their routines, and they all stuck to it.

Until today.

She hadn’t noticed that Adrien had invaded her space at first, she was too distracted by her relaxation. In her hand was a glass of fine wine she hid around the mansion specifically for these occasions, swirled back and forth as she slumped down in her comfy, leather chair, and discarded her blazer just so she could breathe for once.

Her attention was drawn to a personal desire, her mind conjuring up images of a stone-faced Ga- man who shall not be named calling her into his office. It would be to talk about her new, cheeky little habit she’d been mercilessly teasing him with all week. The moment Hawkmoth explained her codename to her, that she was his ‘queen’, it had unlocked something particularly sadistic inside her.

At first, it started as a mistake, her just randomly blurting out ‘my king’ instead of sir during a particularly hectic day. But then she saw how it affected him. A simple title brought him to a sudden halt, the man prepared for everything so easily caught on the backfoot just to process those little words.

His face would shift into this cute puzzled expression, as if she’d presented him with the world’s most frustrating mystery. She knew he was deep in contemplation, trying to figure it out, figure her out, staring at her with that intense, searching gaze that made her want to squeal like a school girl.

In a way, it was payback for how he did the same thing to her so casually every day since they first met. And how much worse it got when Emilie staked her claim on the man.

Now, in the fantasy, he’d confront her on this, accusing her of driving him crazy, of pushing him to insanity. It would be so unprofessional for his assistant to leave her boss with so many… Confusing feelings. He’d grab her by the arm, repeating to himself that she was provoking him, that this was what she wanted, that she was driving him insane and had to answer for what she’d done to him.

And then…

And then…

And then Nathalie peered over the rim of her screen to spot Adrien sitting at the other end of the room, politely waiting his turn like he was at the DMV.

This was her time. How did he even know she was here?

She quickly composed herself, glancing at the screen in front of her, which unfortunately displayed a thread from Akuma Corner. It was currently hosting some ‘tasteful’ fanart and deep speculation about Hawkmoth’s fashion choices. She slid her fingers over the mouse, subtly trying to push the tab away without Adrien noticing.

"Nathalie, are you busy?" Adrien asked, his voice soft and uncertain.

She didn’t flinch. She had to stay cool. Nathalie always stayed cool. "Almost constantly," she said with her usual level-headed tone, though inwardly, she was praying he wouldn’t move any closer.

“Oh.” Adrien seemed to hesitate.

"But… I can make time," Nathalie added, already nudging the screen ever so slightly to the side, just enough to hide the Akuma Corner thread. She mentally cursed herself for not hearing him sooner. "It’s all just signing off paperwork anyway."

Adrien smiled, looking a bit more hopeful as he leaned forward. Nathalie’s fingers twitched nervously, ensuring the screen stayed just out of his line of sight.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat, regaining her composure. "What did you need, Adrien?"

"I need advice," Adrien said, the words spilling out in a rush before he paused. "On something important."

Nathalie nodded, mentally preparing herself. “Go on.”

"It’s like… uh…" Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know…”

He stuttered, he stumbled, he spluttered until his cheeks were red and strained. “I don’t know how to say it all of the sudden. Heh heh.”

Plagg, who had apparently decided to make himself visible to Nathalie, floated over lazily. "Your darling growing boy needs to have the talk, Glasses."

Nathalie's entire body went rigid. "The talk?" she repeated, blinking. Oh no. Oh no no no.

Adrien, oblivious to Nathalie’s inner turmoil, nodded. "Yeah, it’s kind of a crisis right now."

Nathalie had always been prepared to handle anything as Gabriel’s assistant. Akuma attacks? Easy. Marketing disasters? Done before lunch. But this? She could feel her professional mask slipping.

"Okay, okay," she started, scrambling for something to say. “So, when a mother is at the end of her rope and faces the crippling fear that her life has no meaning, she meets a father in a hotel bar, gets liquored up and buys cheap—”

"Not that talk, Nathalie!" Adrien interrupted, his face a mix of shock and horror. “Geez, I’ve already been taught that!”

Nathalie’s eyes widened. “You said the talk! That is universally what you call the reproduction discussion!”

“I meant about getting a girl to like me!” Adrien burst out, flustered. "That’s all!"

Nathalie blinked, then felt the color drain from her face. “You could’ve said that!” she blurted out, trying desperately to backtrack.

Adrien shifted awkwardly. “Uh, Nathalie, that story—”

“That hypothetical I came up with on the fly and is in no way related to my own family history,” Nathalie interjected quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly. She wasn’t sure why she’d let that particular backstory slip out. It was definitely time to pivot. “Ahem. Are you… okay?” she asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I should be asking you that,” Adrien replied, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m peachy.” Nathalie’s tone was sharp, but she quickly softened it. “Ask the question again.”

Adrien exhaled, looking grateful for the shift in topic. "There’s this girl," he began, his expression softening. "And she’s like, the cutest girl in the world. The funniest. The coolest. And—"

Plagg snorted, floating lazily nearby. “He’s in deep, Glasses.”

Adrien ignored him. "I think I really like her," he continued. "Like, really like her."

Nathalie sighed. “Adrien, don’t tell me that Paris’ youngest heartthrob is nervous about asking a girl out on a date.”

Adrien winced. "Of course, your father might have… opinions on that,” Nathalie added, knowing full well how Gabriel would react to such a conversation. Gabriel had been quite clear that his son has no time to waste on silly girls, not when there’s villainy to be done, not until he’s thirty at the very least.

Adrien shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that. I don’t want a girl to like me just because of a character I play. I want her to like me, not the brand.”

Nathalie nodded slowly. "And?"

Adrien’s shoulders slumped a little. "And she hates Chat Noir."

Nathalie raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not too—”

"Like really hates him," Adrien interjected, looking frustrated. "I walked into school the other day to find her wearing a shirt with 'Ask me about my anti-Cat agenda' printed on it."

Nathalie blinked, staring at Adrien. “Oh. That’s… unfortunate.”

Adrien groaned. “She’s even intimidated by Adrien. I don’t think I’d get anywhere with her as him.”

Nathalie tried to suppress a smirk. "Then just be yourself," she said simply, though inwardly she was beginning to understand the full scope of the problem.

Adrien bit his lip, his expression shifting to something more vulnerable. "If it ends up being serious with this girl, she’ll eventually find out I’m Chat Noir. And if she already hates him… well, that’ll hurt her.”

Nathalie’s brow furrowed. "Why are you coming to me with this, Adrien? As depressing as it is to admit, I have little to no experience in this department."

Adrien sighed. “Literally the only other person I can talk to about Chat Noir’s love problems is Father.”

Nathalie winced. “Good point.”

“I don’t want to screw this up and hurt her, Nathalie. But if I do nothing, it’s gonna bug me for the rest of my life.”

Nathalie paused, her usual sharp demeanor softening. “Adrien,” she began gently, “I know you want this girl to like you for who you are, and that’s noble. But… you can’t control how she feels about both parts of you. So, introduce her to the real Adrien first. If she likes him—likes you—you’ll have a foundation to work with.”

Adrien looked uncertain, but he nodded slowly. "But I don't know how to make that foundation..."

"Hm." Nathalie, finally able to relax a little, smiled back. “Just don’t ask me about that talk again.”

Adrien laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Noted.”

Nathalie leaned forward, her fingers steepling in front of her, giving Adrien what she hoped was a wise, worldly expression. In truth, her mind was racing. How exactly did one give advice on romance when their own experiences were… less than successful?

"Okay, Adrien," she began carefully, "here’s what you absolutely shouldn’t do."

Adrien perked up, looking at her with hopeful eyes. Nathalie suppressed a sigh—poor boy—he had no idea what kind of mess he’d wandered into.

“First of all," Nathalie started, "don’t get too attached to the idea of waiting for the perfect moment to tell her how you feel." Her tone was steady, but her mind drifted. Like, maybe don’t let years slip by, thinking you’ll eventually work up the courage or that there will be some miraculous opportunity where it’s the perfect time to say something.

Adrien nodded, looking intently at her. Nathalie pressed on.

"And certainly don't wait too long to confess your feelings so that… I don't know, some blond snob who doesn’t deserve him—her!—can swoop in and make her smile in ways you could never hope to make her smile," she said, her voice just a touch more bitter than she intended.

Adrien blinked. "Huh?"

Nathalie cleared her throat, realizing she was dangerously close to veering into the deeply personal. "What I mean is, waiting too long can lead to regrets. Big ones. And you don’t want to end up being that… person who just watches from the sidelines, wondering what could have been."

Adrien bit his lip, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense…"

Nathalie waved a hand as if to dismiss her own tangent. "Also, don't try to become someone you think she’ll like. Be yourself. I know that sounds cliché, but trust me, trying to act like someone you’re not… it doesn’t end well."

Because before you know it, you're obsessively running his entire life, hoping he’ll notice you exist outside of signing off his ridiculous projects, all while pretending you don’t feel a thing and that you don’t get choked up every time he tells you how important you are to him.

Adrien scratched his head. "But I am two people—Adrien and Chat Noir. And she likes neither."

Nathalie sighed and shook her head. "The point is, she has to like the real you, not the person you think you need to be. And definitely don’t go overboard trying to impress her by doing something dramatic. Like, say, secretly plotting grand gestures behind the scenes. That’s a terrible idea."

Adrien squinted, clearly unsure what Nathalie was getting at. "I wasn’t planning anything like that, but… okay?"

Nathalie’s lips twitched as she continued, the memories of her own missteps haunting her. “And don’t, under any circumstances, spend years convincing yourself that if you’re just indispensable enough—if you handle everything in their life—then they’ll eventually see you. Because people like that don’t always… notice.”

Adrien blinked, a little taken aback. "Wow, um… that sounds kind of… personal?"

Nathalie stiffened. "No, no, just general advice!" she said quickly. “Purely hypothetical."

“Riiight.”

“And finally,” Nathalie continued, her voice dropping as she leaned closer to Adrien, “Whatever you do, don’t assume that just because someone doesn’t immediately like you, that it’s hopeless. People can… change their minds.”

Because sometimes people don’t realize what’s in front of them until it’s too late.

Adrien’s face softened as he took in her words. "So… you're saying I shouldn’t give up on her? I just need to show her that there’s more to Chat than just my world class puns."

Nathalie exhaled, feeling a pang in her chest that she quickly suppressed. "Exactly. Don’t give up. You’re the whole package, Adrien, you just need to show her that."

Adrien smiled. "Thanks, Nathalie. That actually really helps."

Suddenly, he’s around the table and his arms are around her, crushing her against his shoulders. Nathalie was not someone who received physical affection a lot, and neither was Adrien one who dished it out. So, for a moment, she was just stunned and blushing, softly patting the boy’s back as something warm and fuzzy took root in her heart.

Nathalie forced a small smile in return. "Of course. Just… be careful, Adrien. Don’t make the same mistakes as…" She paused, catching herself. “Just… be careful.”

Adrien stood, looking a little more confident. "I will. I think I know what to do now. You’re the best, Nathalie." He flashed her a warm, genuine grin before turning to leave the room.

Nathalie watched him go, the weight of her own advice sinking in. She sat back in her chair, swirling the now-warm wine in her glass, staring at the door long after Adrien had left.

She sighed, muttering to herself, "Great advice, Nathalie. Now, if only you’d listened to it years ago." She took a deep breath, lifted her glass of wine, and whispered to herself, “Yep, definitely missed that memo.”

"Back to business," she muttered, opening her laptop to find the browser tab she had very cautiously minimized when Adrien had walked in.

The moment the screen flickered to life, she was greeted by the questionable content of the Akuma Corner forum, specifically a thread titled: "10 Reasons Why Hawkmoth Is Actually Super Hot (And You Should Be Ashamed For Thinking Otherwise)."

"Good lord, what am I doing?"

Her phone buzzed again. She sighed and picked it up, half-expecting another absurd fan post. Instead, it was a work email from Gabriel. Nathalie’s eyes narrowed as she opened it:

"Nathalie, when you get a chance, find out who moved the coffee. It's been missing for 46 days now."

She closed the email, set her glass down, and stared into the distance. “I work for children,” she muttered to herself, the weight of that realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Just as she was settling into that thought, a loud crash echoed from Adrien’s room, followed by a frantic "It’s fine! Everything’s fine!" from the boy.

Nathalie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yep. Children.”

But she couldn't help the small, fond smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Despite the chaos—and there was always chaos—there was a strange, comforting rhythm to it all. This was her life now, and, oddly enough, she was okay with that.

“Whoever’s captured Adrien’s heart… Well, I hope you’re ready for all the nonsense you’re being brought into.”

Notes:

"Hey, Nathalie? What was my mom like?"
"She's a man-stealing whore."
"..."
"I mean- She was cool, I guess."

Chapter 13: Partners In Crime: Feelin' Good

Summary:

Volpina and Ladybug are dangerously close to being friends. This can only end well.

Welp, it was official. Hawkmoth was getting into his groove. He must be done throwing soft balls with ‘Big Rock Guy’, ‘Dude Who Likes Pigeons’ and ‘Mime’; because what the fuck is with the power creep of Stormy Weather?

Ladybug was getting her ass kicked by a guy who was basically a human trampoline a few weeks back, what the hell was she supposed to do against a girl who was spotting out tornados?!

She pondered this as she clung to a tree; one leg wrapped around the branch while the rest of her body hung limp. She hadn’t even gotten through her introduction speech before the worlds’ worst weather girl smacked her across the city like she was nothing. She had a yoyo and neat acrobatics, what exactly was the winning strategy here if not hoping that Hawkmoth had no idea how to effectively use such power?

“So, you hanging in there, Bugaboo?” Chat hung from a lamp post across the street, snickering with his stupid, dumb face.

It was utterly mortifying. And unacceptable.

“Trust me, you dorks aren’t ready for what I’m cooking up.” She shot back, sounding much more confident than she felt.

“You know, all of this can end if you just give me your miraculous.” Chat sighed, mimicking a yawn. “I’m sure I can rock the spots better than you anyway.”

She offered a challenging glare, “Oh, please, do come and take them, Kitty. It’s gone soooo well for you before.”

Chat Noir lowered himself into a crouch, ready to pounce, his grin widening as he eyed Ladybug. “Don’t mind if I—”

“Not so fast, Pussy Cat!” A voice rang out.

Both Chat and Ladybug looked up in surprise just in time to see Volpina drop down from above, diving in from god-knows-where with a head on collision course with Chat Noir.

Chat showed no fear at the sudden interruption, in fact, he grinned. With a sly wink towards Ladybug, he proceeded to effortlessly throw himself into a nimble backflip, easily ducking past Volpina before she could even blink. “You’re gonna need quicker reflexes to ambush me!”

With no care to spare, Chat launched himself forward into a daring arc. The claws came out as he rocketed ahead, with Volpina a sitting duck as she was caught mid-air. But just as his claws connected with the back of her head, her form dissolved into a cloud of smoke.

“Is that so?” Volpina's real voice came from behind.

Before Chat could react, the real Volpina appeared beneath him, grabbing his tail mid-flip. She yanked him down with surprising strength and slammed him into the hood of the car just below them with the satisfying sound of a tin can crumbling under Chat’s weight.

“Ah. Crap,” Chat groaned as he sunk into the new Chat Noir shaped indent.

Volpina landed just behind the car and, without missing a beat, she wasted no time driving her foot into the trunk. The miraculous strength was just enough to make the car lurch, sending both it and Chat Noir rolling down the street like a soccer ball.

“I guess your reflexes aren’t up to snuff after all,” Volpina taunted, her voice laced with mock concern.

“How’s my little Buggy doing?” Volpina asked in a sing-song voice as she approached Ladybug’s perch.

Ladybug sighed, already sensing the follow up question. “Before you say it, Chat Noir already made the pun.”

Volpina pouted playfully. “He would. Anyway, any progress on planning Stormy Weather’s final broadcast?”

Before Ladybug could reply, the branch gave way, snapping in two under her weight and sending her plummeting headfirst into the ground. She was left planted in the ground like a little ladybug tree, her arms and legs splayed out and held up as branches. “I’m working on it…” Ladybug muttered, her voice muffled by dirt.

 

This was doing wonders for her confidence and inferiority complex.

Volpina stifled a giggle and ‘generously’ decided to crouch down and unplant Ladybug. “I can’t play decoy forever, you know. Do we at least know where the akuma is?”

Ladybug nodded sluggishly, dusting off her now muck-stained spandex with a groan. “The parasol. I saw it in her broadcast.”

“Well,” Volpina said, tapping her chin, “We just need to knock it out of her hand then. Easier said than done with a literal hurricane going on, but at least it’s a start.”

Ladybug glanced around at the destruction caused by Stormy Weather’s rampage. “She’s causing too much damage on the ground. We need to get her somewhere safer.”

Volpina smirked, already catching on. “Let me guess. She was akumatized because she lost her screentime, right? So why not entice her back to the studio building? That’s where the drama is.”

Ladybug nodded, her mind whirring. “Exactly. If we can get her there, we can minimize the risk to civilians—and it’ll give us the chance to grab the parasol.”

Volpina grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

Half an hour later, the two stood on top of the TVi Tower, a set up of cameras broadcasting their callout of Stormy Weather to the entire city. And right on cue, the ill-tempered weather mistress couldn’t help but call their bluff.

They didn’t watch her arrival, she announced it, splitting the sky apart and calling down a cyclone that completely caged the building within the eye of the storm. It was only Ladybug’s quick thinking that allowed her to react in time and anchor both her and Volpina to the ground with her yoyo as the storm’s violent winds lashed out at them.

Stormy Weather broke through the veil of darkness, floating down upon them like a messenger from the heavens, baring nothing but sinister smiles and a sadistic gleam in her eye. Behind her, Chat Noir was having trouble riding a tiny cloud to follow her, his brow slick with sweat every time he peered over the edge of his transportation.

She looked down at the live cameras, sneering. “Oh, this is convenient. Now I can broadcast your defeat to the entire world! The Master did say he wanted your demise on tape.” Along with her, Weather brought a cold touch, allowing tendrils of ice to creep in from below and spread throughout the roof.

Volpina let go of Ladybug, riding the wind to let it throw her over the cameras, howling with joyful cries as she did so. “Hey Mom, I’m on television!” She wooped as she grabbed hold of one of the cameras, making sure her face took off half the frame as she hoisted it over her shoulder, aiming it towards Stormy and Ladybug. “Watch me and my new BFF take this loser off the air!”

Stormy let out a disgruntled growl and threw her arm out. In an instant, there was the bellow of thunder and then came a flash of burning, electric light cutting across the sky. Volpina only barely managed to dodge the lightning bolt, sacrificing the camera to it as she was sent tumbling across the roof.

You know, Ladybug thought, swallowing, I don’t want to be happy that my partner almost got fried. But, like, it does make me feel like less of a screw up.

She ended up back where she started, grabbing hold of Ladybug’s leg to stable herself. “Seems like a good time for a bit of ladybug luck, Buggy.” She huffed.

“Right, right.” Ladybug nodded.

Lucky Charm was the obvious answer, how Ladybug was going to use it was a different matter entirely. She looked down at her yoyo, the only thing keeping her from being dragged away by the rapid winds, with an uncertain edge. This was gonna be an awkward manuver.

“Grab onto something!”

She felt Volpina’s weight drop from her leg, the woman sliding across the floor until her back met the curve of a ventilation shift and dug her heels under its frame. Ladybug busied herself climbing her yoyo, bringing herself close enough to grab a hold of the radio tower she’d bound herself to the leg of.

It was hard to think as her hair whipped her cheeks, the roar of the cyclone tore at her ears and her eyes being smacked shut by any and all dust kicked up. The tower was pure chaos determined to swallow her whole, with Stormy as the only thing managing to remain calm.

She couldn’t think, she could stall, she couldn’t even breathe. Ladybug just had to steel herself and kick into action, disconnecting her yoyo from the tower and casting it into the air. “Lucky Charm!”

The miraculous pink glow overtook the skyline in a brief flash, unleashing shards of diamonds across the winds that scattered outward before pulling back in on each other. They came together, melding and moulding until they formed a dark shape. It was too bright to see what it was, forbidding Ladybug from knowing what she was working with until it was in her hands.

She reached out desperately to grasp the object as it fell.

“It’s a-”

Only for Chat Noir to shoulder check her into the tower, propelled by his staff. She barely managed to loop and arm through the lattice structure as her world reeled from the attack, a new throbbing sensation belting out a painful rhythm in her head.

There was no time to react, not with a sluggishness suddenly rattling her body as her brain tried to adjust to the new bruise. She could do nothing but hang there, slumped over and holding her head, as Chat shrank his baton back to normal and casually batted the lucky charm off the edge of the building.

He gracefully landed beside her on the tower, easily holding himself to the bars by his feet alone while his arms huddled together to cross over his chest. “Sorry, Mi’lady, Dad says I can’t let you go spoiling the fun with any cheating.”

Of all the times for Hawkmoth to decide to up his game…

Ladybug groaned, still clutching her head, the world spinning as Chat Noir’s mocking voice rang in her ears. Of course, he would call that cheating. “Like bringing down the ice age isn’t cheating!”

“Oh please, summoning a storm is just good villainy,” Chat continued, a smug grin spreading across his face. “It’s dramatic! It’s showy! Very on brand.”

“Not all of us have a flair for the theatrics,” Ladybug mumbled under her breath, trying to regain her balance as she clung to the radio tower. She squinted down at the street far below, where her Lucky Charm had tumbled. It looked like...a hairdryer?

Seriously?

Chat Noir, unaware or uncaring of Ladybug’s frustration, continued lounging against the tower. “You know, you could just give up your Miraculous and we can all go home early. Maybe I’ll let you keep your dignity for once.”

Ladybug shot him a look that could have turned him to stone. “Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll trade my Miraculous for a pair of earplugs so I can finally stop hearing you talk.”

With a convenient, and more beatable, target for her frustrations so temptingly close, Ladybug had no qualms about ducking through the lattice to swing her leg at him. He fell back with a yelp, swinging himself under and out of her reach, coming around the underside of the bar to catch her foot in his arms.

He let himself fall enough to pull his own feet free and press them flat against the bars, using it as a springboard to launch himself backwards and drag Ladybug with him. The two crashed through the supports of the radio tower, and very nearly sent themselves hurdling off the edge with the lucky charm.

At the last second, Ladybug cast out her yoyo once more, latching onto the nearest available object – a piece of broken piping sticking out of the side of the building. As she fell back, she watched the radio tower, now with broken supports, crumble and crash through the roof.

Thank god she had the miraculous cure, because that looked like a lot of repair money.

Good news, it stopped her from falling. Bad news, Chat Noir was still, almost literally, on her ass. Even worse news was that she was now a flimsy kite in a thunderstorm, desperately battling against the whirl wind baring down upon her as she tried to yank herself up.

Worse, worse news, she was doing a poor job of fighting the temptation to look down.

Chat Noir, however, had ideas of his own. One hand desperately dug into her shin while his other whipped out his staff once more, extending it until it smashed into the wall. This led to a sudden lurch in their swing, pushing the two into an arc that left them both spinning and screaming. However, the new momentum also meant that they wrapped around to swinging back into the building, launching the two up and back over the roof.

“You could have warned me.” Ladybug coughed, doubling over on the floor to groan.

“Show some gratitude.” Chat huffed, “I stopped us from becoming pavement pizza.”

“I would have been fine if I didn’t have your fat ass weighing me down.”

Before Chat could retort, a gust of wind nearly knocked him off the tower. He yelped, scrambling to keep his footing as Stormy Weather descended upon them, her parasol twirling menacingly in the eye of the storm.

“You think you’re going to steal my spotlight?!” Stormy Weather shrieked, her eyes glowing with fury. “This is my moment! The whole city is watching me now!”

Chat scrambled away, “What part of ‘I’m on your side’ don’t you get, Storm?!”

Volpina, recovering from her own tumble, popped up behind the ruined remains of a camera, brushing dirt off her shoulders. “Honestly, babe, this performance is a bit much. Maybe tone it down a notch?”

Stormy Weather’s expression twisted into a snarl as she pointed her parasol at Volpina, sending a shockwave of wind straight at her. Volpina’s eyes widened in panic, and she barely had time to leap aside, rolling out of the way as debris went flying past her.

"Okay, never mind!" Volpina shouted, diving for cover behind an air-conditioning unit. "You're doing great, sweetie! Don't change a thing!"

“This is impossible!” Ladybug narrowly avoided a lightning bolt, only to fall into a mix of tumbling and skiing as her heels slipped on the frozen floor. She yelled out in Chat Noir’s general direction, “Tell your dad that this is bullshit!”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Bug!”

Volpina looked between Stormy Weather and Chat Noir, sizing the two up briefly before casting an apologetic glance toward Ladybug. Without warning, she leaped over her cover, launching herself at Chat Noir.

“I’m not done with you yet, Pussy Cat!” Volpina called out mid-air. “Ladybug, switch out!”

Before Chat could react, Volpina tackled him into the hole made by the fallen radio tower, the two disappearing into the darkness below. Ladybug watched in horror as her backup vanished into the depths.

“I swear to god—Volpina, get back here, don’t leave me alone with her!” Ladybug yelled in a panic, trying not to show just how much her knees were shaking.

Stormy Weather chuckled darkly, her voice rising with the storm around her. “Your friend was wise to go for the weak link,” she sneered. “Your weather forecast, on the other hand, is much cloudier.”

A mighty roar erupted from the storm clouds above, followed by a hail of jagged ice shards raining down on the rooftop, all homing in on Ladybug with lethal precision.

“Can’t I at least get an umbrella or something?” Ladybug muttered to herself as the first few ice shards embedded themselves in the ground mere inches from her feet. “Okay, so we’re doing this.”

She sprang into action, darting from cover to cover, narrowly dodging the deadly projectiles. Stormy Weather watched with glee, the butterfly symbol glowing over her eyes—Hawkmoth was likely monologuing about their impending victory in her ear.

“Crap. Crap. Crap!” Ladybug muttered as she continued to flail through the storm, each dodge becoming more desperate as the ice spears closed in.

Just as she thought she had found a safe spot, one particularly sharp shard caught her by the arm, pinning her against a nearby wall. She winced in pain, unable to move as Stormy Weather floated closer, a sadistic smile playing on her lips.

Stormy Weather summoned a gust of wind, bringing one of the nearby cameras right to her. “I hope you folks at home brought a coat, 'cause Paris is expecting raining Ladybugs,” she taunted, the camera zooming in on Ladybug's pinned form.

“Stormy Weather, stop right there!” a voice called out, causing both Ladybug and Stormy Weather to turn in surprise.

Ladybug’s eyes widened in confusion. “Chat Noir?”

Stormy Weather scowled. “I have this under control,” she snapped, glaring at the approaching figure.

Chat Noir grinned, his eyes fixed on Ladybug. “If anybody’s taking Ladybug’s miraculous, it’s me!”

Stormy Weather hesitated. “Your dad doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment,” she muttered, glancing suspiciously between him and Ladybug.

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed as she observed Chat's movements more closely. Something was off. He marched towards them, but was clearly leaning towards the akuma, not the captive Ladybug, and the moment Stormy Weather glanced away to sneer at her, she spotted Chat’s hand come from his back, reaching towards Stormy Weather’s para-

That wasn't Chat Noir.

As the fake Chat Noir drew closer, the real Chat’s voice rang out from below. “Don’t listen to that imposter!”

The real Chat Noir leaped up from the hole, bruised and dishevelled after his tussle with Volpina. He landed clumsily on the rooftop, glaring at his doppelgänger.

“T-Two Chat Noirs?” Stormy Weather stammered, eyes widening in shock.

“Oh god, I must be in hell,” Ladybug groaned, still pinned against the wall.

Chat Noir pointed accusingly at the fake. “That one’s a faker created by Volpina!”

The fake Chat, unfazed, smirked and crossed his arms. “Hmm. Interesting. That’s exactly what a fake Chat Noir would say.”

Chat Noir scowled, throwing up his hands. “You cannot be buying this!”

Ladybug, exhausted and annoyed, threw her unpinned hand up. “I mean, they’re both pretty annoying…”

Stormy Weather glanced between the two Chat Noirs, unsure what to believe. “How am I supposed to tell which is which?”

Chat Noir groaned. “Seriously? Volpina’s illusions disappear on touch—just poke us!”

A wicked grin spread across Stormy Weather’s face as she raised her parasol, the ice around her forming into long, jagged spears. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said, her voice dripping with menace. “I just need to poke both of you, and I’ll get the right Cat.”

The spears shifted, half of them pointing at one Chat, the other half aimed at the other. Chat Noir paled.

“W-What are you doing there, Stormy?” he asked nervously.

Stormy Weather’s eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “Just being thorough. After all, the Ladybug miraculous is the only one I need to worry about breaking, right?”

Both Chat Noirs backed away nervously as the spears seemed to grow in numbers and size, moving around their targets and ensuring that there was no place to run. However, just as Stormy Weather drew her hand back to unleash her barrage of skewers, her body shook with a heart-wrenching screech.

Immediately, all the spikes shattered, blown away by her pain. The butterfly symbol over her eyes brightened up to a blinding and aggressive shade of purple, electricity flaring up throughout her body.

“Arg! S-Stop it!” She gasped out, gripping her head. “Master, why?!”

“What do you mean, why?” Chat cried out, “Obviously, my dad isn’t going to let you turn me into a shish kebab!”

The fake Chat caught Ladybug’s gaze and inclined their head towards Stormy Weather. Admittedly, it took longer than it should had for the meaning to dawn on Ladybug as she looked at Stormy Weather, helpless and distracted as Hawkmoth chewed her out.

Quickly, Ladybug slipped away, easily lost amongst the surrounding chaos.

Fake Chat cleared their throat, keeping any and all attention on them, “You mean my dad.”

One chance, Marinette whispered in Ladybug’s head, you only get one. If you screw this up, you will go down in history as the biggest loser in the world.

It was difficult to sneak on ice, every step was a careful calculation that could easily go sideways and send her sliding on her ass right off the edge. She had to carefully pivot on her heels, stabbing them into the ground to gain any sense of consistent friction as she crept behind Stormy Weather.

Chat gave his imposter a sideways glare. “Cut it out, you fourth rate magician.”

Fake Chat huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just can’t take that I’m a cooler cat than the OG.”

It took a bit of work to find the right spot considering that Stormy Weather was still floating in the air, but eventually Ladybug managed to clamber her way up a pile of wreckage that brought her just on the level with her target. She could see the parasol limply hanging from the akuma’s arm, aiming right towards her, practically beckoning her to smash it. All she needed was one good jump.

“She literally just admitted to being a fake!” Chat jumped up and down, pointing at the foul faker to no avail. “I can’t believe you-”

His eyes met Ladybug’s just as she threw herself from her vantage point.

“Look out for Ladybug, you dummy!”

But his warnings came far too late as Stormy barely had time to turn around before Ladybug’s body came careening into her, hands shooting forward to grapple with the parasol and secure her grip.

Step 1: Grab the parasol – Complete Success.

Then Ladybug realized that she was still in the air, hanging off the parasol, staring up at a very ticked off Stormy Weather.

Step 2: Break the object – Still in progress.

Ladybug clung to the parasol for dear life as she dangled precariously, her legs kicking wildly to get any sort of leverage against Stormy Weather.

“…Hey there,” Ladybug said, her voice strained but somehow casual, as if this was a normal Tuesday. “Funny seeing you here.”

Stormy Weather’s furious eyes narrowed as she yanked the parasol—and Ladybug—closer, glaring down at her clinging nemesis. “Get your hands off me, you stupid bug!”

Ladybug tightened her grip, bracing herself as the wind whipped past them. “Make me, twerp!”

Stormy Weather sneered. “If you insist!” She jerked the parasol sharply, sending them both spiraling through the air at dizzying speeds.

Ladybug’s stomach lurched as they spun uncontrollably, each erratic twist making her grip slip little by little. She grit her teeth, determined not to let go as the Paris skyline blurred around them.

“Regret,” Ladybug groaned as they dove into a sharp nosedive. “So much regreeeeeeet!”

Stormy Weather laughed maniacally, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You’re going down, Ladybug! Permanently!”

Ladybug felt her heart race as they careened downward, but she focused on the parasol—the source of Stormy Weather's power. If she could just break it... “I’m not going anywhere but up!”

With a burst of effort, Ladybug shifted her weight and kicked her legs forward, slamming both feet into Stormy Weather’s chest. It wasn’t enough to knock the parasol loose, but the force of the kick sent them both hurtling backward in midair.

“Ugh! You’re impossible!” Stormy Weather growled, but the jolt had thrown her off balance too. Ladybug used the momentum to clamber higher on the parasol, grappling with the handle as they spiraled through the air.

With each twist and turn, Stormy Weather threw gusts of wind and blasts of lightning their way, but Ladybug held on. They ricocheted through the storm clouds, crashing into rooftops and narrowly avoiding radio towers. Every time Ladybug thought she might lose her grip, she dug her heels in—literally—using any available surface to help pull against the akuma’s grip.

“Enough!” Stormy Weather screamed, sending another wild burst of energy that flung them upward, shooting toward the dark storm clouds above. “I’ll freeze you out if I have to!”

The air around them began to chill, frost forming on the edges of the parasol as the temperature plummeted.

Ladybug's breath came out in sharp gasps, the freezing wind biting into her skin. Her fingers ached from the cold, but she wasn’t about to give up. Her eyes zeroed in on the crackling parasol handle—her target.

Now or never.

With a final surge of strength, Ladybug released one hand from the parasol and reached for her yo-yo, flinging it toward a nearby rooftop to anchor herself. The moment the string caught, she yanked herself backward, pulling Stormy Weather along with her.

Stormy Weather shrieked as they were both jerked downward, the force sending them crashing toward the roof below. Ladybug gritted her teeth, twisting her body mid-fall, using every ounce of momentum to slam her elbow into the base of the parasol.

CRACK!

The parasol shattered in Ladybug’s hands, splintering into pieces as they hit the rooftop hard. Stormy Weather let out a pained gasp, the butterfly symbol over her eyes flickering before disappearing altogether.

“No!” she cried as the akuma fluttered free from the broken parasol, her powers dissipating into nothingness. The storm around them began to calm, the dark clouds dispersing as sunlight broke through the gloom.

Ladybug, breathing heavily, quickly whipped out her yo-yo, trapping the akuma in one smooth motion. “No more… Evil doing for you… Little butterfly.” She murmured in a daze as the aches of her sudden impact started to set in. “Owie…”

She watched with blurred vision as the now purified butterfly fluttered away, soon enough replaced with another figure dropping down beside her.

“Am I dead?” She asked.

Volpina crouched down, smirking. “No, but if you don’t get up and use your miraculous cure, I’m sure the angry mob will change that.”

Ladybug lay on the rooftop, still catching her breath as Volpina smiled down at her. The brief moment of triumph felt heavy on her chest, overshadowed by a nagging sense of inadequacy – that little nat reminding her just how much time she spent getting smacked around today. As the miraculous cure swept over them, she felt the warmth wash away the pain, but it did little to soothe her mounting insecurities.

“Mhm, that’s the good stuff,” she murmured, allowing herself to relax for a moment.

“Feels like a hundred little fingers pushing everything back into place,” Volpina replied, stretching her arms overhead.

Ladybug looked over at her, awkwardly rubbing her arm, hoping to sooth the sting of embarrassment. “Guess I have you to thank for that last-minute save there, Volpina,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Think nothing of it,” Volpina replied, looking over her nails.

“No, I dropped the ball back there, and you saved my ass. And for a minute there I even thought you bailed on me.” Ladybug's voice was quieter, laced with shame. “Thanks.”

Volpina’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Geez, you need to look on the bright side, Partner,” she said with a wink, and Ladybug felt her heart sink further.

As they stood up, the remnants of their battle scattered around them, the two heroes emerged from the building and were immediately met with a frenzy of cameras and enthusiastic fans. The cacophony of voices engulfed Ladybug, her pulse quickening. The crowd clamoured for their attention, their questions overlapping in a chaotic symphony.

“Ladybug, Volpina, what can you tell us about the fight? Is the akuma dealt with?”

Ladybug opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her stomach churned as she felt the weight of their expectations. She could practically see the cameras zooming in on her, waiting for her to deliver a stellar response, but all she could think about was how everyone seemed to adore Volpina more.

And who could blame them? It was Volpina’s plan that saved the day, Volpina’s intervention that stopped Ladybug from messing everything up again and again. All Ladybug did was flail around and get lucky in the end. Who was she kidding? She was the sidekick here, not the main attraction.

“The akuma has been defeated and purified,” Volpina announced confidently, stepping forward to claim the spotlight. “The good people of Paris have yet again been protected from Hawkmoth’s greed.”

The crowd erupted in applause, and Ladybug felt the heat of jealousy rise in her cheeks. “Aw, come on, give us the details!” one voice called out. “Who beat Stormy Weather in the end?”

Volpina turned to the crowd with a slightly weary look, then back at Ladybug, her expression unreadable for a moment. Ladybug felt her stomach drop, anticipating the truth about to spill out—that Volpina had been the real hero during the fight, that Ladybug spent all her time flailing about and stumbling with Chat Noir.

"As much as I’d like to say it was a team effort..." Volpina began, her eyes locking onto Ladybug.

Ladybug looked away, closing her eyes, bracing herself for the blow. This is it, she thought. She’s going to say it. She’s going to tell them she was the one who saved the day.

But then, to her utter shock, Volpina said, “It was really all Ladybug.”

Ladybug's head snapped back around, eyes wide with disbelief. "Wait, what?" she muttered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

Volpina turned back to the fans, her grin widening. "Honestly, you all missed the good stuff when the cameras broke," she continued. "You should have seen this girl, it was insane. I didn’t think there was anything we could do about a villain so powerful, but Ladybug here took one look at Stormy Weather and had it all figured out."

The crowd was buzzing with excitement. "Really?" someone called out.

Volpina nodded vigorously. "Yup! She sent me off to deal with Chat Noir—who was knocked out, by the way—so I could disguise myself as him to trick the akuma. Meanwhile, Ladybug here was taking on Stormy Weather all by herself!"

Ladybug’s mouth hung open, her brain scrambling to process what Volpina was saying. That’s not how it happened at all, she thought, feeling a surge of guilt rise in her chest. She took on Stormy Weather solo because she literally had no other option, she never came up with any plan, she just went a long with whatever happened.

"And then—get this—Ladybug throws herself and the akuma off the goddamn building!" Volpina gestured dramatically, her eyes lighting up as she described the scene. "She was throwing haymakers while in free fall! I couldn’t believe it. This girl’s unstoppable!"

The crowd was in awe, their cheers growing louder as they drank in Volpina's story. Ladybug stood there, frozen, as Volpina stepped away from the spotlight, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She was giving the entire spotlight to Ladybug, handing her the perfect hero narrative on a silver platter. And the worst part? It was technically accurate… If you ignored how much of it had been by sheer luck or desperation.

Ladybug stared out into the sea of faces, the eyes of her adoring fans shining up at her, waiting for her to confirm or deny Volpina’s story. A knot tightened in her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to disappoint them, not now, not in front of everyone.

With a deep breath, she plastered on a smile. “W-Well,” she stammered, “the only reason I can do stuff like that without completely panicking…” She glanced at Volpina, her smile faltering slightly. “Is because I know I have a partner who I can trust to have my back if anything goes wrong.”

Volpina chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. “Please, stop, you’re going to make me cry, Buggy.”

They shared a fist bump, the cameras flashing around them. But despite the cheers and applause, Ladybug couldn’t shake the dirty feeling that crept over her. This was the kind of victory she was supposed to share with someone else, not… Volpina. The gesture felt hollow, wrong.

Once they managed to pull themselves away from the crowd, Ladybug leaned in close, her voice a whisper. “Why… why did you lie?”

Volpina raised an eyebrow, her expression innocent. “I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t tell the whole truth.”

“But why?” Ladybug asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Volpina shrugged casually. “We’re partners, Buggy. When I’m happy, you’re happy. When you’re happy, I’m happy. There’s plenty of spotlight for both of us, no need to step on each other’s toes.”

Ladybug frowned. "It just doesn’t feel right."

Volpina’s eyes glinted as she placed her hands on Ladybug’s shoulders, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Can you feel it?" Her voice was soft but insistent. “The adoration? The way they look at you? It’s great, isn’t it?”

Ladybug’s gaze flickered over the crowd, all of them still cheering, chanting her name. She couldn’t deny the thrill of it. The way they saw her, admired her, loved her. It was a heady rush, unlike anything else in her life.

“Practically intoxicating, isn’t it?” Volpina continued. “Does anything in your life compare to how much they love you right now? You’re a hero, Buggy. You deserve this.”

Ladybug’s mind flashed briefly to Adrien, to Nino, to Alya—they were her friends, sure, but they never saw her like this, in this light. All they knew, all they saw was Marinette, weak, pathetic, feeble, pitiable Marinette. But here, now, hundreds of people adored her, they saw Ladybug, saw something better, something worthy. That feeling filled a void she hadn’t even realized was so deep.

"You know," Volpina added, her voice sweet and coaxing, "Adrien Agreste may never adore you, but there are plenty of boys in this crowd who’d worship you. Who cares if we stretch the truth a little? At the end of the day, we saved Paris. Don’t we deserve to enjoy that?”

Ladybug hesitated, doubt gnawing at her. Would Master Fu approve of this? Is this what a hero should do? she wondered, her mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. But as she looked out at the cheering crowd, at the admiration shining in their eyes, she couldn’t help the giddy feeling rising within her.

“I guess…” Ladybug began, her voice unsure, but the words came out faster than she expected. “We are heroes, after all.”

Notes:

When you realize Chat Noir being there to be a good influence on Hawkmoth means he's not there to be a good influence on Ladybug.

Chapter 14: Partners In Crime: Kindred

Summary:

Lila and Chloe bite off a little more than they can chew when they sabotage Marinette's entry in Gabriel's design contest.

Notes:

This chapter is a little... Longer than I intended. But I really liked getting into Gabriel and Marinette this chapter.

It was miraculous that Marinette was still able to stand on her own two feet. Led around all across Paris in some demented, scavenger hunt by an akuma obsessed with riddles left her clinging to the bathroom sink for support just to look into the mirror.

She was exhausted, it showed in the wild tufts of hair sprouting from her head, it set into the dark rings around her eyes, and it echoed in her lungs. But she couldn’t be exhausted, because her nerves were shot and she needed anything, something to keep her stable.

Hurriedly, she splashed water on her face, the cold slap doing the bare minimum to awaken the blood pumping and delivering enough of a shock to jolt her eyes open. Her mother and father would assure her that this day isn’t the end-all-be-all, that she just needs to do her best and that’s it. But it sure did feel like the day that couldn’t go wrong.

Gabriel’s Design Competition was a foot in the door. Yeah, winning it wasn’t going to secure her a job or anything, but it would build her reputation, even give her a chance to impress her idle. And who knows when she’ll get another chance? What if she did so bad that she got blacklisted from every other opportunity? Could they do that? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t willing to risk it!

Staring into the mirror where her frazzled, unkempt, wrinkled face stared back at her, she’d never felt more disappointed that she couldn’t just transform into Ladybug. Ladybug was powerful, she was confident, and ever since she started taking cues from Volpina, she was owning everybody’s attention. Marinette was just… Nothing like her. And the dismal atmosphere of the school toilets giving a sickly tinge to the mirror didn’t help. But maybe if she tried hard enough, she could channel some of Ladybug’s charm.

With a deep breath, Marinette smacked her cheeks, putting on her best war face.

“I feel good! I feel great!” She chanted, slowly growing louder with every syllable. “I. Can. Do. This.”

There was a knock on the door that made her squeal and jump. A second, and a knowing giggle, passed before Alya poked her head in. “Girl, are you okay?”

Marinette grinned sheepishly, tucking the box holding her submission, which as far as she was concerned was holding her heart, under her arm and scrambling over. She tried to look nonchalant as she did so, but nothing about Marinette looked calm today.

Marinette nodded, nervously glancing around to make sure Chloe wasn’t lurking nearby. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m pumped!” She tried to sound more confident than she felt, her voice a bit too loud. “W-Why?”

Alya raised an amused eyebrow, looking unconvinced. “It looked like you were screaming at the mirror.”

Marinette froze, her face going red. “I was just c-checking my teeth. I swear I saw something green stuck here,” she stammered, pointing at her teeth with an awkward grin.

“Uh-huh,” Alya nodded. “So, you’re not nervous at all?”

“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” Marinette’s voice wobbled a little, but she forced a laugh.

Alya crossed her arms, “Because of the Gabriel Hat Design Contest?”

“Whaaaa- That’s today? I had no idea.” She waved her hand dismissively, awkwardly throwing herself against the door frame to ‘casually’ lean against the wall. “I had totally forgotten about it, that’s how chill I am right now.”

“Oh, so I can go ahead and bin this then?” Alya teased, reaching over to tap the top of the box playfully.

“D-Don’t even joke about that, Alya!” Marinette squeaked, clutching the box close as if it were her very heart and snatching it out of Alya’s reach.

The two of them broke free of the bathroom and started down the hall toward the gymnasium, which had been transformed for the contest. The decorations, the judges’ table, and even the soft chatter of other students only made the room seem larger and more daunting. Marinette wanted to gulp at the sight of it all, but her throat was too dry.

“I don’t know why you’re nervous, your design rocks,” Alya reassured her.

Marinette forced a smile but couldn’t shake the doubts eating away at her. “Yeah, but what if another design rocks harder?”

Alya just shrugged. “Then that person is truly blessed.”

Marinette sighed, the anxiety prickling back. “Not helping.”

Alya’s phone buzzed just then, and she glanced at it with a frown. “Ugh, that’s my mom. I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing down the hall, leaving Marinette alone.

For a moment, Marinette stood in silence, her thoughts racing and her stomach twisting. She fidgeted with her box, glancing down the hall as if she could somehow magically call Alya back. All she could do was twiddle her thumbs and desperately try not to think about how nervous she feels.

Should she check her hat one more time? Does she have time to rush into an empty class room and make some last minute adjustments? Can everyone see how scared she is, or can they not see her at all? So many questions welling up in her head that she doesn't even realize that she's been knocked down until she found herself staring up at the blaring ceiling light with a sudden throbbing pain in the back of her head.

She didn’t have to ask what happened before Chloe’s sneer face was pushed into frame, looking down upon her as she often did.

“Oh, look at that, the day’s just started, and Marinette is already on her back,” Chloe sneered, looming over her. She turned to Sabrina, grinning. “I guess we know how she really got accepted into the competition.”

Marinette’s cheeks flared with embarrassment, all she managed was weak mutter, “I’d like to get up now.” Ladybug would fight back, Ladybug would make a smart remark, but all Marinette can do without Alya to back her up is whimper.

Chloe ignored her, pressing her foot down on Marinette’s stomach with a gleeful smile. “But this looks so natural for you, Dupain-Loser.”

Just then, Adrien’s voice cut through the air. “Chloe.”

Chloe jumped, pulling her foot back with a look of surprise, and quickly masked her expression as Adrien fixed her with a disapproving stare. “She tripped,” Chloe said with a feigned innocence, attempting a sweet smile. “You know how clumsy Marinette can be.”

Adrien’s gaze stayed firm. “Really now?” He kept his eyes on Marinette, as if silently asking her to tell him what had happened. But the words just wouldn’t come. Ladybug would stand up for herself. Ladybug would put Chloe in her place. But right now, Marinette felt so small, so out of place.

Chloe shifted uncomfortably, finally pulling Marinette to her feet in a rough gesture. “I was just about to help her up, actually,” she muttered, awkwardly playing with her fingers.

Adrien crossed his arms, a warning in his voice. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t happen again. Too many ‘accidents’ and someone might find themselves unable to compete in the contest.”

As Chloe and Sabrina slinked off, Marinette let out a long sigh of relief. She carefully opened her box, her fingers trembling as she checked her hat. Miraculously, it looked fine.

“T-Thanks, Adrien,” she murmured, feeling a mixture of gratitude and lingering embarrassment.

Adrien smiled softly. “She shouldn’t treat you like that.”

Marinette shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s fine, I’ve gotten used to Chloe by now.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t report her to somebody,” he replied with a frown.

She scoffed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You show me somebody who she can’t cry to the mayor about, and I’ll get right on that.”

Adrien sighed, clearly frustrated on her behalf. “I just wish I could do more.”

Marinette glanced up at him, feeling a spark of warmth. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“There you are, Adrien!”

As if materializing from the ether, Lila was suddenly there, her arms around Adrien’s torso and her lips nestled against his shoulder. It was like her mere presence flipped a switch in Adrien, as everything about him immediately shifted, a certain stiffness overtaking him as he retained that perfect model smile.

Honestly, if Marinette didn’t already know that Lila was his sweetheart, she’d almost think he looked uncomfortable. But he was obviously just nervous – nothing Marinette had learned about him since meeting him exactly made him out to be someone who was confident in navigating a relationship. Anything else was Marinette’s jealousy looking too deep for something to give her hope.

“Lila,” He said quietly, “Sneaking up on me again, huh.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, Silly.” Lila giggled, trailing her fingers up his arm. “Sounds like you were too distracted to notice me.”

Suddenly, Marinette felt like she was being watched intently by a pair of judgmental, predatory eyes looking her over – and they were unimpressed with what they saw. But try as she might, she couldn’t find those eyes anywhere, she could only feel them.

“You could say that.” An unrecognisable expression passed over Adrien as he kept his eyes on Marinette, not so much as glancing in Lila’s direction.

Lila slipped down a little, prying Adrien’s arm open so she could peer through his elbow. Her eyes lit up upon seeing Marinette, yet somehow nothing about it felt warm. “Oh, Marinette, I didn’t see you there!”

Still, Marinette shyly smiled, bowing her head. “I-I have that effect sometimes.”

“Are you here for the contest?” Lila gasped, breaking her grip on Adrien to hurry over to Marinette. “That’s amazing.”

Her eyes fell on the box secured in Marinette’s arms, her lips parted to hum as she leaned closer. “Is that your entry? Can I see it? Can I?” She shot a manic, pleading glance up at Marinette. “Please?”

Marinette didn’t give her anything, no rejection or acceptance, she simply found herself silently unsure as Lila’s eyes bore into her. Lila took this as permission, snatching the box from Marinette’s grip and stealing it away, peeking under the lid and peppering in little awe’d ‘oooo’s.

Marinette didn’t want her touching her creation. She didn’t want anyone handling it but herself, it was too important to risk getting damaged before the competition and every uneasy sway of Lila’s body as she enthusiastically skipped around gave Marinette a mini-heart attack.

But she did nothing, said nothing – all she did was stand and watch, hoping for Lila to take pity on her.

Because she was Marinette in that moment, not Ladybug.

“Lila, be careful!” Adrien called out, jumping in front of Lila to take hold of the box and keep it in place. “You’re going to damage Marinette’s hard work.”

Lila rolled her eyes, “It’s a hat, Adrien, not a vase.”

She rounded on Marinette, and that shameful, judgmental feeling returned in full force. “Besides, if Marinette had a problem with it, Marinette would tell me to stop.” Lila said sweetly, leaning in nice and close. “Wouldn’t you, Mari?”

Adrien gave her that look again, the same one he gave with Chloe. That silent pleading for Marinette to simply tell him something was wrong, to ask for his help. But she was too prideful to ask, yet too cowardly to risk offending Lila.

“Y-Yeah. Heh.” She muttered, head held low.

“See?” Lila turned to Adrien, “She trusts me, since we’re becoming such good friends.”

Adrien pressed on, using his height to loom over Lila as he frowned. “If you keep messing around with her hat, people might start thinking you’re tampering.”

Lila didn’t miss a beat, standing her ground and leaning in. Her eyes narrowed, and that smile of hers only grew. “And if you keep getting ‘distracted’, people might start thinking you’ll be playing favourites in the competition.”

“I’m not a judge.”

Lila’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, her voice coming out like a song lyric. “But you have your daddy’s ear, don’t you?”

At this, Adrien scoffed, “Pft, the only person who has my father’s ear is Nathalie.”

“Oh! Speaking of Nathalie,” Lila chirped, her tone shifting to that of someone helpfully reminding him, “don’t you have to meet up with her before the contest starts? Wouldn’t want to be late now.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette, lingering. “I’m sure I can spare a few minutes.”

Marinette forced herself to smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Adrien, we can talk after the contest.”

“But—” he began, clearly reluctant.

“It’s fine, really,” Marinette assured him.

Adrien gave her a soft, lingering smile. “Good luck, Marinette,” he said quietly, a glint of sincerity in his eyes. “Though, I know you don’t need it.”

Adrien walked away slowly, clearly hesitant to leave her alone with Lila, but eventually he disappeared down the hall.

Lila sighed dreamily, watching him go. “He’s such a sweet guy, isn’t he?”

Marinette nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

Lila tilted her head, her gaze sliding back to Marinette with a sly glint. “So sweet, but so oblivious.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Doesn’t know what signals he’s sending out.”

Marinette blinked, her heart pounding a bit faster. “W-What do you mean?”

Lila gave her a small, knowing smile. “Marinette, you’re too sweet to play dumb.”

Marinette’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“A little,” Lila said with a chuckle.

Marinette’s hands tightened around her bag. “It’s just hard to control myself when he looks at me… You know, like that.”

“Like I said, he can be so oblivious sometimes,” Lila replied, sighing theatrically. “Oh, it’s enough to make me jealous.”

“So… So, you two are… you know?” Marinette’s voice was a near whisper, her cheeks tinged with color.

Lila’s smile fell, and she muttered, “Ugh, I shouldn’t have said that. Stupid Lila. Stupid stupid.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Marinette said softly.

Lila glanced back at her, eyes glistening with tears. “Yes, we are together,” she confessed, voice hushed. “But we’re keeping it a secret.” Her voice softened as she added, “You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you, Mari?”

Marinette shook her head quickly. “No, o-of course not. It’s between you and Adrien, I respect that.”

A smile slowly crept back onto Lila’s face. “You are such a good friend.” She touched her heart dramatically. “I don’t mean to be mistrustful, but… Well, let’s just say it’s been a while since I’ve met people who don’t gossip about every little thing.”

Marinette offered her an apologetic look. “I-I’m sorry to hear that, Lila. Secret’s safe with me. Scout’s honor.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… why the secrecy?” Marinette asked, her tone gentle.

Lila sighed dramatically, her hand lifting to her forehead. “He doesn’t want to drag me into all the complications of dating a celebrity. And he worries about his father,” she said, voice filled with emotion. “Mr. Agreste wouldn’t approve of someone like me; it wouldn’t be good for the brand.”

Marinette’s heart ached at the thought. “I can’t imagine having to hide something as natural as loving someone. That must be terrible.”

“It is,” Lila agreed, a soft sniffle escaping her. “But it’s worth it.” She looked at Marinette and gave her a warm smile. “Sorry if I came on a little strong back there, I was just a little…”

“Territorial?” Marinette offered.

Lila chuckled softly. “A little.”

Marinette shrugged, “If my boyfriend had to pretend he didn’t love me all the time, I’d probably be a little territorial too.”

“Besides,” she continued, patting Marinette on the shoulder, “I also just wanted to make sure you didn’t think he was leading you on or anything. Like I said, he’s clueless about the effect he can have on people sometimes.”

Marinette gave her a grateful look. “I’d never think that about Adrien. But thanks for the concern.”

“Anytime,” Lila replied smoothly. “I always look out for my friends.”

“We are friends, right?” Lila asked, her voice warm but her eyes sharp.

Marinette stammered, “O-Of course.”

Lila smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Good. Because I almost started to get the feeling that you didn’t like me.”

Marinette forced a laugh. “Whaaat? That’s crazy.”

“I know, right?” Lila’s laughter rang out, a little too loud.

Marinette glanced at the clock, realizing the contest was starting soon. “Oh, crap! I need to get my submission in right away!” She backed away quickly, clutching her box tightly. “Talk to you later, Lila! Wish me luck!”

Lila’s smile turned sharp as she watched her go. “Oh, you don’t need any luck, Mari,” she called out, her voice low. “You’re gonna get exactly what you deserve.”

---

Honestly, at this point, Chloe didn’t really hate Marinette Dupain Cheng. They had their issues, sure, like Marinette being a pathetic, sickeningly naive little goody-two-shoes, but it wasn’t personal these days.

Marinette was simply the enemy. Of course, Chloe didn’t reserve her disgust of the general population for one person alone, but Marinette had the audacity to be just consistently offensive enough to warrant Chloe’s attention. She wasn’t ‘an’ enemy, she was Chloe’s enemy in particular. Chloe bullied Marinette because she was a professional, and it was her duty as a bully to trample the dreams of little upstarts like Marinette whenever she could. To do any less would be a disservice to both of them.

“That baker girl really needs to know her place.”

One could say that this one little expression of disgust was Chloe’s burden. Everyone ahs their burdens, their chores.

The people born wrong wake up, do their meagre attempt at preparing for the day, check off a list of household tasks they need to do and then drudge through the monotony of whatever worthless work life they’ve been chained to.

A person like Chloe wakes up dazzling, spends the morning making herself glow, takes her time to marvel at the poor folk, and dedicates at least 5% of her brain to questioning the indignity of Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s existence.

Really, Marinette should be thanking her. If someone like Chloe didn’t do her the unpaid, underappreciated service of reminding her that she was scum, Marinette would face the world with false expectations and get her heart cruelly shattered by her unrealistic expectations.

Now, she stood before her mirror, taking a pair of tweezers to the rebellious strand of eyebrow hair that was minutely out of place, and she just knew that this was Marinette’s fault somehow. “What was she thinking snuggling up to Adrikins like that?”

Honestly, Adrien was crueller than her. He gave the poor girl hope that her paltry, ugly little fashion disaster could actually stand a chance in the competition. If Chloe didn’t know how much of a dumb little dork he was, she’d think he was a sadist.

From the corner of the room, only half of her face gleamed by the mirror, Sabrina quickly replied “She wasn’t thinking at all.”

Sabrina was an oddity that became Chloe’s normal. Some people said she was Chloe’s best friend, others said she was Chloe’s best servant. All Chloe knew is that she had no fucking idea where this girl came from. One day, she just noticed that there was suddenly a fixture in the corner of her room that smiled at her, asked her how her day was, always offered to do her homework, and didn’t take tips for some reason.

At some point, she learned that the thing had a name. Which meant she was at least a step above Servant 1, Servant 2, and Servant with the funny moustache.

“Exactly!” Chloe snapped her fingers, leaning back with a wistful sigh. “She never thinks.”

It was such a miserable, putrid little thought; enough to make Chloe think about welling up if she were ever capable of more than crocodile tears. “Poor girl’s so deluded that she might think she actually has a chance punching above her weight.”

“Really, at this point it’s my duty to put her out of her misery.” Chloe turned away from the mirror satisfied, arms wrapped around her chest like the ghost of a warm embrace. “And when my darling design blows Adrien away and directly into my arms, maybe she’ll finally take the hint that the only clothes she’s fit for sewing are for the homeless.”

Sabrina clapped her fingers together, squeeing. “Your submission is gonna blow everybody away, I just know it.”

“Obviously, I was born to make the world look good.” Chloe scoffed, “And my allowance is big enough to hire the finest tailor to bring my creation to life, of course.”

She pulled her nails up for inspection, her smile wavering to a disgusted frown as she observed a small chip in her pinky finger’s paint that would haunt the back of her mind the rest of the day.

Chloe waved her other hand dismissively at Sabrina. “…But let’s just double check that my design is perfect, okay?”

Sabrina jumped at attention, slapping her hand against her forehead in an enthusiastic salute. “Right away, Choe!”

In a flash, she disappeared from the bathroom. And that wasn’t even an exaggeration, Chloe genuinely believed that Sabrina could have taken on the track team if the girl was so inclined, it was like having the road runner as an intern.

However, Sabrina’s return as less energetic. In fact, it was downright depressing. She lumbered into the room cautiously, white as a sheet and her eyes downcast like she was facing an angry parent.

“Uh… Chloe…” She murmured, “D-Don’t be mad, but-”

It was then that Chloe spotted the problem as, in Sabrina’s arms was a box, a bright, flashy, perfectly packaged box; and it was empty.

“Where is it!?” Chloe stomped over and snatched the box away, turning it upside down and wildly shaking it like the hat that clearly wasn’t in there would just fall out. “Where’s my hat?”

Eventually, she realized that this particular method wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Instead, Chloe cast the box aside and rounded on Sabrina, advancing upon her like a predator with her nails bared like claws. “You idiot, what did you do?”

Sabrina shrank against the wall, spluttering and stuttering. “It wasn’t me, I swear!”

“I can’t win the competition with thin air.” Chloe screeched, “Where’s my hat?”

A cough broke through Chloe’s rampage, smacking her upside the head with an unfamiliar voice. Her head snapped to the side, finding that, by the doorway, another girl had entered the bathroom, leaning against the frame while letting a derby hat hang from her forefinger.

“Right here.” She said.

“Who the hell do yo-” Chloe squinted before the pieces clicked into place, her surprised overtaken by annoyance. Great, this loser. “Oh, you’re that new charity case everybody’s slobbering over. Lilly something?”

The girl’s jaw tightened. “Lila.”

The great advantage of being a dedicated snob is that you got very good at recognizing scum, and there was no scum a blue-blooded snob was aware of more than a scam artist. You didn’t grow up sneering at the poor without learning every cheap way they tried to take your money, and Lila was the walking demonstration of how to sucker the general population with big eyes and a sob story.

“Okay, Lucile; whatever.” Chloe rolled her eyes, crossing her arms while Sabrina scrambled for safety. “What are you doing here? Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of a crisis?”

She could just glance gritted teeth behind Lila’s false smile. “I’m just here to return your marvellous creation.”

The hat current in Lila’s hand wasn’t half bad, Chloe would go as far as to say it was stylish.

But Chloe was also painfully aware that it wasn’t the one she commissioned. “That’s not mine.” She stated firmly, her offense seeping into a slanted brow. Did this little hag think she was an idiot?

“Why not?” Lila smiled that sickly sweet smile that sociopaths used to make you think they’re a friend who already knows too much about you. “I mean, there was another ugly rag someone threw together. But that one mysteriously ended up in Marinette’s box.”

Now that threw Chloe into a conundrum, as correcting Lila would mean admitting to being responsible for that ‘Ugly Rag’. Instead, she settled for letting her eye twitch. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing, I’m just returning your superior creation.” Lila stalked closer, keeping Chloe on guard even as she bowed down and presented the hat to Chloe. “You do want to win this contest, right?”

“Why would you do me a favour like that?” Chloe glowered down at her, “And don’t spew some junk about being a goodie good, I already know that 90% of the crap you feed these losers is bullshit.”

“It’s like you said, Chloe. Marinette needs to know her place.”

---

There was a certain relief to wrapping his fingers around the grip of a pencil. After so long apart from his sketchbook, making long, elegant stroking movements with his wrist felt a lot like stretching out his limbs in the morning sun. Gabriel held no distain towards drawing digitally, but he had to admit that dragging a stylus over a glass screen simply could not prepare to the friction of lead cutting into paper texture. The clean pixels did not speak to him in the same way as the rough scratches that followed his every stroke did.

Gabriel was a man who valued his control, and sometimes he felt that every technological advancement made to help his process took that control from. Though, maybe that was just his pride talking as an old man yelling ‘Back in my day we couldn’t afford a fancy computer’ at his inner child.

None-the-less, it did his bones good to open up his old sketchbook, flipping through designs he hadn’t seen in years wrapped around Emilie’s perfect frame. It helped him centre himself, remind him what he was doing all this for before his mind lost that anchor and wondered.

Stormy Weather had left him some complications.

In hindsight, Hawkmoth had been a fool to approve that akumatization, blinded by the dramatic fervour of making the failed weather girl a literal weather girl. She had been his most powerful akuma yet – too powerful. Hawkmoth had given someone driven by petty anger and vengeful lust the power over the very skies that governed the Earth, if left to her own devices Stormy Weather probably could have become an apocalyptic threat, and yet that clown assumed he could keep her on a leash.

It all worked out in the end, the mental image of Hawkmoth shrugged, his ugly, punchable face giving off a lazy grin.

She almost attacked Adrien, Gabriel snapped back against this childish reflection.

I didn’t let that happen, I stopped her.

And what if you couldn’t? It took all his restraint not to snap the pencil in two, stuck in perpetual disbelief that this short-sighted oaf could be a part of him. The pain Hawkmoth inflicted upon the akuma could have proved to be a temporary solution, they of all people knew that you could grow used to pain, however intense. Hawkmoth’s mental shock could have even just set Stormy Weather off there and then and saw her lashing out with the powers of a God.

Stormy Weather had come the closest to gaining the final miraculous Gabriel needed to save Emilie, it was only Hawkmoth’s interruption that allowed enough confusion to create an opening for the heroes; but the cost, the risk, was too high for him to afford. Going forward there needed to be a hard limit on how powerful the akumas could be. He could not allow himself to fall prey to folly of Hawkmoth’s immature passions.

Adrien shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. Gabriel imagined himself rounding on Hawkmoth, glaring down at the costumed menace lounging around on his sofa.

Hawkmoth stared up at him defiantly, repeating the answer he’s levied every time they’d had this mental argument. He’s keeping Plagg.

I don’t know how you manage to convince me to keep going along with this nonsense, Gabriel could only focus on his scowl as his fingers dug into his palm. Hawkmoth was a clown, a disgrace to his self-respect, but he was still the one with the miraculous power. We should be taking the cat miraculous for ourselves, we should be keeping him at home, we should be following the solid foundation that I laid out years ago.

Gabriel was still mystified by what changed the night Adrien stumbled upon his lair. He couldn’t understand it, he taught Adrien respect, he taught Adrien authority, he knew what was best for Adrien, he knew that his word was to be respected. But ever since that night, he’d allowed Adrien to walk all over him, allowed this hormone-led teenager to break free of the rigorous routine and traditions that had kept this family safe.

Adrien was allowed free roam of the house, he was allowed to attend public school, he was allowed control over his schedule, and worst of all, as Chat Noir he wasted his time on nonsense and even took to talking back to him. Hawkmoth was a useful tool, but he was becoming a menace that dared to wear his face under that ugly mask. And for the sake of Gabriel’s sanity, he had to assume that this was all Nooroo’s influence of the transformation.

Hawkmoth pouted, Adrien’s happier now.

The boy is reckless now. Gabriel seethed, unable to ignore the image of Chat Noir being impaled on one of Stormy Weather’s spikes. He’s a danger to himself.

I don’t think you give him enough credit. Hawkmoth pulled himself up, propping his elbow up on the sofa arm. His gaze was caught on one of the many pictures of Adrien kept in the office, a distant, joyful glow reflected in his stare. Like he was gazing into a happy memory.

He’s my son! Gabriel snapped, smacking Hawkmoth upside the head however fruitless such a gesture would be. I know exactly what he’s capable of.

For the first time, Hawkmoth frowned, all mirth sucked out of his voice. He’s our son, He spoke like he was choking on his own words, and we barely know who he is.

“Ooo, it’s a pretty dress, Master.”

Gabriel kept his hand steady, the only indication of his surprise at Nooroo’s intrusion being the sharp curve of the pencil scratching an extra inch-long tail to the end of his stroke.

He slightly inclined his head, voice still and measured. “Nooroo, I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Do you want me to leave?” The kwami came into view, bobbing up and down just over Gabriel’s cheek. “I know an artist’s work can be very personal.”

Originally, Gabriel had saw fit to keep his kwami companion at his side at all times under magical restraint. Nooroo had every reason in the world to thwart his plans after all, he was not there by loyalty or choice, he was there because Gabriel held his miraculous.

There were all manner of commands Gabriel could give him to neutralize him as a threat even with free roam of the mansion, but part of him still knew too little about how this magic works, how easily even a little room could be used to hang Gabriel with all manner of loopholes.

However, recently, Gabriel has developed a shred of mercy for his little partner. A few concessions had been made, against his better judgement and under advisement of Plagg and Adrien, to give Nooroo more breathing room in hopes of making their relationship more diplomatic. Nooroo hated him, Gabriel already assumed that, but he could at least make their interactions less strained.

He idly flicked his pencil upwards, his voice trailing off into a soft murmur. “No, no, I was just surprised. I didn’t think such matters interested you.”

“I am the kwami of transmission, Master.” Nooroo dipped down to get a better look at the drawing, careful not to intrude on Gabriel’s line of sight. “And art, in any form, is one of the most powerful methods of transmission.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Gabriel nodded, “Have you ever taken up art yourself?”

The question was surprising enough for both of them to do a small double take. Gabriel would have been perfectly fine leaving the conversation there and leaving their rare non-work-related interaction to a silent end – he did not know what possessed him to maintain idle chatter.

“No, not really.” Nooroo answered after a while, his large bulbous head looking down at his tiny paws. “Not a lot I can do with these paws.”

Gabriel tapped the end of his pencil against his chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure a being as old as you could figure something out.”

“Hmmm…” Nooroo hummed, tapping a non-existent pencil against his chin. “Maybe I could take up painting.”

It took a good minute for it to dawn on Gabriel that Nooroo was following and mimicking his own pose, his paws and eyes following Gabriel’s every movement, even as they fell into a pleasant, silent concentration.

Eventually Nooroo spoke up again, but Gabriel couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed at the interruption. “The woman in the drawing, it looks like Miss Nathalie.”

Gabriel stated bluntly, “It is her.”

There was a light popping noise as Nooroo’s lips smacked together, making awe’d little coo’s like it was the most interesting factoid he’d learned today. “Are you making a dress for her?”

“No.” Gabriel scoffed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he naturally felt the idea was so ludicrous. “She’d never want to wear any of my dresses.”

“Do you draw Miss Nathalie a lot?”

It felt like an accusation, and suddenly Gabriel felt defensive. He sternly responded, “It’s useful to have a base model in mind, is all. And Nathalie has the perfect poise and shape for my woman wear ideas.”

He didn’t mention that if Nooroo flipped back towards the beginning of the sketchbook, years into the past, before Emilie became his muse, he’d find quite a few drawings of a younger Nathalie. At the time, he hadn’t even known her name. He only knew her, and by extension Emilie, as the two people who always sat in the same spot in his mother’s old diner. He’d known Emilie’s mostly because her family had a reputation around town back then, but the mysterious aid that shadow’d Emilie’s every step and occasionally looked at him like he was a puzzle she’d yet to figure out, exceled in leaving out any identifying details.

Without the courage to approach the uptown girls, Gabriel, Gabbi at the time, had settled for sketching the stand-offish woman. Part of it was, as he said, that Nathalie had the perfect features for his designs. He’d always maintained that Nathalie could have made a fine model if she were ever so inclined. Another part of it was a bit of pity.

Gabriel never wanted to bad mouth his beloved, but Emilie, especially the young Emilie, was not the most fashionably minded. And nowhere was that more obvious than the outfits she forced Nathalie to wear during that period. Gabriel knew that it was forced because Nathalie never looked comfortable in her clothes, not like when she was allowed to choose her own uniform. In a way, Gabriel’s sketches were a mercy of at least imagining her in clothes that fit, clothes that complimented her in the way she deserved.

It hadn’t felt off at the time, nor had he thought of it until now. But suddenly, he felt like he had a shameful secret he didn’t want anyone else to know about.

It took a while, but eventually Emilie had grown curious enough about his not-so-subtle glances and approached him. And after they hit it off and went on a few dates, Gabriel realized he was smitten.

Funnily enough, sometimes Gabriel if he’d have ever realized how beautiful his Emilie was if she’d never taken that initiative.

“She does look pretty, Master.” Nooroo broke through his thoughts again.

He nodded, stroking the illustrated Nathalie’s cheek with the brunt of his pencil. “That she does.”

An hour later, as Gabriel set his tools down and reminded himself that he had the Derby Hat contest to concern himself with, he caught Nooroo still by his work station. The little kwami was sat on his desk, flipping through the sketchbook. Gabriel should have been offended, but he could only bring himself to focus on the innocent, curious expression of awe on Nooroo’s face.

It was an odd feeling watching someone enjoy his designs like this, especially from a creature that could never wear them. It felt different than hearing people praise him on the news.

“Master, why do you never make any of these designs?” Nooroo asked

Gabriel fastened his coat around his shoulders, “Hm?”

Nooroo pushed the book up, letting the spine balance on his forehead as the open page showed off a full-length dress that was imagined to be entirely made of sown together newspaper articles. “I mean, when you’re at work, none of the designs you show everyone else are the ones from this book.”

“These are my private sketches, Nooroo.” He furrowed his brow, the question confusing him more than it should “They’re fit for my passions, but not for the modern world of fashion.”

Nooroo tilted his head back, lowering the book back down. “So, the designs you do sell to people aren’t your passion?”

“They keep my Empire afloat.” Gabriel answered stiffly.

Meekly, Nooroo sighed. “That’s sad.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, “No, it’s just business.”

“Don’t you want to share your true passions with the rest of the world?”

Gabriel marched over to the desk and snatched up the book, a desperate criminal cleaning up the evidence of his crime while his brow leaked the sweat of his guilt. “I want to make enough money to secure my son a comfortable life and a profitable future.”

Nooroo flew up by his nose, following the man all the way back to the safe hidden in the wall. “But why can’t you do that using these ones?”

The ghosts nipped at his heels, bringing with them wretched wails that preyed on his ears.

“Have you ever thought of making something more… Acceptable?” She’d said, her voice as sweet as honey, but her words burning like venom. “These are nice and all, but they’re all a little too silly, you know? We do need to think about how your work reflects on our family, after all.”

He tossed the book into the safe, the shadow of the broken peacock swallowing it whole. As quickly as he could he slammed the door shut.

“Because these are childish fantasies and thoughtless slop.” He snapped, storming over to the doorway. “I have an image to maintain.”

“Whatever you say, Master.”

---

Marinette was sure that she was going to die today. Right there in that moment, she was going to die, she was going to explode from the raw panic wracking her body and die. That would be how everyone remembers her at her funeral, as a bucket of tiny guts splashing the poor, hapless judges who had the misfortune of walking up to her.

Watching the judges saunter around each person’s submission, led by the nose by Mr. Agreste’s personal assistant, was nerve wracking. With every reveal, Marinette found herself noting more and more mistakes in her own design, and envious of things others had managed to achieve. One had fashioned theirs with a veil, making it look like a mourning widow’s frock. Another went in the opposite direction tonally, fitted with little beads that made up the illusion of a nest of jewlery.

But eventually, Marinette could no longer observe, as the group of execution- Judges turned towards her.

“Oh god, she’s coming this way.” She squeaked, wringing her hands together. “This is the end. This is the end!”

Alya’s hands came down on her shoulder, gently massaging her neck. “Calm down, girl. You got this.”

Nino shot her supportive finger guns from the display table. “Alya’s right, your design is gonna rock Mr. Agreste’s socks off.” He clapped his hands together. “Just think positive, Dudette.”

“Positive. Positive. I can do positive.” She muttered to herself, curling her fingers into fists and chanting with rising confidence. “I’m the most positive person in Paris! I could give compliments in my sleep. I can win, I feel great. I. Can. Do. This.”

“Miss Dupain Cheng?” Nathalie peered at her behind a confused gaze.

“I can’t do this.” Marinette squeaked.

“Excuse me?” Nathalie’s brow dipped behind the reach of her glasses, making her look even more ominous.

“I’m not blowing this-” Marinette cleared her throat, shooting a faltering smile. “C-Chance! Chance to show you my best.”

There was an audible sound as Nathalie sucked in her breath, sighed and readied her clipboard. Somehow, Marinette got the impression that this woman was constantly living in one long day. “Okay.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Be positive. You worked on this all week, Marinette. You deserve to win, you’re gonna dazzle them, all your hard work is going to pay off. Just don’t screw this up.

“I think you’ll find that my submission is both simple and elegant, incorporating Paris’ most natural wil-”

As Marinette inhaled, ready to launch into her pitch, her eyes swept over her hat display, ripping the box open with a dramatic flair to—

She froze. Sitting on the stand wasn’t her design. The elegance she’d crafted, with delicate flourishes inspired by the curves of a pigeon’s wings, was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a gaudy monstrosity, plastered with random feathers and sequins that clashed in an explosion of colors and mismatched elements.

“W-What is this?”

Marinette’s jaw dropped. This… this thing wasn’t her derby hat! She felt the words die in her throat as her cheeks flushed with horror. This had to be some kind of mistake! She quickly scanned the room, desperately hoping her real design had just been moved, but her table was empty.

A judge’s stern voice cut through her thoughts, “Hm, it’s an okay attempt.”

“But it doesn’t really have much of an identity.” Another one murmured disdainfully, “Looks like a mishmash of a bunch of different hats.”

Marinette could barely keep her voice steady as she sputtered, “T-This isn’t my hat.” Her eyes darted to Nathalie and the panel, hoping against hope they’d see the obvious error.

One of the male judges gave her a condescending smile, misinterpreting her horror. “Young lady, there’s no need to be embarrassed. We understand—first-time presentations can be a lot of pressure.”

“No, I’m serious!” Marinette blurted, her voice tightening. “This isn’t my submission.” She wrung her hands, glancing around in panic. “I-I must have lost it, but when?!”

A female judge raised her eyebrow, sighing impatiently. “Moving on—”

“No, wait!” Marinette said, a plea breaking into her tone. “I just need a chance to find it.”

Nathalie’s voice was as firm and unyielding as the glare behind her glasses. “I’m sorry, Miss, but we can’t waste our time waiting for you to pull a second hat out of thin air.”

“But—But—” Marinette stammered, her heart pounding as she looked to her friends, desperate for some form of support.

Nino shifted uncomfortably, trying to offer her a reassuring smile. “They… they don’t know what they’re talking about. Your hat looks… great.”

“It’s not mine!” Marinette snapped, her voice barely restrained. “I swear.”

“Okay, okay, calm down, girl,” Alya whispered, placing a steadying hand on Marinette’s arm. “Raising your voice isn’t gonna do anything but make people think you’re having a meltdown.”

Marinette buried her face in her hands, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze pressing down on her. “I feel like I am.”

Alya gave her a quick shake of her shoulder. “Let’s just think about this. When was the last time you saw your hat?”

Marinette’s mind scrambled, flipping through her memories of the day. She had checked it last… right after—

“After I collided with Chloe,” she muttered, and then her eyes widened in realization. “With Chloe!”

“That’s my hat!” she cried, pointing, her voice quivering with both rage and desperation.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng!” the female judge snapped, frowning in disapproval. “Keep your voice down.”

But Marinette wasn’t about to be silenced, lunging forward to claim what was rightfully hers, only for Alya to catch her by the shoulders, holding her back. “That’s my submission! She stole it from me!”

The male judge’s brow arched. “That’s quite the accusation, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“Oh, back off, Baker Girl,” Chloe sneered, folding her arms smugly. “She’s clearly lying to cover up for her lack of talent.” Chloe leaned in closer, a cruel glint in her eye. “She’s always doing this, having a freak-out if everything doesn’t go her way.”

Marinette’s restraint snapped like a thread. “Chloe, you’ve been compensating for your lack of talent since your mother had the misfortune of witnessing your birth.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her hands flew to her lips, mortified, as gasps echoed through the crowd. “D-Did I say that out loud?” she whispered, eyes wide.

The male judge shook his head, now looking more than a little scandalized. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, that is quite enough out of you.”

Before she could protest, Adrien appeared, pushing gently but firmly between her and Chloe, his green eyes full of worry as he looked at Marinette. “Hey, why don’t you guys lay off her a little? She’s clearly stressed.”

Marinette turned to him, her panic mounting. “N-No, you don’t understand. I can prove that it’s mine.” Desperately, she scanned the crowd, seeking the one person who could back her up. “Where is she… Lila! Lila!”

Pushing past a few students, Marinette managed to reach Lila and tugged her over to the judges. “Lila, please,” she implored. “You remember when you were looking at my hat, right?”

Lila gave her a bright, innocent smile. “What’s all the fuss about, Mari? Did something happen?”

Marinette gripped her arm, trying to keep her voice steady. “You remember the hat, right? You saw what it looked like?”

“Of course!” Lila chirped, giving an exaggerated nod. “It was so cute. I’d recognize that design anywhere.”

Relief flooded Marinette’s face. “Great! That’s great! Can you just—show the judges which hat is mine?”

Lila nodded cheerfully and pointed decisively to the wrong hat, the one on the stand Marinette had been forced to submit earlier. “It’s that one right there, of course.”

Marinette’s world crumbled. She stared at Lila, betrayal sinking into her chest like a knife. “Wha—N-No…”

The female judge shook her head, looking every bit as exasperated as before. “I think we’ve heard quite enough from you, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

With a nod from Nathalie, the judges turned and began walking away, leaving Marinette stunned and shaking as she whispered to herself, “No… No, no, no, no… W-Why would she lie?”

Alya put a hand on her shoulder, speaking gently. “She probably just remembered it wrong. It’s okay, girl. Just breathe.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped, the weight of her defeat pressing down on her like a stone. “This isn’t right… This isn’t fair.”

“There’ll be other contests, girl,” Alya murmured, her voice kind but pained, watching Marinette’s devastated expression.

Marinette gave a shaky laugh, the edge of it nearly a sob. “I spent all week on that derby hat,” she whispered, clenching her fists. “And now Chloe gets to steal all the credit for my work. I worked so hard… for nothing.”

Adrien remained, by his side a shaking fist betraying how much he keeping under wraps. His eyes met hers once more, and for a moment it was comforting, it made her feel seen. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t get it, I had it. I still had it in my hand after Chloe collided with me.” She muttered to herself, wracking her brain for an answer that made sense, an answer that would bring her comfort. “When would she have had the opportunity to make the switch? I kept it nice a close all that time, outside of when Lil-”

And then Lila draped herself over Adrien’s arm and took hold of his hand, and suddenly looking at him made Marinette nauseous.

She froze, her gaze snapping to Lila, who was now smiling up at Adrien, her wide grin all teeth, her eyes glinting with something dark. It wasn’t admiration or kindness—it was cruelty, plain and simple. The truth hit her like a wave of nausea.

Lila was the only person who had an opportunity to mess with Marinette’s hat. She hadn’t just lied, she’s been the instigator of this entire affair.

She’d set out to hurt Marinette.

“No way…” she whispered, disbelief and betrayal threading through her words. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of it, but the answer was clear as day.

Adrien took a step toward her. “Marinette, I’m so sorry for all this,” he said gently, his voice soft but edged with frustration at the injustice of it all.

“It’s fine,” she managed, though her voice cracked as she said it. She had to keep herself together, just for a little longer.

But Adrien wouldn’t let it go. “No, it’s not. Chloe’s gone too far.”

Marinette’s jaw tightened, and she could feel her composure slipping. “It’s fine,” she repeated, her tone sharper.

Adrien’s face softened. “I don’t know how I can help, but I’m sure we can—”

“I said, I’m fine, Agreste!” Her voice broke, louder than she’d intended, and for a heartbeat, the crowd around them stilled. “Just go back to your little girlfriend and leave me alone, okay? I need… I need some time.” Her voice trembled, as much from the hurt as from the effort of holding back tears.

Adrien’s hand reached out, but the look on her face must have stopped him. His hand dropped, and he stood there, watching her, helpless.

Without another word, Marinette turned and fled, pushing past the crowd, past the whispers and stolen glances of her classmates, needing nothing more than to escape. As she broke into the open, the crisp air outside hit her, and she sucked in a shaky breath, clutching her arms around herself as if to hold her heart together. Her hard work, her trust—it felt like it was crumbling to dust in her hands.

She fell back against the wall, sliding down to her lowest point before finally letting a sob escape her. “How could I be so stupid?” She cried out, “Of course, I fell in love with the sort of guy who likes Lila. Of course I fell for her lies. Of course, I’m too much of a snivelling wimp to call her out.”

Her purse opened, letting a red blur shoot out of it and slam into her chest for an impromptu cuddle. “Stop insulting yourself, Marinette.” Tikki said soothingly, running her paws up Marinette’s collar. “This isn’t your fault.”

Marinette laughed bitterly, “It is. Ladybug wouldn’t have made that mistake; she’d have figured this all out from the start.”

Tikki brushed up against Marinette’s cheek “The only people to blame are Chloe and Lila. They took advantage of your good nature.” She stated firmly, trying her damndest to get Marinette to look her in the eye, but that was a losing battle. “There’s no shame in being tricked by someone pretending to be kind.”

“I just feel so stupid, and useless, and alone.” Marinette choked out a few more sobs, feeling her grip on herself only dig deeper, until she could feel her nails tearing through her skin.

“I’m here for you.” Tikki reminded her.

“I know, but I can’t exactly use the kwami of creation to solve my petty nonsense, can I?”

“Adrien’s here for you too.” Tikki suggested, her face screwing up to try and find something she could use to anchor Marinette. “And I’m sure Alya would be too if you told her about Lila.”

“Yeah right,” Marinette scoffed, “Lila’s already got them wrapped around her finger. Alya was already making excuses for her.”

Alya didn’t consider for one second that Lila might have been lying, that Lila might have been trying to hurt Marinette. And why would she? Lila was sweet, Lila was better, Lila was probably the best friend Alya wanted all along.

“I thought that everything would change this year, but everything’s exactly the same.” She held her head in her hands, groaning as tears blurred the edge of her vision. “Doesn’t matter what make over I give myself or what power I get, I’m still just Marinette falling for the same old crap and stumbling through life.”

Marinette’s breath hitched, her vision blurring as the weight of it all crushed down on her. Every whisper from the crowd, every smug glance from Chloe, and every dismissive look from the judges looped in her mind. It was too much. Her heart pounded louder, her breaths shallow and rapid as her panic swelled. She dug her fingers into her arms, holding herself together by sheer force of will. Everything had fallen apart.

Then, suddenly, a bar of chocolate was thrust right in front of her nose.

“Chocolate has been proven to be quite the powerful emotional sedative,” a calm voice said. “You look like your heart’s about to explode out of your chest, and I don’t think you’d want to ruin the janitor’s weekend.”

Marinette blinked, her senses jolted by the sight and the smooth, steady voice breaking through her haze. Her breath slowed just a bit, and her gaze shifted upward to find a man, the glare of the sun hiding his features, crouched beside her, holding the chocolate out.

She hesitated, feeling her cheeks flush as she realized how she must have looked, sitting on the floor, tear-streaked and lost. “Um… I… O-Oh, thank you”

Marinette hesitated before taking the chocolate, her fingers trembling as she broke off a piece and slipped it into her mouth. The sweetness flooded her senses, grounding her, and slowly, her racing heart began to slow. She took a deep breath, still feeling the echo of panic but finding it easier to hold herself together.

Marinette wiped her eyes, trying to regain her composure as the man watched her with a slight, albeit somewhat stiff, curiosity. He cleared his throat and spoke with a polite but detached tone.

"If I may be curious, how did a young lady like yourself end up bawling her eyes out outside the gymnasium?" he asked, his words formal, though there was a hint of genuine interest behind his carefully neutral expression.

Marinette let out a self-conscious chuckle, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. "I... I couldn't reach the bathroom," she admitted, feeling her own ridiculousness settle in. Despite everything, she managed a weak smile.

He extended a tissue with a slight look of disapproval as he noticed the streaks of mascara on her cheeks. "You’re making a mess of your makeup," he observed, in a tone that was blunt but not unkind. "Here, dry your tears, Miss…?"

“Marinette,” she replied softly, dabbing at her face and feeling both awkward and a little comforted by the kindness of a stranger.

"Ah, I believe I’ve heard your name before," he replied, an eyebrow arching slightly.

"Yeah, I’ve got quite the rotten reputation, I’ve heard," she mumbled, her voice bitter. She wasn’t sure why she was opening up to him, but something about his steady presence made her feel like he wouldn’t judge her.

“Do you now?” he said, his expression thoughtful. There was an odd mixture of curiosity and contemplation in his gaze, as if he were reevaluating something.

"I'm just your average… Everyday… Screwup,” she sighed, looking down at her feet. “And everybody else has to deal with me.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment, and a slight frown creased his usually unreadable expression. "Huh. I could have sworn that my son spoke the world of you."

Marinette's head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. "Your son?"

It was then, as she truly looked at him for the first time, that recognition hit her like a truck. The fine cut of his suit, the meticulous posture, the strikingly familiar jawline… It all added up in a horrifying moment of realization.

“G-G-Gabriel Agreste!?” she stammered.

---

The plan had been to hide himself under the shadow of the stairway, letting the progress of the event come to him through little snippets he’d hear from the open window, and then at the most dramatically suitable moment he’d make his entrance and give all the staff that were told he was off sick a good scare.

That plan changed the moment he stepped out of his limo and felt it all hit him at once. An all encompassing tidal wave of boiling hot emotion bearing down on his head, the thundering beat of a heart in distress drilling into his ear drums, a vibrant colour of despair that seeped through the wall and drowned out all other colours just to highlight the source as it stumbled through the gymnasium.

Something that seemed to a curiosity unique to his miraculous, was that Gabriel was subjected to the aftershocks of his power. Even when he wasn’t transformed, he could still find his heart seeking out others, drawn to their misery and frustrations. At times it was a nauseating sensation, like he was lost at sea and being pulled back and forth by the violent bob of the waves.

In Miss Dupain Cheng’s case, it was enough to drown him in it, a putrid pallet of concentrated negativity that only a teenager could make so potent. It hurt him to touch, scolded him with fire, and yet he could help that small part of him that lavished in the suffering, in the possibilities of what it could birth. For a moment, he had to remind himself of the promise he made to Adrien, he to tell himself that he’d already decided that another Stormy Weather was too risky.

But the temptation was always there.

And in his mind, that was what brought him towards the distressed teen. A bout of curiosity, and a desire to numb the pain. Gabriel Agreste would never concern himself with the petty drama of teenagers out of the goodness of his heart, he was the bad guy after all.

She hadn’t recognised him at first, and quite honestly, that offended him. He’d cleaned up nice today and posted up in his sharpest suit, with the collar up past his ears and a thick red scarf billowing in the wind. His outfit demanded notice.

He thrusted the emergency chocolate bar he snuck into his coat (the press would murder him if they had a hint that he occasionally cheated on his diet) without much thought, just trying to get the snivelling girl’s attention. What was it? Some stupid gossip gone wrong? An insipid fight over some boy? Or was she just a sore loser? Honestly, nothing was worth this much tears.

It took her a moment, but eventually she let out the awe’d gasp that Gabriel Agreste’s presence deserved.

He stroked his chin idly, a light hum escaping his lips. “Oh yes, that does appear to be my name.”

For a moment, it looked as if the girl were ready to have a heart attack, her pupils dilating and her entire body shaking. “What are you doing here!?” She spluttered out.

He made a show of leaning his head back to glance at the school’s name affixed to one of the walls, just over the entrance. “I was under the impression that my competition is being held within your school, yes?”

“Well, yes.” She stammered, awkwardly rubbing her elbow. “But I thought you weren’t appearing in person? That’s why you sent these judges.”

Gabriel scoffed, “I would never let a winner be selected without being able to see the fruits of their efforts for myself.” He leaned over, but not in a casual, or friendly manner. He was so naturally wound tight that any bend in his body gave the impression of a twig about to snap in to, as if he were never naturally built to move like a normal human being. “I simply thought I could make my entrance a surprise one, get all the contestants on edge.”

He stroked his chin, examining her once more as he recalled that name leaving Adrien’s mouth a few- Actually, a lot now that Gabriel thought about it – times. “Speaking of, aren’t you a contestant?”

“She’s an amazing designer, Father!” He remembered Adrien piping up across dinner, unable to get one bite into his meal before he launched himself into another slew of info dumps about his social life that Gabriel honestly didn’t understand at all. How was this Nino boy ‘lit’? And who was this ‘Wet Willy’ fella that people keep giving away like the world’s worst birthday present?

Adrien had also said ‘You’d like her. She’s kind of like you.’ which currently made Gabriel scoff. There was no comparison to be made, Gabriel Agreste would not find himself whimpering on the front steps of a school, nor would he rely on the kindness of strangers. It was like his mother said after her third bottle of wisdom juice; you save your bellyaching for when no one else has to hear it. You shouldn’t burden other people just because you were having a bad day.

And then she’d mistake Gabriel for a girl again, but that was an entirely different matter.

Focusing back on Marinette, she was huddled up now, cupping her hand over her cheek to try and shield her face from him. “I am- I was…”

Come to think of it, that’s what he did when he was- Marinette. This was about the silly girl and her silly feelings, not him.

Even distracted by his own thoughts, Gabriel managed to keep him stoic, rather coldly adding “You’re not going to survive as a fashion designer if you so easily get cold feet.”

She shivered once again, her eyes focused on her feet. “It’s not that- I…”

Sadness blinked away into frustration, and her feet kicked up backed by a raspy growl. “Oh, what’s the point?”

Gabriel found himself tutting. How could she expect to improve her situation if she couldn’t even explain what was happening? Honestly, did these schools teach kids nothing about problem solving? “Hmpf, if all you have for me is a pity party, maybe you really do belong out here.”

It was perhaps a bit cruel and cold to say to a vulnerable teenager, but it was enough to touch a nerve, and if she truly was anything like Gabriel, then the best way to make her productive is to attack her pride.

“Chloe stole my submission.” She spat it out, a horrid taste stuck on her tongue. “And Lila helped cover it up. And now everyone thinks I’m a crazy, jealous idiot while Chloe gets to take all the credit for my hard work.”

“Lila?”

He got the feeling that he was supposed to recognise that name.

“She’s one of your models.”

“Oh. Right.” He noted idly. There wasn’t exactly many non-Adrien models that had done enough to wow him that his brain would consider their names worthy of remembrance, but he supposed he should at least write them down on his hand or something. “And how did you react when you realized her deception?”

He didn’t once entertain the question of if this girl was telling the truth. She was too… Inexperienced to lie about it, and he could detect just enough pride and self-respect that she would let herself be seen like this, this weak, just for an advantage.

The more she talked, the more confident she grew in her own words, as if Gabriel callous jabs easily cleared away the oppressive fog hanging over her head. “Well, how else would I react? I got mad, I screamed, I told everyone the truth, but they didn’t believe me-” She growled, throwing her hands up in the air. “And then I just realized it was pointless and I had to get out of there.”

Her hands fell down onto her knees, deflated and bitter. “So, I’m stuck here. Nothing better to do than let it out.”

Gabriel didn’t miss a beat, sneering down at her as he simply replied “What a pathetic attitude.”

The blunt force of his response had her jolting up to look up at him, her jaw hanging agape. “I-I’m sorry?”

And he stood by his comment, crouching down to her level to train his finger over her cheek, following the trail of dried tears with a shake of his head. There was a fire in there, he could just glimpse the familiar sparks of passion he himself used to have for his work, but she simply didn’t have the attitude, the grit to utilize it properly. She needed to be a burning furnace, not a wet match, if she wanted to have any chance in his industry.

“You shoot off your mouth, but don’t have the stones to stand your ground.” He explained with no hesitance, no caution and no decency. “You shrink away, but don’t have the restraint to keep quiet. You’re the worst of both worlds; cowardly, but opinionated.”

“Oh… I guess so.”

“Let me give you some advice, Young Miss.” He leaned back, drawing his finger back to his stalwart façade, the cold mask that always clouded his eyes and left himself an impenetrable, and stylish, fortress. “Image is everything. I don’t just mean the fashion industry; I mean everything.”

He rose to his feet as stiffly as he had sunk, arms fastened behind his back in a regal manner. Really, he needed to find a way to incorporate a crown into his wardrobe someday. “It’s not enough for you to argue that you’re right, you have to make everyone else want you to be right.”

It was a way of life that many ignored despite how simple and obvious it was. His early days of fashion faltered because, no matter how beautiful a thread he weaved, he would be easily dismissed for not knowing the proper bows and proper manners to present them in to those that looked down at him past their noses.

“A man can spin the most farcical lie simply on the merit of being calm in the face of a screaming oaf.” One arm unravelled, tensing up his fingers and flipping them skyward. “And many would call the sky yellow just to spite the bastard who yelled at them that it was blue.”

“If you want to excel in life, and survive in my industry, you need to be calm.” He inclined his head back towards her only slightly. Enough to look at her, but not enough to stop the glare of the sun from casting a shadow over his face, over his eyes. “No matter how justified you feel in being emotional, you need to retain your composure, to let everyone know that you’re in control. You dictate the terms of surrender, even when you’re on the short end of the stick.”

“You want everyone to hear your side of the story?” He finished with a curt nod, the only emotion he allowed to sink in was his distain. “Grit your teeth, stand your ground and make them listen. You show them that you’re more than a storm of emotion lashing out.”

“B-But what if I can’t?”

“Then you should give up now.” He remarked coldly, tearing his gaze away and beginning his departure. She wasn’t worth looking at until she demanded his attention. “You have no place in my world.”

As soon as he reached the top of the steps, he stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Are you going to give up, Miss Dupain Cheng?”

“No.” She stood up, wiping away the last of her tears and swallowing the last of her doubt. She was throwing herself into this, whether she was successful or not. “No, I’m not.”

Gabriel almost managed something akin to a smile.

“Then let’s clear all this mess up.”

---

Meeting Gabriel Agreste, her idol, in the flesh was not in her bingo card for today. Neither was having his first impression of her stem from her have a breakdown outside the school. And most certainly, she could never have been optimistic enough to put down him leading her through the crowd of onlookers personally while everybody trained their eyes on her, absolutely flabbergasted.

As far as she was concerned, this was like getting pickpocketed and then returning with the King of France to sort the whole mess out. It ranked up with meeting the tiny, adorable God in her pocket as one of the most surreal experiences Marinette had ever encountered.

When he proclaimed that he had to be in control, he meant it. The moment he opened the doors, the quiet creak of the hinges easily overpowered the sea of voices that permeated the room, and immediately all eyes were on him. He dominated the scene in long confident strides, his very gaze causing anyone it fell upon to shrink away from it, even his shadow was perfectly aided by the lighting to swallow half of the backwall as everyone parted to make a path for him.

He offered no explanation, no acknowledgement and no pleasantries. He marched up to the various podiums and curiously looked over the submissions. No one dared speak a question just yet, though many silent ones were traded in glances when everyone noticed the timid girl who just made a scene minutes before now matching his step like they were a pair.

It was difficult to get a read on his reaction to the hats as he turned each one over in his hands. Brows creased, whispered hums dripped from his lips, and occasionally his head would tilt to the side, but that flat look of mild intrigue never shifted.

A detail Marinette did appreciate on a closer look was how deliberately careful Gabriel was with the hats, limiting his grip as much as he could manage, every turn made with precision and care, and every touch made with the tiniest of pressure. He examined them like a priceless vase that could very well shatter if anything went wrong. This contest most likely meant very little to him personally, but as an artist he still respected the hats as someone else’s creation.

Adrien was the first to break the silence as the two finished their journey at the end of the lineup, where the judges surrounded ‘Chloe’s’ hat. He looked between the two of them, desperately wondering how this match up could have ever happened. “Father?”

“M-Mr. Agreste?!” The judges gasped out in unison.

Nathalie wasn’t taken aback, but there was a slight sigh that escaped her at an arrival that was clearly not ran past her. “This is quite the surprise.” She said with a dry tone and a narrowed gaze.

He didn’t look at her, but Marinette could glimpse a ghost of amusement as he passed her, leaning over to examine the hat at the centre of all this drama. “Yes, that was the point.”

Gabriel cast his steely gaze over the room, letting the silence settle heavily around him before he finally spoke.

"Sir?" the male judge stammered, clearly uncertain in the intense quiet.

Gabriel didn’t look his way, his voice as crisp and cutting as the edge of a blade. “I’ve heard that there’s been some kind of incident?”

Marinette, who had spent the last few moments desperately trying to read any hint of his opinion on her hat, stared intently at him, but his expression revealed nothing. She was sure her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

Before she could steady herself, Chloe’s voice cut through the air with her usual sneering tone. “Wow, you went crying to the big boss, Dupain-Cheng? That’s lo—”

Gabriel’s voice snapped back, cold and unyielding. “I was talking to the officials, Miss Bourgeois. Interrupt me again, and you’ll be dismissed from the contest.”

Chloe’s face drained of color as she spluttered, “B-but my mom—”

“Has little bearing on my mind today,” Gabriel replied smoothly, as if Chloe’s mother’s influence was an irrelevant trifle. He finally turned his gaze to Nathalie, his trusted assistant, the only person in the room he acknowledged with respect. “Nathalie, explain.”

Nathalie straightened, her voice level and unhurried. “Miss Dupain-Cheng claims that Miss Bourgeois switched their submissions, but no one can corroborate her story. Even Miss Rossi”—she glanced briefly at Lila, who feigned innocence—“swears that this one is Marinette’s hat.”

Gabriel’s brow arched ever so slightly as he turned toward Nathalie, his voice calm but commanding. “May I see the hat?”

He directed his gaze to Marinette, who realized with a slight thrill that he was waiting for her permission to pick up her creation. Her throat felt dry, but she nodded firmly.

“Of course, Sir,” Nathalie replied, as Gabriel carefully took the hat in his hands, his touch delicate as he ran a finger along the rim, the faintest glimmer of admiration flaring in his eyes.

“Mhm, this is…” he murmured, and Marinette felt her breath catch. “A fine design. Excellent use of materials. And a creative incorporation of the feathers.”

Marinette barely held back a squeal of delight at the validation from her idol.

Gabriel turned to her, his gaze as sharp as his tone. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, would you say that you’re a dedicated designer?”

Her heart pounding, Marinette swallowed and answered, “I—I’ve been doing it since my dad started letting me hold needles. I’ve been reading up on all your guides and process.”

Gabriel gave a slow nod, his tone one of an instructor guiding a novice. “Then I’m sure you follow the standard practice of signing your work.”

Chloe’s face drained of color at the mention of a signature.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she remembered. “Signing my—that’s right! I did! It’s there, under the brim.”

She’d been so wrapped up in the moment, had already determined that it was all hopeless, that she completely forgot the silver bullet that would have put this entire debacle to rest. Gabriel was right, she so easily let herself be blinded by the heat of the moment.

Without missing a beat, Gabriel turned the hat upside down, examining it closely. “What do you know? ‘Marinette.’ In finely stitched gold.”

Chloe blurted out, “T-that doesn’t prove anything! Obviously, she snuck in and put her name on it to trick everyone. I left it on my desk for a good ten minutes while I went to the bathroom before the competition. She must have done it then!”

Gabriel tilted his head with an air of exasperated disbelief. “Fascinating. You’re saying that she sought out your hat just before the competition and, instead of swiping it quick and easy, she decided to masterfully stitch her name into the hat in the span of ten minutes, with anyone able to walk by and catch her?”

Chloe faltered. “Um… Well…”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “And, despite this being the crux of her plan, she made no efforts to show off this vital piece of evidence until I pointed it out. I must say, I’d be amazed if even my best employees could manage such an effective work ethic.”

Chloe stammered, looking desperately for an escape from Gabriel’s unrelenting scrutiny. “Uh… I…”

“Then perhaps you could tell us a little more about how you put this all together, Miss Bourgeois,” he continued, voice smooth but scathing. “The stitching? The inspiration? Anything?”

Chloe’s face turned red as she stammered, “You know, the idea just… came to mind?”

Gabriel turned his attention back to Marinette, whose cheeks flushed with pride, and offered her a faint nod. “Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette’s nervousness melted away as she spoke, her voice gaining strength with each word. “I was inspired by the pigeons I saw in the park. I wanted something simple yet elegant, the way they look in flight. From some angles, they have this natural grace to them.”

She gestured towards the grooves in the hat. “The shape of their wings translated perfectly into these folds, and the feather on top was meant to bring it all together. Originally, I was going to use a real feather, but… I remembered that Adrien’s allergic to them, so I found an alternative.”

Genuine surprise crossed his features as he turned his head towards Adrien, “You never told me you were allergic.”

Adrien chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I only discovered it recently, Father.”

“Hm. Ironic.” Gabriel muttered.

Adrien’s eyes fell, confused. “Wait, how?”

Obviously, Gabriel hadn’t meant to be heard that time as he quickly recomposed himself and ignored Adrien’s question whole-heartedly. “Uh, back to the matter at hand. Well, I believe that all speaks for itself.”

The judges nodded, and one cleared his throat, making the final call. “In light of this, we’ll correct our results accordingly. Miss Dupain-Cheng is the rightful designer of this piece.”

Marinette’s heart swelled as the announcement echoed in the gym. The look of fury and disbelief on Chloe’s face only sweetened her victory. She met Gabriel’s gaze, and though he said nothing, there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes that told her all she needed to know.

Marinette called out impulsively, “Thank you, Mr. Agreste… For everything.”

Gabriel paused just a moment, his expression softening by the barest fraction. “Perhaps you’ve learned today, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Pride in one’s work is admirable—but integrity to defend it is invaluable.”

He cleared his throat before speaking to the rest of the room. “And with that sorted, it’s obvious to me that her hat certainly qualifies for first place.”

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat, barely able to believe her ears. She looked to Alya, who beamed at her friend with absolute pride.

“R-Really?!” Marinette gasped, eyes wide. “I won?”

Alya pulled her into a tight hug. “You won, girl!”

The room was filled with murmurs of approval and applause. Marinette felt like she was floating on air—until Lila came rushing over with a face painted in faux delight.

“I knew you could do it, Mari!” Lila’s smile was insincere, as Marinette now realized it always was.

Gabriel’s sharp gaze narrowed on Lila, silencing her instantly. “Miss Rossi, was it?”

Lila stiffened, then quickly composed herself, her voice sugary and polite. “Uh, yes, Sir! Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

Gabriel regarded her for a moment before speaking, his tone chilly. “As I understand it, you were the, shall we say, ‘key witness’ in the case against Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Lila’s gaze flickered nervously, her voice less certain. “Y-Yes, Sir. I guess I must have just remembered things wrong.”

“Did you now?” Gabriel’s voice was dangerously calm, and Lila visibly squirmed.

She stammered, “It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Gabriel replied. His gaze remained cold. “Remember that while you work at my company, you are representing me and my life’s work. And if word got out that one of my employees was caught sabotaging my own competition over a petty squabble, there would be… Consequences.”

Lila paled slightly. “With respect, Sir. I think—”

“What is your job again?” Gabriel interrupted smoothly.

Lila hesitated, taken aback. “I’m… I’m a model, Sir.”

“And what does that job entail?” His voice was patient but had an edge of irony.

Lila glanced around, clearly feeling exposed. “Posing for the camera?”

Gabriel’s eyes were glacial. “So… Nothing about thinking then?”

Lila faltered, trying to recover. “Uh, I imagine there’s something th—”

“And is your face on my billboards?” Gabriel pressed. “Is it your name that makes the brand?”

Lila swallowed, her voice small. “No, Sir.”

“Then I must say that what you think means nothing to me,” Gabriel finished coolly. Somewhere nearby, Marinette could swear she heard a soft snicker that sounded remarkably like Adrien’s.

Gabriel’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“N-No, Sir,” Lila mumbled. She was so taken off guard by Gabriel suddenly threatening presence and precise wording that she couldn’t even reign it all in with a false, pitiable façade. She was left barely whimpering from behind gritted teeth at the disrespect she was forced to take on the chin.

Satisfied, Gabriel turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder, “Nathalie, we’re leaving.” He cast one more glance toward his son. “Adrien, be home as soon as you can.”

He looked back at Marinette, his tone briefly softening. “And Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Y-Yes?” Marinette managed, still overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation.

“I expect you to fix your attitude problem,” Gabriel said, though his tone wasn’t entirely unkind. “You have potential. Don’t squander it.”

Marinette nodded, filled with a renewed determination. “Yes, Sir! I will!”

Gabriel gave her a short nod, then left the room with Nathalie in tow, his commanding presence leaving an almost physical void behind him.

As the crowd began to disperse, Marinette’s legs wobbled, and she clung to Alya for support, her friend chuckling softly.

“Whoa,” Alya murmured. “Nino wasn’t kidding. That guy is a psycho.”

Adrien’s faint smile faded a little. “He’s not that bad.”

Alya turned to him with raised eyebrows. “You kidding? Did you see how he talked to Lila?”

Nino shrugged. “I mean, she did almost hand the contest over to Chloe.”

Alya scoffed. “Yeah, but she made a mistake and trusted the wrong person—that’s no reason to talk to her like that! He was practically threatening her in front of everyone.”

Suddenly, Lila rushed up to Marinette and threw her arms around her, sobbing dramatically. But her fake tears had no effect on Marinette anymore. Marinette wouldn't be tricked again, she knew Lila's game now

“Oh, Marinette, I’m so sorry!” Lila’s eyes sparkled with crocodile tears as she clung to Marinette. “I swear, I really did think I remembered what your hat looked like. Can you ever forgive me?”

Marinette took a deep breath, summoning a sweet smile as Gabriel’s words echoed in her mind. He was right; it wasn’t enough to simply be right—you had to make others want you to be right. And who did you want to believe more than a cute, innocent little girl crying and begging for forgiveness?

Marinette knew that, despite how satisfying it would be to chew Lila out here and now, all that would accomplish is making her look like a bully to the people who didn't know Lila's game. If she wanted to get anywhere with making people see what Lila really was, a scam artist, she needed to play along. For now.

“It’s fine, Lila,” She said kindly, putting a hand on Lila’s shoulder. “We all make mistakes sometimes. The important thing is that we learn from them.”

---

Inside the darkened limo, Gabriel settled into his seat as the vehicle pulled away, finally free from the eyes of the crowd. As he adjusted his cufflinks, Nooroo slipped from Gabriel’s pocket, the kwami’s wings fluttering with a slight tremor.

“I think that worked out quite well,” Gabriel remarked, his tone almost pleased.

Nooroo hesitated, hovering close. “You certainly left an impression, Master. Are you sure it was a good one?”

Gabriel gave a faint smile, brushing aside Nooroo’s concern. “It was a strong one, and that’s all that matters.”

Just then, a notification lit up Gabriel’s phone, and he exhaled sharply at the message’s contents. “Another email about my new expensive cheese habit,” he muttered. “I swear to god, I wish Adrien had gotten any other kwami than this glutton.”

“You shouldn’t knock Plagg, Master,” Nooroo replied. “He’s the only reason you’re not in jail right now.”

Gabriel glanced at Nooroo, arching a brow. “Is he now?”

Nooroo’s eyes held an uncharacteristic seriousness. “Trust me, if Plagg had wanted to, he could’ve convinced Adrien to turn you in. Or to throw caution to the wind and cataclysm your house.”

Gabriel tilted his head, intrigued. “And where did this bout of mercy come from?”

Nooroo fluttered lower, almost reluctant to share. “Some… crackpot theory.”

Gabriel’s interest was piqued. “Plagg has a theory? Now I’m intrigued.”

Nooroo sighed, glancing at the window. “For some strange reason, Plagg wholeheartedly believes that Adrien joining you will work out for the best in the long run.”

Gabriel chuckled, amused. “And you don’t agree?”

Nooroo hesitated, a somber look crossing his small face. Gabriel leaned back, reading the hesitation as Nooroo finally spoke.

“Honestly, Master…” Nooroo hovered closer, his tone grave, as he locked eyes with Gabriel. “If it were up to me, I would tell Adrien to use his cataclysm on you before it’s too late.”

The words hung in the air, a moment of silence weighing heavily in the enclosed space. Gabriel felt a chill creep up his spine—not at the threat, but at the pure matter-of-fact tone Nooroo had used. There was no anger or disgust in his voice, only the cold inevitability of a dark truth.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked impressed. “My, my, Nooroo, I didn’t know you were capable of such disdain. I assumed you to be a far gentler creature.”

Nooroo met his gaze without faltering. “I don’t dislike you, Master. But I know your heart, I know that it is vile, and I know that, even though you may occasionally allow acts of kindness and warmth, it is inevitable that you will go too far.”

Gabriel’s eyes glinted. “Knowing my emotions isn’t the same as understanding them.”

Nooroo sighed. “True, but I know that your darkness will consume you. It always does.”

Gabriel’s gaze grew curious. “You say it like it’s already happened multiple times.”

Nooroo looked solemn. “This world is but one of many parallel worlds.”

Gabriel blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “I did not expect to learn of the multiverse today.”

“Everything in existence is connected, including alternate versions of yourself.” Nooroo continued, his tone calm and even. “On some level, you are always aware of your other iterations. That’s where the déjà vu effect comes from.”

Nooroo’s voice softened, filled with a strange sorrow. “Kwamis live outside the bounds of reality, and thus we exist in all of these worlds at once, or at least, parts of us do. We know, on a subconscious level, what is going to happen, what has happened, and what must happen.”

Gabriel’s smirk faded into a more pensive expression. “Do you know me in all of these universes?”

Nooroo met his gaze without hesitation. “In every universe that has a Hawkmoth, everything falls to ruin by your hand.”

Gabriel raised a brow, almost amused. “Ah, a pity.”

Nooroo nodded, his expression more serious than ever. “When we first began this ridiculous partnership, Plagg espoused a theory,” Nooroo said quietly. “He believed the x-factor was whether Adrien joined your crusade before he officially became Ladybug’s sidekick.”

Gabriel folded his arms, considering. “And you disagree?”

Nooroo’s tone grew sharper. “I know that the real x-factor is the creation of Hawkmoth in the first place. Any world that allows you to gain power is a world in danger.”

Nooroo’s voice lowered to a near whisper. “The only way that Adrien will be safe is if Hawkmoth is never allowed to flourish, to transform into something darker. In every world, even those in which you are not a villain, you are a threat.”

Gabriel leaned back, studying Nooroo with intense curiosity. He expected rage or some venomous response to rise up within him, but oddly, he found himself laughing, a low, almost delighted sound.

“I have to admit, Nooroo, I never thought you’d boost my ego so much,” Gabriel said with a smirk.

Nooroo frowned. “Master?”

“My villainy is so profound that I have even a god quaking.” Gabriel’s gaze grew sharp, his smirk darkening. “You’re wrong, of course, but the thought still makes me ecstatic.”

Nooroo’s face fell. “Gabriel, this is no joke—”

Gabriel waved him off, revelling in the arrogance Nooroo’s words had stirred in him. “Thank you, Nooroo. I mistook you for a dullard, but it appears there’s so much more going on in that tiny brain of yours than I ever gave you credit for.”

His eyes gleamed with a quiet, intense determination. “I assure you, I will endeavour to prove Plagg right. And I’ll prove that I am the best Hawkmoth.”

Notes:

Holder Relationships:
Tikki/Marinette - "You can do anything if you put your mind to it!" "I can do anything when I have you by my side, Tikki."
Plagg/Adrien - "There's no cat cooler than this black cat!" "Wooo! Let's get (respectfully) wild!"
Lila/Raawr (Edit - I forgot the Fox Kwami is Trixx, not Raawr) - "Let's go ruin somebody's life." "Bet."
Nooroo/Gabriel - "Nothing personal, but have you ever considered Canadian Healthcare?" "Damn, Nooroo, I didn't know you were cool like that."

Part of this chapter was to highlight another impact of the change in this version of events, where Chat Noir's betrayal and Lila arriving much earlier in the timeline (before Marinette and Alya have forged a strong bond) leave the Marinette side of the equation as much more meek and non-confrontational. This version of Marinette no longer has the confidence to do a lot of the things that would make her more established in the school or give her the confidence to stand up for herself without backup when she's not Ladybug. This all unites our key characters in their miraculous personas being an escape from a life where they all feel powerless in their own ways.

Chloe's fun to write for here just because I love the trope of a bully treating it like their bullying is their nine-to-five job and, by god, they are gonna earn that paycheck.

Gabriel's sections are fun because I like just slipping in those one or two blink or you miss it sentences that make you start questioning just how much of his past he's in denial about.

Next chapter will use a bit of a different format as we finally delve into... The Miraculous Group Chat.

Chapter 15: Partners In Crime: The Miraculous Group Chat

Summary:

Ladybug introduces Volpina to the Miraculous Group Chat, where debates are had, the kwami's gossip, some potentially racist remarks are censored, and Hawkmoth learns that he's not the only Butterfly-obsessed loony in the villain game.

Notes:

You know what this chapter's about.

FoxyLady joined the chat.

FoxyLady: Holy shit, it’s real!?

MothMan: And already with the swearing.

QueenBug: Teenagers swear. Get over it, Old Man.

MothMan: My son would never.

KittyPun is typing

MothMan: Right, son?

KittyPun is typing

KittyPun: Sorry, having trouble seeing your guys’ messages.

MothMan: I can see the little ticks that indicate you read my message!

FoxyLady: How do you guys have a group chat?

FreakiTikki: All Miraculous are connected with an inbuilt communicator at all times.

FoxyLady: That sounds like an incredible security risk.

Chester: Only if you’re a moron about it, Ring-Tail. As long as we don’t leave no incriminating info on here, everybody’s safe.

QueenBug: Yeah, it’s like any other chatroom. Don’t be an idiot, and you’ll be fine.

FreakiTikki: …

Chester: …

MothMan: …

FoxyLady: I get the feeling you’re all side-eyeing Chat Noir right now.

KittyPun: Hey!

QueenBug: First bloody thing he does is complain about the commute to Dupont.

KittyPun: That doesn’t mean I go to that school! I could just go there to watch people.

Chester: You do realize how that’s worse, right?

QueenBug: I could buy it.

TrixxOrTreat: Plagg’s holders are always creepers.

Chester: And your holders are always losers.

MothMan: Stop bullying my son, he’s a sensitive soul!

KittyPun: Dad, please, no…

FoxyLady: Wait, who’s Chester supposed to be?

KittyPun: Plagg.

FoxyLady: I don’t get it.

Chester: Tikki gets it, and that’s all that matters.

FreakyTikki: You’re trash, Plagg.

FoxyLady: Okay, but why do you have a group chat with your mortal enemies? I honestly can’t see Buggy gossiping with villains after hours.

MothMan: Look, we have lives outside of akumas and some of us need to co-ordinate our schedules.

FoxyLady: That's... Considerate?

QueenBug: “Considerate” isn’t really the word I’d use.

KittyPun: Yeah, it’s more like an obligation.

MothMan: Just because some of us are professional villains doesn’t mean we can’t be courteous and organized.

QueenBug: Professional villains, says the guy who got thwarted by a literal giant baby last week.

MothMan: There were extenuating circumstances!

KittyPun: Like akuamtizing a toddler?

FoxyLady: So what are we even doing here?

Chester: For the most part, we just try not to have a breakdown in here. Which, by the way, is hard for someone who only eats cheese.

KittyPun: Somebody should consider expanding their palate.

Chester: Says the guy who eats like… Lettuce for lunch?

QueenBug: What’s wrong with lettuce?

Chester: He’s supposed to be a cat, not a bunny rabbit! And let me tell you, it’s the most depressing looking lettuce in existence, I swear to me.

FoxyLady: So wait, this means all Miraculous holders are on this network, right?

Chester: Correct, Ring-Tail.

FoxyLady: And nobody’s tried to hack it?

Chester: I’m going to say this real slow… If you hack the Miraculous system, it’s gonna know.

TrixxOrTreat: Classic newbie move, trying to hack kwami magic. Seen it a thousand times.

MothMan: Well, not everyone knows the ins and outs of ancient magical systems.

FreakyTikki: Isn’t that why we’re supposed to have these group meetings in person?

QueenBug: Group meetings? I don’t recall agreeing to that.

MothMan: Excuse me, Bug, some of us like a little structure to our lives.

QueenBug: Some of us don’t have henchpeople to do our schedules for us!

MothMan: I don’t have henchpeople. I have interns.

KittyPun: Hey, quick Q—how’d you all get your usernames? ‘Cause I feel like I missed something here.

FreakyTikki: Hawkmoth’s actions left me no choice but to remove the ability to edit usernames.

MothMan: What did I do?

FreakyTikki: He wanted to call himself ‘HawkDaddy’.

KittyPun: You’re doing God’s work, Tikki.

QueenBug: You made the right decision.

Chester: You’re all cowards.

KittyPun: Wait, mine is just a pun? That’s all I get?

QueenBug: You think I’m proud of “QueenBug”? Sounds like a knockoff perfume. But it was given to me.

FoxyLady: So, I’m supposed to just accept that “FoxyLady” is my official name now?

TrixxOrTreat: You’re lucky, that’s a good one. Mine sounds like a Halloween slogan.

MothMan: If you’re dissatisfied with your designated identities, take it up with the Miraculous system itself.

FreakyTikki: Pro-tip, I don’t like complaints.

MothMan: I feel like you have it out for me.

QueenBug: I wonder if it’s because you’re a literal villain.

MothMan: “Villain” is such an ugly word. Innovator, visionary—

KittyPun: Guy with a moth hat?

QueenBug: I’m pretty sure he calls it a “mask.”

Chester: ButterBoy over there has one too. You guys are basically a matching set.

TrixxOrTreat: …Nooroo, what is that name?

MothMan: I think it’s clever, and matches my alliteration.

ButterBoy: Excuse me, my mask is a statement.

FreakyTikki: Of what, exactly?

ButterBoy: …Elegance.

FoxyLady: When you find a mirror, we’re going to have a talk about “elegance.”

QueenBug: Nooroo has a mask!? OMG, that sounds so cuuuute! I want a picture.

TrixxOrTreat: Kwami can’t be digitally recorded.

QueenBug: Awwwww.

Chester: No Kwami thirst posts for you.

KittyPun: Eeeeew, Plagg!

Chester: xD xD xD

MothMan: The red one’s right, you are trash.

Chester: You guys have no sense of humour.

KittyPun: We have standards!

QueenBug: Sort of.

MothMan: Don’t be absurd. I run a tight ship.

KittyPun: Your son’s literally on this call, Dad.

MothMan: …In that case, I’ll take that as an opportunity to enforce additional standards.

---

 

 

---

FreakyTikki has invited Chester, ButterBoy, and TrixxOrTreat to a private chat.

FreakyTikki: Alright, now that it’s just us, can we talk about our holders?

Chester: Finally! I’ve been dying to vent.

TrixxOrTreat: Oooh, this sounds juicy. What’s up?

ButterBoy: Are we discussing grievances or… You know, moments of pride?

Chester: Are you saying Hawkmoth has moments of pride?

FreakyTikki: Please. This chat is for kwami therapy.

Chester: Thank you, Tikki! Chat’s a good kid, but if I have to hear one more complaint about having to do his own laundry, I’m going to scream. Like, seriously, it’s not that hard! And I don’t get what he’s got against cheese. It’s not a habit; it’s a lifestyle.

FreakyTikki: Same here. Ladybug is smart, driven, and sweet… But the drama! It always drama. She overthinks every little thing. I swear, it’s like watching a reality TV show from the inside.

ButterBoy: Hawkmoth is… Well, he’s intense. Honestly, sometimes I think his entire personality could use a refresh, like a system reboot or something. He makes everything so serious when he’s not transformed.

Chester: Why do you always get the dramatic holders?

TrixxOrTreat: I can’t complain about my holder.

FreakyTikki: Really?

TrixxOrTreat: Food? Check. Entertainment? Check. Style? We’re like peanut and butter!

ButterBoy: I don’t think that’s how that metaphor works…

FreakyTikki: Knowing you, I’m pretty sure that entertainment entails torturing the local populace.

TrixxOrTreat: Obviously! We make it our mission to prank at least ten people a day, and we are talking epic, major prankage. We even convinced one girl that she’d get magical powers if she held her breath for ten minutes.

FreakyTikki: You did what?!

Chester: Oh no, not the outdated slang.

TrixxOrTreat: Everything I say is timeless.

ButterBoy: Are we just ignoring the possible manslaughter attempt?

TrixxOrTreat: Chillax; the kid was fine. She landed on something soft when she fainted.

TrixxOrTreat: Though, my holder does get into some serious moods sometimes. Can dish it out, but can’t take it.

ButterBoy: Tell me about it. Hawkmoth is the king of brooding. Sometimes I catch him hurling insults to the sofa like somebody else is there; it’s weird.

FreakyTikki: Oh, that’s nothing. Ladybug has, like, a daily “catastrophe countdown.” She’s practically got a crisis calendar where she plans out her worries. I mean, she’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but the girl could stress out a rock.

TrixxOrTreat: And people think kwamis are dramatic. We’re fine—our holders, though? Major drama llamas.

FreakyTikki: I usually have to set up scented candles and ‘waft’ her into calming down.

TrixxOrTreat: I just have to get her gossiping about that Dupain-Cheng kid she hates.

Chester: Hey, my kid won’t shut up about her either.

ButterBoy: I just told my holder that the world would be better off if he was dead. Somehow, that made him happy.

TrixxOrTreat: WTF, Nooroo?

Chester: Uh… Red flag?

FreakyTikki: Nooroo! We’ve talked about this!

Chester: Dude, you can’t keep telling your holders to kill themselves.

ButterBoy: Oh, come on, I only did it one other time.

FreakyTikki: The fact that it even happened once is concerning!

TrixxOrTreat: No, no, he had a point. I’ve sat through my kid’s English class; fuck William Shakespear.

---

---

MothMan: Who. The hell. Is the Butterfly?!

KittyPun: Is… Is this a trick question?

FreakyTikki: Nooroo?

ButterBoy: Don’t ask. He’s been on about this all morning.

MothMan: I’ll tell you who he is. A FRAUD!

QueenBug: THE Butterfly? The new villainous sensation shaking things up in America? Yeah, I might have heard of him, he sounds pretty cool.

MothMan: No, he doesn’t! He sounds like a rip off!

QueenBug: You don’t own the butterfly aesthetic.

KittyPun: Not for lack of trying…

MothMan: Those bastards down at the courthouse wouldn’t let me trademark ‘Monarch’ either.

Chester: There’s another butterfly bad guy, so what? You’re not gonna catch me throwing a fit every time someone wears a cat costume.

FreakyTikki: Yeah, I don’t know why you’re freaking out. It’s not like anyone’s comparing you or anything

MothMan: What do you call this!?

KittyPun: Oh no.

FreakyTikki: I don’t get it, what does this have to do with Hawkmoth’s lack of a sex life?

Chester: This Butterfly dude sounds pretty… Fly.

KittyPun: Why does everyone keep calling me a furry?!

QueenBug: Damn, they really got your likeness down, Moth.

FoxyLady: They have a point, you don’t really look like a ‘Hawkmoth’. You look like you should have ‘disgruntled Mexican wrestler’ in your backstory.

MothMan: How did they even know about my monologue playlist?

QueenBug: You have a playlist?

ButterBoy: He has several. He organised them.

Queenbug: Oh my god, how pathetic are you?

FreakyTikki: You really don’t want to go there, Bug.

QueenBug: I don’t see how my Adrien chest has anything to do with this.

FreakyTikki: I didn’t even mention it by name.

KittyPun: Your what chest?

MothMan: Why is my ethnicity listed as a downside!? What’s wrong with being French?

Chester: I’m pretty sure anything I say is gonna have Tikki banning me.

FreakyTikki: Probably.

FoxyLady: You have to be careful with the sensitive subject of race, Plagg.

FoxyLady: Really, I think we need to address how overwhelmingly white this whole set-up is.

QueenBug: Hey, I’m half-Chinese, don’t drag me into this.

FoxyLady: Buggy, I love you, but this is *Insert Current Year*; that’s basically white.

QueenBug: Don’t you start with that shit with me, Miss ‘I thought you were japanese’.

FoxyLady: I told you, I was talking to the Japanese girl behind you that just so happened to look really similar to you!

Chester: Pretty sure you’re just digging the hole deeper there.

QueenBug: Keep digging, Whitey.

FoxyLady: Uh, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly fair-skinned.

QueenBug: Volpina isn’t, but we don’t know what you look like under the transformation.

TrixxOrTreat: …I’m not doing magical blackface. Trust me.

MothMan: Does ‘The Butterfly’ have a hit single? I think not!

QueenBug: I still can’t believe the Hawkmoth Rap was allowed to be produced.

KittyPun: Roth Records will publish anything.

MothMan: And what do they mean ‘No Bitches’? I wouldn’t use such crude language, but my personal assistant is a god damn knock out!

KittyPun: Uh… Dad…

MothMan: You’ve seen her, Son. You can’t deny that she’s objectively a fucking smoke show when she’s handling all that paperwork.

KittyPun: Please. Stop.

QueenBug: I think I’m gonna vomit over the images you’ve violated my imagination with without my consent.

FoxyLady: God, it’s a terrible day to have eyes.

[MothMan’s post was deleted]

[MothMan’s post was deleted]

[MothMan’s post was deleted]

ButterBoy: No incriminating information, Master!

KittyPun: Dad! You can’t just post pictures of her!

KittyPun: When did you even take these?

MothMan: That’s none of your business, Boy.

Chester: Awww, let him post pictures of his girlfriend. It's adorable.

MothMan: She's just an assistant, you cheese-addled rat!

MothMan: Back me up, Chat Noir. The Butterfly is just an imitator, an amateur, a worthless scoundrel; the diet coke of evil!

KittyPun: I’d defend you Dad, but that was before he made you the virgin and him the chad.

QueenBug: Moth, it’s really not that deep. You’re not the only butterfly out there, okay? You don’t have a monopoly on insects.

MothMan: It’s the principle, Bug! I had the butterfly look first, and now some wannabe across the Atlantic is stealing my thunder. It’s a violation of intellectual property.

KittyPun: Does he even have akumas?

ButterBoy: No, he has a different power entirely. He “influences the will of others,” apparently. No need for emo butterflies.

MothMan: See? He’s a complete hack! No finesse, no subtlety—just blatant manipulation! At least I am sophisticated in my art.

Chester: Yeah, super subtle. Especially with that “I am Hawkmoth!” introduction you scream every time.

MothMan: I only do that so people know it’s me!

TrixxOrTreat: Sure, it’s definitely not because you like the sound of your own voice.

FoxyLady: Honestly, I think it’s just jealousy. Look at this—The Butterfly gets an entire billboard in Times Square! Meanwhile, Hawkmoth is still scrambling to get a line in the local newspaper these days.

QueenBug: Lol, how’s that for sophistication?

KittyPun: Also… I gotta admit, the butterfly wings he has are pretty cool.

MothMan: Pretty cool?! I could have wings if I wanted to! In fact, Nooroo, could we—?

ButterBoy: Absolutely not, master.

MothMan: What do you mean, “no”?! It’s my right as the miraculous wielder!

ButterBoy: It’s called “dignity,” master.

KittyPun: Yeah, besides, think about it: you’re way more of a… “mysterious shadows” kind of guy.

FreakyTikki: Kitty has a point. No need to trade the emo goth aesthetic just because someone else is flashier.

MothMan: I am not ‘emo’, I’m elegantly dreary.

FoxyLady: All I know is, The Butterfly has ten times the followers you do—and merch deals.

QueenBug: Ouch. That’s a rough one, Moth.

MothMan: I don’t need followers or merch deals! I’m a man on a noble mission! To bring back what is rightfully—

Chester: Here we go.

MothMan: —and nothing in this meme-driven society can tarnish my resolve! I’ll show them. I’ll show them all what a true villain is!

KittyPun: But will you show us… Without monologuing?

MothMan: …

FreakyTikki: …?

MothMan: Okay, I’ll consider it. But only if you all promise to keep a special watch on the Butterfly. We can’t have any copycat rivals undermining our integrity.

TrixxOrTreat: Does this mean you’re worried he might actually be cooler than you?

MothMan: I don’t do cool, Fox. I do menacing.

---

---

MothMan: Alright, if we’re going to take my entrances up a notch, I’ll admit… perhaps my delivery could use a bit of, shall we say, polish.

KittyPun: Now we’re talking! Nothing wrong with a few punchy lines! We’ll have everyone remembering your name, not some New York wannabe.

MothMan: Precisely. I thought I’d start by asking you for a few suggestions from the Master.

KittyPun: Haha, okay, no need to twist my arm! I live for this. Let’s see… You could lean into the moth angle a little more. Something like, “Prepare to be lured into the darkness, just like a moth to the flame!” Or, you know, “I’ll flutter your world with terror!”

MothMan: Flutter? I’m Hawkmoth, not some kind of butterfly dance recital.

KittyPun: Touché, touché. Alright, maybe something more dramatic? How about, “Embrace the shadows—Hawkmoth is here to clip your wings!”

MothMan: Hmm, now that’s more promising. “Clip your wings…” Yes, I like it. It’s powerful, decisive, yet still elegant.

KittyPun: Right? And then if you want something shorter and snappier, you can always go with “The night is dark… and full of moths.” Total crowd-pleaser.

MothMan: … I don’t think that one’s quite the tone I’m aiming for.

KittyPun: Ah, worth a shot! How about something like, “The darkness has a master, and his name is… Hawkmoth.”

MothMan: Yes. Finally, a line that does my menace justice. This is what I need—dramatic, enigmatic, just a touch of theatricality. Well done, Adrien.

KittyPun: I live to serve. And if you want to make your big entrance really land, don’t forget a bit of strategic silence. You know, let them wonder what terrifying thing you’ll say next.

MothMan: Hmm… silence. Now that’s a novel concept. Perhaps I don’t need to say anything. Just let my power speak for itself.

KittyPun: I dunno, if you went totally silent, they might think you’ve moth-balled. 😆

MothMan: Adrien.

KittyPun: Right, right, less moth puns. But seriously, Dad, you’ve got this! Just keep it cool, make every word count, and trust me—they’ll be talking about your entrances, not the Butterfly’s.

MothMan: You’re right, son. Hawkmoth is in a league of his own… and soon, the whole world will know it.

KittyPun: That’s the spirit! Now, if you need any more pointers on banter or monologue tips, just holler.

MothMan: Very well, but don’t get cocky. I am still your father.

KittyPun: Wouldn’t dream of it, MothMan.

---

Notes:

"Adrien, I have made the meme."

"For the last time, Dad, posting '#Relatable' next to every image is not a meme."

Chapter 16: Mirror Mistress: Bugaboo Got A Boo-Boo

Summary:

In the aftermath of an easy akuma battle, Marinette suffers a grievous injury. It's a good thing that nothing important is gonna happen while she recovers.

 

Notes:

Today, Gabriel figures out how to use more than one brain cell.

Coffee had never tasted so good, and Marinette wasn’t even a coffee person. She sat herself down on the edge of the Eiffel Tower railing, legs dangling over the cars passing underneath, holding Volpina’s offering like a raft in a storm while her partner fed her kwami on the other side. She didn’t know what Volpina put in it, but whatever that x-factor was, it was pumping Ladybug through her yawn.

The last akuma, Power Drive, had been the definition of tiring. A retired sprinter whose entire game plan was running away to the tune of Speedy Gonzales, bouncing off walls, ducking through their legs, leading them all around Paris; it was not a fight of smart or skill, just pure, unadulterated endurance. Too fast to plan around, too bull headed for even illusions to have any effect. It was like chasing the needle in the haystack, but the needle could move.

Chat Noir didn’t even contribute to the fight, he spent all his time just trying to catch up to the akuma, before just keeling over and giving up at one point.

Eventually, the lucky charm took mercy on them and simply gave them directions to the water fountain that Power Drive would stop to quench his thirst, where the two heroes proceeded to, quite simply, tackle the bastard, piled on top of him and curb stomped his akumatized left shoe. Needless to say, Marinette needed the caffeine boost.

Marinette was impatient as Tikki nibbled on her macaroon. She couldn’t help the way her foot tapped impatiently and her head shook; she just felt so exposed, so naked without Ladybug to cover her up. It’s not that she thought her partner would be rude enough to look, she just found herself looking forward to these little adventures – not the akumas, no, but just the time she got to be someone other than Marinette.

Besides, who’s to say that would be the last akuma of the day? Staring out into the horizon, Marinette found her eyes tracking every slight notion of movement, expecting her ears to pick up an akuma alert every few seconds. It was getting late, and she had to assume Hawkmoth had a life of his own to tend to, but there was nothing wrong with being ready to leap into action.

“You are so stiff.” Volpina announced her return a minute after Marinette had transformed again.

Ladybug grumbled under her breath as Volpina’s laughter rang out, and she couldn’t fight off a smile, in spite of herself. There was something relaxing about Volpina’s presence—maybe the fox heroine’s carefree attitude was contagious, something Marinette definitely needed after a night like this.

“I’m just on guard,” Ladybug said, trying to sound as serious as possible as she scanned the city skyline.

“Loosen up, Buggy.” Volpina nudged her shoulder playfully. “Hawkmoth never does two akumas in one day.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. “You do realize that you just jinxed it, right?”

Volpina shrugged, smirking. “Maybe. But Paris’ two resident bad bitches can handle it.”

The words were meant to be uplifting, and for a brief moment, Ladybug felt a spark of confidence. But the truth gnawed at her from the inside, making the title feel… wrong. Bad bitch? Volpina may be one, but was she? Would her partner still think that if she knew what was underneath? If she caught Marinette slinking off the battlefield after a fight, exhausted and unsure, would she see her as anything other than the fumbling, anxious girl who couldn’t find her way out of her own insecurities? Sure, Marinette had just scraped out a win in the fashion contest, watching her idol chew out Lila and making Chloe look like an absolute fool. But she didn’t outsmart anyone—she just stumbled into Gabriel Agreste, who swooped in and dealt with it for her, all while coolly pointing out that if she’d been more assertive, she wouldn’t have needed his help. She’d promised herself she’d be better after that. But how?

Her thoughts spun as she took a sip of the mysterious coffee. The warm bitterness helped ground her, and she realized there was someone right next to her who might know how to tap into that confidence.

“What are you like?” she asked, glancing at Volpina from the corner of her eye. “You know, when you’re not in costume?”

Volpina raised an eyebrow. “Why? You gonna tell me what you’re about?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Thought you said you already had me figured out.”

Volpina let out a soft laugh. “Oh, I’ve got the insecurities down. But I’d like to think there’s more to you than that.” She gave her an encouraging smile. “Ladybug’s still a part of you, you know.”

Ladybug grimaced at that, the words leaving her mouth almost involuntarily. “She isn’t. I’m nothing like Ladybug in real life.”

“Sure you are.” Volpina leaned back, gazing at the lights of the city with a look of contentment. “Our powers don’t make us who we are. They just help reveal it.”

Volpina looked away from the cityscape and back at Ladybug, her gaze sincere. “Take me, for instance. I’m still quite the trickster on the daily. I… like the attention it brings me. Makes me feel, I dunno, wanted.” She paused, twirling a strand of her hair. “Trixx didn’t change that. She just lets me do it… more efficiently.”

Ladybug’s brow furrowed. “Wait, Trixx? I thought your kwami was Roarr?”

Volpina’s jaw dropped, and she shook her head in disbelief. “You thought the fox kwami was named Roarr?”

Ladybug shifted, heat flooding her cheeks. “…Maybe.”

“Oh, Buggy, what am I going to do with you?” Volpina laughed, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Ladybug couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, the sound ringing out across the Paris skyline, filling her with a confidence she hadn’t felt in ages.

Volpina stretched her arms above her head and gave a relaxed sigh. “You know, you’re working way too hard, Buggy. I don’t know how you do it.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always trying to be this perfect hero,” Volpina listed with a smirk. “It’s exhausting just watching you.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes, “Oh don’t you start.”

Before Volpina could shoot back, a sudden beeping sounded from Ladybug’s yo-yo. Both of them froze as Ladybug checked it, her eyebrows lifting with an unmistakable hint of satisfaction.

“Would you look at that,” Ladybug said, shooting Volpina a smug grin. “Guess who just jinxed it?”

Volpina groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on! Hawkmoth never does two in a day. What’s his problem?”

Ladybug chuckled as she stood, already feeling a surge of energy wash away her earlier doubts. “Paris’ resident ‘bad bitches’ need to get going, right? We’ve got a city to save!”

---

The last akuma had been tiring.

This one was just embarrassing.

Ladybug and Volpina huddled in the small patch of cover they’d managed to find, side-eyeing their opponent: a disgruntled barista named Steam Queen, transformed by Hawkmoth to embody the full fury of a coffee-fueled meltdown. She wielded a large espresso machine strapped to her back like a jetpack, which let her spray steaming coffee at her enemies. That was about the extent of her powers.

“Honestly, I think I’d rather fight Power Drive again,” Volpina muttered, suppressing a laugh. “At least he kept us on our toes.”

Ladybug smirked, feeling a bit smug herself. “At least it’s over. I could use a break after last time.”

Volpina grinned and tapped her shoulder. “Not a chance. Akuma’s still out there, remember?” She pointed towards Chat Noir, who seemed to be lingering near the back, arms crossed, looking somewhat… Disinterested.

Chat Noir didn’t exactly scream “threat” today. His usual agility was replaced by slow, almost lazy movements. Instead of helping the akuma, he looked to be following her reluctantly, wincing every time Steam Queen fired another jet of espresso.

“What’s the matter, Chat Noir?” Ladybug called out, smirk growing. “You don’t look like your usual self!”

He shot her a glare but couldn’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes. “Maybe you could try keeping up with our side of the schedule sometime.” He stifled a yawn, his usual witty retorts falling flat.

Ladybug and Volpina shared a look. Volpina grinned wickedly. “Aw, poor kitty’s tired? How about a nice little nap right after we finish off your ‘friend’ here?”

Steam Queen whipped around, sloshing coffee everywhere. “Friend? He’s not my friend!” She looked back at Chat Noir, her expression almost as irritated as his. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

Chat sighed, casting a tired glance between Ladybug, Volpina, and the thoroughly unimpressed Steam Queen. “Look, I’d love to help, but I don’t have it in me to hype up another coffee-based rampage.” He shot a side-eye at Ladybug. “Some of us can only deal with so many ridiculous akumas in a week.”

“Oh, I don’t know, kitty,” Ladybug replied with a mock thoughtful tone. “Seems like you’d get used to it, given you’ve decided to join him and all.”

He scowled, taking a lazy swipe at the air as Steam Queen tried to aim her espresso blast at the two heroes. “Not my fault you both decided to be insufferable this week.”

Ladybug rolled out of cover and made a b-line for her least favourite kitty, forcing him into action as she wielded her yoyo like a whip and lashed out at him. The motion seemed to wake up his senses a little as his instincts kicked in, ducking and weaving through Ladybug’s yoyo and occasionally swiping at her with his baton. There was a comfortable rhythm to it, not so much a threat as a routine the two were just vibing through.

Ladybug rolled out from her cover and darted straight for Chat Noir, yoyo spinning in her hand like a whip. The motion stirred something in him, his usual grace returning as he dodged and blocked her attacks, the rhythm of their spar almost comfortable, like they’d done this dance a hundred times before.

“Admit it, Kitty,” she taunted, grinning through her yoyo strikes. “Daddy Dearest did not send his best today.”

Volpina chimed in with a laugh, watching from the sidelines. “I mean, come on, a coffee gun? What was he thinking?”

Chat Noir’s eyes narrowed, and he deflected her yoyo with a spin of his baton. “It ain’t over yet, Bugaboo.” He smirked, the old spark briefly returning to his gaze. “Maybe my dad just knew I didn’t need an akuma to squash you.”

Ladybug scoffed, rolling her eyes even as she had to focus to dodge his next swing. “You couldn’t squash a tin can, Fleabag!”

With a sly grin, Chat Noir took advantage of her focus slipping and jabbed his baton into her stomach, sending her sliding backward into a nearby wall. The impact took the wind out of her, and she mentally cursed him for the “freaking cheap shot.” She hadn’t expected him to actually try.

Volpina was beside her in an instant, offering a hand as they exchanged a quick glance. Standing back-to-back, they readied for the next round.

“As easy as this all is,” Volpina muttered, keeping her eyes on Chat, “might be a good idea to call the lucky charm. Just in case Hawkmoth has a surprise up his sleeve.”

Ladybug nodded, feeling her exhaustion returning, her energy from earlier rapidly dwindling. “Fine, but you’ll need to keep the cat in his cage while I do it. I don’t want him knocking it out of my hand again.”

Volpina rolled her eyes and charged at Chat, calling out over her shoulder, “I’m sure I have a ball of string around here somewhere…”

Ladybug lifted her yoyo into the air. “Lucky Charm!” she called out, and with a brilliant flash of light, something small dropped into her hands. She stared down at the item, frowning.

“Huh? What the heck am I supposed to do with this?” It was something strange and tiny, utterly unrelated to their coffee-themed foe.

She was so engrossed in her lucky charm that she missed the click of a camera from up above her.

Before she could work it out, Volpina shouted, “Buggy, look out!”

Ladybug snapped her head up just in time to see Steam Queen, now out of coffee, charging toward her with a desperate determination. She let out a squeal, rolling to the side as Steam Queen faceplanted into the ground, skidding along the pavement. More importantly, the impact dislodged something from her mouth—a glinting golden tooth.

“Volpina! The gold tooth!” Ladybug yelled, pointing.

Volpina dashed forward, snagging the tooth off the ground. She grimaced as she held it up. “Ewww, I didn’t think it would be so… moist.”

With a quick squeeze, she shattered the tooth, releasing the akuma trapped inside. Ladybug didn’t hesitate, swinging her yoyo around and capturing the butterfly.

“Enough out of you, little akuma,” she muttered as she purified it, a wave of restoration washing over the area as Steam Queen transformed back to a bewildered barista. Ladybug let out a relieved sigh, tension draining from her shoulders as the fight finally wrapped up.

“Pound it!” Volpina grinned, holding her fist out to Ladybug, who knocked her knuckles against it with a chuckle.

They scanned the area, but Chat Noir was nowhere to be found.

“Looks like he got away,” Volpina noted, frowning slightly.

Ladybug shrugged, rolling her shoulders. “Eh, let him run. We’ve already humiliated him enough for today.”

“Even Hawkmoth’s gotta be feeling the burnout with these ridiculous akumas.” Volpina gave Ladybug a teasing grin. “You won’t see me complaining about an easy win, though. So… what was that Lucky Charm, anyway?”

Ladybug glanced down at the strange object in her hand, still mystified. “I’m not sure… It has to mean something, though. The Miraculous wouldn’t give me a dud, right?”

Volpina raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you could ask that Guardian guy you mentioned?”

Ladybug blinked, biting her lip. “I can’t exactly go to him whenever I want… It’s kind of a need-to-know basis thing.”

Volpina’s eyebrows shot up, curiosity flaring in her gaze. “Oh, so you’ve actually met him in person? I always thought you just, I dunno, talked over the phone or something.”

Realizing she’d said too much, Ladybug clammed up, glancing away. “…I should probably keep quiet about it.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Volpina’s teasing smirk returned, though there was an edge in her voice. “Big, important Ladybug gets to know the secrets while the rest of us are left in the dark?”

“No, it’s not like that! I wasn’t even supposed to know who he was at first,” Ladybug stammered, feeling a bit guilty.

Just then, her earrings beeped, signaling her transformation was about to drop. Her eyes widened as she glanced around for cover. “Oops, that’s my cue! Gotta dash—Bug you later!”

---

Marinette found herself sliding drown the alley wall the moment her transformation dropped, exhaustion weighing her down like two dumbbells hanging off her arms. Even Tikki flopped down on top of her head, burying her tiny face in Marinette’s pigtails with a loud huff.

“God, I am beat.” She groaned, reaching up to carefully pluck her kwami from her hair and slide her back into her purse. She wasn’t in the mood to make some lie to passersby about the kwami being a new accessory or something. “Two akumas and no play makes Marinette a dull girl.”

As she combed through her sweaty locks in an attempt to keep them from slapping her in the eye she found her mind, however addled with tiredness, thinking back to that lucky charm. It still made no sense to her. How was she supposed to use that to defeat the coffee villain? It wasn’t something she could use practically in a fight; it was certainly no Hawkmoth-Stomping rock. Hm, maybe it was telling her that she needed to seek out Master Fu for advice?

Or was it just the charm’s way of telling her that she was too tense and needed a-

Marinette’s nose met pure, miraculous metal. A second earlier and the metal pole that had just shot down from the sky would have slammed right into the back of her skull and smashed her into the ground.

Needless to say, she was breathless, stuck staring at her near-possibly-fatal-injury experience and screaming “Holy shit!”

“M-Marinette?!”

“Chat Noir!?”

She shouldn’t have needed to hear his innocently confused and panicked voice to know it was him. Who else in Paris had a magic extending pole that could crack concrete? Obviously it was the resident pest and all-time worst cat nearly murdering her on the sidewalk for the simple crime of trying to return home.

Oh, the nerve of that bastard. The moment he got down here, she was going to… Well, she didn’t know what she was going to do, but it was gonna be something. Something painful and humiliating and would totally get him back.

Her thoughts were confused, but the spirit was there. At least, for a few seconds before Chat came into view, sliding down the pole looking as pale as a sheet as he dropped right in front of her. Before she could get a word in he threw his baton to the side and swept her up in his arms, his fingers moving up to clasp her cheeks as fearful eyes hurried to look her over.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you down there.” He could barely get out understandable words past a high-pitched squealing edge to his voice, “Are you hurt? Did I hit you? I’m so sorry!”

She should be pissed, furious and as remorseless as ever when it came to him, but she couldn’t help that shameful wave of warmth that threatened to wash over her as she noted the immediate concern in every little gesture.

No! Cold. She needed to be cold. Fuck Chat Noir, he should feel bad. He almost got her hurt with his stupid reckless pole vaulting through the city. “W-What? That little pole?” She tore herself away from his touch as soon as she could, terrified that it was starting to feel inviting as she shuffled over to the nearest wall. “Pffft, I’m fine. Didn’t even notice it.”

Immediately, she cleared her throat and got her mind working on distraction and denial. She did not need to give Chat time to start questioning why she was in a dark alleyway right next to where the akuma had just been dealt with. “What are you doing here, Fleabag? You stalking me?”

Chat’s relieved breath escaped with a huff, and he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Of course not, it’s Wednesday. Stalking is for Fridays.” He gave her a cheeky grin, shifting from foot to foot, trying to brush off his nerves.

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, though he avoided her gaze. “I was just stretching my legs, working off some… frustrations.”

“Ah,” Marinette replied, unable to hide her smirk. “Ladybug got you good today, huh?”

Chat Noir’s cheeks turned faintly red as he sputtered, “S-She just caught me on a bad day! I’ve been very busy, and two akumas in one day left me a little tired.”

“Whatever you say.” She shrugged, faking an air of indifference. “I still haven’t forgiven you for tying me up, you know.”

He leaned in, a playful glint in his eye. “But it was such a great prank.”

“It wasn’t funny!” she snapped, though a hint of amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“You tied me up first,” he argued, crossing his arms with a playful pout.

She shot him a glare. “Because you were breaking into my house and watching me sleep, like a creep.”

Chat’s ears flattened slightly as he muttered, “I did not! Okay, I did break into your house, but I wasn’t watching you sleep. Even if you were a regular Sleeping Beauty.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Like I’d believe that. You were probably drooling over me and everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. “You know, it’s starting to sound like that’s what you wanted to happen.”

Her face heated up, and she scoffed. “Get over yourself.”

Chat leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. “I mean, you did look rather infatuated with me when you tackled me to the ground.”

She choked, face turning bright red. “L-Lies! Slanderous lies! I tripped.”

Infatuated? As if! She had standards, you know? In fact, what tackling? There was no tackling. As far as she was concerned, he fell over because of his own stupid power; there was no tackling, there was no moment where she slid onto his lap, there was no gazing into those adorable lovable eyes, there was no loss of breath, and there was certainly no moment where his- his- HIS KNEE, obviously his bony knee, poked her in the stomach and made her temporarily short-circuit. He was gross. And dumb. And ugly.

“We both know no woman has ever touched you willingly,” She finally spat, trying to recover.

Chat stilled for a second, and she almost felt a twinge of guilt. But instead of taking offense, he simply leaned in, smiling at her with a warm, genuine look—so unlike his usual smirk that it completely threw her off.

“Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you blush?”

Her mouth opened, then closed as she struggled for words. “I’m not blushing! I’m flushing. With anger. And disgust,” she said, crossing her arms. “Just absolutely seething at the very idea that I have to share air with a moron like you.”

He chuckled as she dramatically spat on the ground for emphasis.

“Careful, Princess,” he drawled, eyes dancing with amusement. “Keep your attitude too prickly, and your knight in shining leather might not offer to walk you home on this dangerous night.”

“Oh please.” She rolled her eyes, backing away. “Like you could resist the chance to play escort.”

“Hmm,” he said, giving her a once-over. “So you’re not rejecting the idea?”

She scowled, stepping back even further. “I didn’t say that! I don’t need you to watch over me. I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no—”

“Mari, watch out for that—”

“I said, I don’t need—” Her foot hit something cold and metallic—a loose can from the nearby trash bin.

“Ffffffuack!”

Suffice it to say, she wasn't ready for the tin can.

Or the banana peel.

Or the patch of ambiguously slippery liquids.

Or that flight of stairs.

---

Lila Rossi would call herself a hard worker. You didn’t get the results she did lounging around with no prospects or skills, she cultivated a following of easy targets who’d bow to her every word from nothing; that took elbow grease. Yeah, you could call it unethical and cruel, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t earned – that’s just the game of life, and if you’re not winning it, you’re getting crushed by it.

She was an artist dedicated to her craft, honing her skills every hour of every day, serving the people with small manipulations and sending shockwaves throughout entire communities with a well-placed reveal. Hundreds of civilians’ social lives were balanced on the edge of her finger, crushed or let free with one simple movement, and they didn’t even know it.

Lying came naturally to her, as she herself was born a contradiction. A new born baby with no name, no parents, no records and left to die out on the streets of Florence in a terrible blizzard that should have spelled her death. A policeman stumbled upon her in the night and gave her to the local hospital, who passed her around to other local hospitals, who passed her between different agencies, possible parents and careless medical professionals. Lila was the spawn of hundreds of mis-signed paperwork and trusted officials saying ‘Not my problem’.

Eventually, she was left forgotten in an orphanage where no one around her had enough of an attention span to remember her name. Given multiple choices, she decided to simply change her name to whatever person called her at the time, which led to major confusion when the orphanage started asking around about how they’d suddenly gained an extra 30 little girls with no background in the span of a month.

The only bit of truth she manged to uncover in her life, by the time she turned ten, was that Rossi was her last name. She had no solid lead on a mother, in fact, she had around six mothers to this day. On the desk across from her currently sat several letters from her different mothers containing her latest allowance – otherwise called hush money.

She did not lie to these women, because lying implied that she knew what she was saying was false. Truthfully, there was no knowing either way which one of her mothers was her birth mother, and none of the woman were willing to take a test and confirm it; they just wanted to keep her appeased until they felt like being a mother for a few hours.

All anyone knew was that, several years ago, Giorno Rossi decided he’s amassed all the wealth he’d ever wanted. He spent a month on a drug-fuelled bender across Italy, terrorizing the populace, spreading his seed across several married women, partying like royalty – all before meeting his end when he rammed a stolen truck through the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

This was why she hated long nights like these, where there was little left to spend her energy on, yet too much energy to allow herself to sleep. In times like this she found precious little to distract her from lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and reminiscing on her life. Because when she reminisced, she started to feel frustrated with her lot in life, and she hated feeling sorry for herself.

She groaned before jumping off the bed and running her fingers over her sweat glazed brow. It was a cold night with winds of icicles howling all around her, and yet she felt like she was stuck in a sauna. The maintenance guy assured her that there was nothing wrong with her air conditioning, but how else do you explain the heat?

Lila found herself hobbling towards the kitchen, her feet feeling like a hundred tiny needles stabbing deeper with every step and her shoulders uncomfortably stiff. If anyone saw her right now, they would never be able to tell that she was Lila Rossi. It was the only time she let the mask drop, let her inner exhaustion show; which she guessed showed how much she’d come to trust her kwami.

The little trickster in question was already in the kitchen, lounging around on a rubber ducky in a filled kitchen sink, sunglasses repurposed from a barbie doll over her eyes while her tail dipped into the water below.

Lila watched the small figure floating in the sink with something she couldn’t quite put into words. Truth be told, she didn’t know exactly how she felt about Trixx yet. The little fox kwami had shown up in her life almost half a year ago, a tiny whirlwind of mischief wrapped in a haze of secrets. She remembered her shock the first time she heard the creature speak, her disbelief that such a mythical being would willingly work with her, of all people.

Trixx’s presence had turned into a strange kind of comfort, the only witness to her long, lonely nights when her thoughts became too heavy to bear. She could let her mask slip around the kwami, if only a little, because she knew Trixx understood the method to her madness, the complete fulfilment of bending the world around you finger with simple, little lies.

She’d initially assumed that the kwamis were a force of moral good, that they’d naturally lean towards the betterment and balance of the reality they represent, that’s why they were often the tools of legendary heroes.

But they weren’t.

In reality, they were centuries old entities whose entire existence eclipsed humanity’s history. They were Gods, and humans were ants that started doing crazy shit with fire. In the time it took Trixx to blink enough lifetimes had probably past for a hundred Lilas to pass her by. As long as Lila kept the kwami entertained and fed, they were partners in crime.

“Enjoying the luxury spa treatment?” She asked dryly, though the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at her lips.

Trixx didn’t open her eyes, but one ear twitched, and her mouth curved into a sly smile. “Just recharging, Rossi. You humans are so exhausting.”

Rossi. She kept the name because the key to a lie is the truth. You needed it, an anchor that kept you in place as the bigger lies started to build up to a wave that threatened to knock you down. You needed a factoid you were confident in. Lila was a false name because, by god, it was satisfying to look someone in the eye and spell that name out for them without them even blinking at her literally having ‘lie’ in her name.

“Ha. Look who’s talking,” Lila murmured as she leaned against the counter. Her eyes fell on the kwami, who looked absurdly at ease in her little makeshift pool. Despite herself, Lila felt a pang of envy. Trixx never had to worry about anything; her whole existence was one big game.

A God didn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances, about appealing to anyone. They were free to go whichever direction they wanted, if anything went wrong? Who cares, they’re a god, they do what they want. It was almost scary to think about.

“Girl, hit me with some of the good stuff.” Trixx idly waved her paw in the direction of the treat bowl Lila had set out for her. Trixx was obsessed with berries.

Lila was unsure as she reached inside, pulling out a darkly coloured berry that just looked like pure, distilled venom in physical form. She held it up to her eye unsteadily, staring it down as she tried to remember all the pictures of poisonous fruit she’d seen online.

“Are you sure you wanna eat these?” She asked cautiously, “Pretty sure they’re poisonous raw.”

“Lila baby, I’m an immortal being.” Trixx pulled down the sunglasses an inch, as if her giant, bulbous eyes weren’t already visible. “I can eat anything.”

Trixx’s vernacular was a simple matter; if she’d seen it on tv in the last few years, she would be quoting it until it went far beyond obnoxious. It had taken all month to stop Trixx from hitting her with ‘street talk’ and ‘rizz’.

Lila rolled her eyes, flicking the berry across the room and watching Trixx jump up to catch it in her mouth. “Alright, but don’t come crying to me if you get a tummy ache.”

Lila moved closer to the sink, leaning over to gently rub her thumb across Trixx’s forehead. “How’s the temp?”

“Juuuust right.”

“God, what I wouldn’t give for a bath right now.” She groaned, stretching out her limbs to pop out her back. The hot water had yet to return to her apartment, leaving her with a kettle as her only hope. “I swear, that tail you make me grow when I transform is fucking with my spine every time I detransform.”

Trixx clicked her tongue twice, and Lila was sure that the only thing stopping Trixx from shooting her the finger gun gesture was the lack of apposable thumbs. “That’s the price of greatness, Little Paw. If you can’t take the heat, you miss out on being sweeeeeet.”

A silence settled between them, the only sounds the quiet hum of the fridge and the occasional drip of water. Lila glanced down at her hands, absently flexing her fingers, feeling the slight ache that had settled into her muscles from all her recent escapades. Sometimes, she wondered if the effort was worth it, all the lies and schemes and games. But those thoughts were dangerous, and she quickly shoved them aside.

Instead, she chose to yawn. “We did do pretty good out there, didn’t we?”

Trixx sighed dramatically, stretching out in her makeshift bath, while Lila leaned back and rubbed her temples. The tiny kwami’s endless parade of theatrics was both tiring and oddly soothing. Lila shook her head, muttering as she reached for the coffee machine. It was far too early—or too late, she couldn’t tell anymore—for this nonsense.

“When do we not do good out there, huh?” Trixx preened, her nose high in the air. “Can you move a little? You’re blocking my sun.”

Lila shot her a look. “You mean the kitchen light. You can’t even tan, Trixx. You’re covered in fur.”

“The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves,” Trixx retorted, adjusting her doll-sized sunglasses with a mischievous grin.

Lila stifled a laugh, filling her cup with coffee and taking a much-needed sip. She glanced down at her aching hands, feeling the strain of the night’s adventures pulling at her like a chain. Even with her schemes and strategy, even with her natural finesse, playing hero—if she could call it that—was exhausting. Every encounter seemed to demand more, especially with her body paying the price for every transformation. The powers Trixx granted were sharp but subtle; they were shadows and illusions, tricks and whispers. Sometimes, Lila wanted something stronger, something that would make this whole game easier.

“What I wouldn’t give for a few more of those miraculouses right about now,” she muttered, half to herself, half to Trixx. “Imagine what we could do with a little more power. It would be… exhilarating.”

Trixx raised an eyebrow over her sunglasses, her tiny mouth curling into an interested grin. “Mmm, more power, huh?” she said lazily. “I bet you’re dying to know where the Guardian keeps the rest of them, right?”

Lila’s eyes sparkled with interest as she leaned forward. “You know all about the Guardian, don’t you?” she murmured, swirling her coffee. “All about his hiding places. Every little secret.”

Trixx shrugged, the light glinting off her tiny sunglasses. “We’ve been over this, Lila,” she said, feigning boredom. “I can’t tell you anything about the Guardian.”

Lila smirked, tilting her head. “You can’t tell me directly,” she pointed out. “But if there’s one thing we both know, it’s loopholes.”

Trixx’s eyes glinted with a spark of interest, her mouth pulling into a grin. “Mmm, loopholes,” she mused. “I suppose my superior intellect could come up with something.” She held up a tiny paw. “But what’s in it for me? It sounds like you’re gearing up to swipe the other miraculous, and I don’t like the idea of being replaced.”

“Replaced?” Lila chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re irreplaceable, Trixx. Besides, wouldn’t you like a whole box of those fancy imported berries you’re obsessed with? A cute little hat to add to your wardrobe? Think about it—if we had the power of the miracle box, we could do whatever the hell we wanted.”

Trixx gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, tempting, but…” She waved her paw in dismissal. “Sorry, Bud-arino; can’t do it. Super lame.”

Lila chuckled, swirling the dregs of her coffee. “It was worth a shot.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and Lila took another sip of her coffee, relishing the warmth. Her mind was already ticking over her next move, her next target, when Trixx’s voice broke her concentration.

“You’re getting too tense,” Trixx said with a casual air, eyeing her. “It’s starting to make you wrinkle.”

“Oh, please,” Lila scoffed, though she absentmindedly rubbed at her forehead. “I’m fine.”

“Mmmhmm.” Trixx’s tail flicked through the water with a knowing look. “You should get a massage or something.”

It took a good moment for Lila to catch it, for her to understand the pieces that were staring her right in the face, the pieces that only Trixx had noticed.

Ladybug’s lucky charm hadn’t been for the akuma after all, had it?

“A massage, you say?” Lila’s mind started churning as she caught onto Trixx’s hint. Ah, and Ladybug didn’t even realize the connection…

A slow, devilish smile spread across her face. “Now that… is an interesting thought.”

Trixx tilted her head, a glint of curiosity sparking in her gaze. “You’re scheming again, aren’t you?”

Lila shrugged, her fingers tapping idly on her coffee mug. “It’s what we do best, isn’t it?”

---

“This sucks, so hard.” Marinette moaned, idly blowing locks of hair out of her eye.

Marinette wanted a break, a little time off, a nice relaxing day with no worries; but this wasn’t what she had in mind. She didn’t want to be bound to her bed, with no choice or escape, with her leg wrapped in a cast.

Alya was knelt down by the other end of the bed, a marker in hand as she signed her name and a humorous message that Marinette wouldn’t be able to see on the underside of the cast. “Come on, Girl, look on the bright side.” She said, “You get to cut class and lie in bed all week.”

A shrill, groaning whine shook through the base of her throat, almost sounding like she was gargling water. “I don’t wanna be in bed all week.” She cried, “I’m an active person, Alya, if I don’t get up and move around, my brain will stop working. I could die from this!”

Alya snorted, “You’re saying that like it ever worked in the first place.”

Marinette sat up, her gaze narrowing dangerously at her best friend. “Alya, you’re here for support – whine with me, or so help me God I will tell my mother to stop selling you those chocolate eclairs.”

The fiend pretending to be her friend looked her dead in the eye and smirked, taunting the poor wounded girl with the wiggle of her finger. “She’s too sweet to cut me off and you know it.”

“Urg, you’re the worst.” Marinette groaned, slamming her head back into her pillow.

“I know.” Alya proclaimed without a hint of remorse, finishing up her signature before sliding back over to Marinette’s side of the bed. “Look, if you wanted to avoid this, you could have just focused on where you were going instead of drooling over Chat Noir.”

Marinette’s face went red. “T-That’s not what happened at all!”

Alya leaned closer, wiggling her brows and doing her best impression of a lovestruck Marinette. “Hey, it’s your words! Chat Noir ‘distracted’ you, you tripped, and as you fell, you reached out for him, begging him to scoop you up in his big, strong arms.”

“Stop romanticizing me getting hospitalized by a violent thug,” Marinette groaned.

“Oh, I’m sure he was all over you, alright,” Alya teased, clearly enjoying every second of it.

If Marinette didn’t like her pillows so much, she’d be smacking Alya with one right now. “I hate you so much.”

Alya pulled away with a dramatic sigh, moving toward the stairs. “If you’re gonna be hurling hurtful words like that, I might just not tell you about how concerned Adrien was for you.”

Marinette bolted upright, her annoyance vanishing in a second. “No! Stop! Wait, teeeeell me!”

Alya grinned, turning back with a twinkle in her eye. “He couldn’t stay still in class, kept staring at the clock, practically leapt out of his seat when Bustier asked one of us to deliver your homework. Oh, and he’s been blowing up my phone for the last half hour.”

“Really?” Marinette asked, trying and failing to look indifferent.

“Lila looked kind of pissed about it,” Alya added.

Marinette put on her best innocent face, even as she did a happy dance in her head. “Oh, that’s... terrible.”

Alya snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll get over it. Now, how about I get you something to drink? You sound drier than a desert.”

As Alya disappeared down the stairs, Tikki floated out of Marinette’s purse, landing in Marinette’s outstretched hand.

“What are we going to do, Tikki?” Marinette whispered, glancing nervously toward the door.

“Sit back and relax?” Tikki suggested, nestling into her palm. “It’s about time you had a break, Marinette.”

“But what about when Hawkmoth attacks? I can’t fight an akuma with a broken leg.”

Tikki tilted her head thoughtfully. “Just text Hawkmoth that you’re not gonna be available for a while. Isn’t that why you have the group chat?”

“I can’t do that!” Marinette hissed, shaking her head. “We already know that Chat Noir’s one of the students at Dupont. If Ladybug takes time off the same time Marinette breaks her leg, he’s gonna start joining the dots.”

Tikki sighed. “I think you’re vastly overestimating the observational skills of anyone involved in this circus.”

“What was that, Tikki?”

“Nothing!” Tikki smiled innocently. “I guess we’ll just have to leave it to Volpina.”

Marinette was hesitant, slowly trying to convince herself more than anything else. “Considering how bad that last akuma was, maybe he’s getting burned out.” She suggested, unsure.

“You’re right, Tikki, I need to calm down.” Marinette leaned back, taking a deep breath. “I mean, what’s the worst he could do while I’m out of commission?”

---

Adrien hated the weather today. It felt wrong for the sun to be shining so brightly, so happily when the reason that his sun shone, Marinette, was currently bound to the darkness of her bedroom writhing in pain because of him.

He had been elated to run into her after a particularly sour night of failed akumas, it had never even crossed his mind to question why he was seeing her there; he just liked being around her. They had fallen into a new, lively rhythm, and despite how much she protested, he was sure that Chat Noir was starting to win her over (she didn’t even try to assault him this time – that was progress).

And then he screwed it up. Then he failed. Enhanced reflexes, the grace of a cat and the power to destroy anything, and he still somehow failed to catch her when she went stumbling to her doom. He can he claim to love a girl he can’t even protect from his own stupidity? How could he ever make up for failing her this hard?

The moment he ducked behind the gate to the mansion, outside the view of prying eyes, he couldn’t help but ram his fist into his forehead. How could he be so stupid? So worthless? He wanted nothing more than to run to the bakery and beg for her forgiveness and shower her in whatever she thought would be proper tribute, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her how wonderful she is, he wanted to do so many things, but he didn’t have the guts to try any of them.

He’d almost gathered up the courage to go to the bakery, using delivering Marinette’s homework as an easy excuse, but Alya shot him down. Apparently, Alya worried that his mere presence might be enough to give Marinette a heart attack. Did her hatred for Chat Noir run so deep that she could sense how much she should hate him too? Oh god, what has he done to this poor girl?

However, even if he did have the guts, he still had to cancel. His Father called for him, urgently; and his father was never urgent, it wasn’t apart of the brand. And he didn’t think his father would understand his explanation of ‘I can’t come, I’m too stupid and pathetic to attend a meeting right now!’.

By the time he burst through the doors of the office, huffing and heaving and red in the face, the afternoon sun was shining at the perfect angle through the mansion windows. He didn’t need to run, but he figured wearing himself down to the bone was the least he deserved, and it helped keep his head too busy to focus on his guilt.

“Sorry I’m late, Father.” He murmured under his breath, just another person he’d disappoint this week. Oh, and Nathalie’s here too, maybe he can make it a three in one if he tried hard enough. “One of my class mates got into an accident and- Well, it was a whole thing.”

He was surprised to not see Gabriel Agreste, but Hawkmoth standing behind his father’s desk, gazing up at the painting of the late Emilie Agreste. It was odd to see him transformed within the mansion, standing where his father usually stood – Adrien was so used to only seeing Hawkmoth in the lair or in the thick of the action, the mansion felt like a completely different world, one that Hawkmoth was trespassing in. Adrien half expected Gabriel to come in and kick Hawkmoth out.

After a time, Hawkmoth didn’t respond. It was hard to gauge his emotion from behind. “Father?” Adrien called out timidly, “Are you mad at me?”

Hawkmoth broke his gaze away from his very reason for existing, craning his neck back to regard Adrien with a curious look. “Hm? Why would I be mad at you?”

Nathalie joined in, a sliver of sympathy passing through her stoney exterior.

Adrien’s head hung low and he shuffled awkwardly under the shadow of the doorway. “For screwing things up with that last akuma.”

A dark chuckle broke through Adrien’s dreary miasma, a palpable energy suddenly entering the room. “My dear boy,” Hawkmoth jumped towards Adrien, a wolfish grin on his lips as he spun his cane forward and caught Adrien by the hip. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

“Huh?” Adrien looked over to Nathalie who looked equally as confused. “You wanted to lose?”

The chuckle turned into a howl of joyous laughter that was utterly alien to the depressing halls of the Agreste Mansion. Hawkmoth used his leverage to pull Adrien forward, spinning the boy around until his back pressed flat against the villain’s chest, with a strong hand grasping his shoulder. “Ah, the point of that battle wasn’t for the akuma to win, it was to provide us with an opportunity.”

He gestured to a chessboard set up on Gabriel’s desk, the board set up with all the main black pieces spread out, surrounded by dead pawns – while a straight path to the king was wide open. “To put my true plan into action.”

Adrien tilted his head back, admittedly feeling some relief wash over him seeing the mad glint of giddy superiority in his father’s eyes. “I wasn’t told about any plan.”

“Neither was I.” Nathalie added with a creased brow. She didn’t look happy, which was to be expected; when you’re dealing with Gabriel Agreste, few good things came when you were surprised by him.

“It wouldn’t be a dramatic reveal if I told you.” He tutted, whirling Adrien around and guiding him across the room, all while humming a happy little diddy under his breath. “We threw the battle so that we could win the war in one fell swoop.”

Nathalie looked up at him curiously before she two was dragged into the one-man huddle, leaving her glasses lopsided and her voice awkwardly asking “How?”

“I’m glad you asked!” He cried out, much to Nathalie’s lack of amusement.

The journey was short, but rough, as Hawkmoth, with his enhanced strength, practically threw them into the two seats set up by the desk. He gestured for them to stay while he dashed away, catching hold of his drawing screen and dragging it in front of the desk. “Quick question, what is the most annoying thing about Ladybug?”

Adrien scratched his head, “Her breath?”

He could feel Nathalie’s scowl burning through the back of his head. “Adrien, be serious.”

“I am serious!” He whined, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t know what she used to brush her teeth, but it is clearly not enough.”

Hawkmoth rolled his eyes and smacked his cane down on the desk like a gavel, dragging their attention back to him by force. “The lucky charm!”

Both spectators aaaah’d in unison. “Oh, right.”

He broke into a stilted march, circling the table in long, purposeful strides, temporarily taking the role of a military general making the final send off to his troops with his cane tucked under his arm. “Remember last week where we had the perfect plan, the perfect akuma, and the perfect set up for victory?”

Adrien snorted; they had been so close to getting one over on her. So damn close! But that damn lucky charm ruined everything. It just didn’t feel fair sometimes. “Until her lucky charm warned her that we’d snuck a surprise under her yoyo.”

“Exactly.” Hawkmoth stopped in his tracks, bending over with a manic grin and tapping the head of his cane against his forehead. “The lucky charm doesn’t just give the best solution to any given situation, it can become downright prophetic and warn the user of threats. It was practically impossible to counteract.”

He paused for dramatic effect, teeth grinding into each other and the rest of his body practically vibrating with glee. He wielded his plot twist like a gun, and he was having a hell of his time lining up his shot. “Until I came up with a little theory.” He breathed it out like he was taking his first breath, finally understanding the taste and experience of fresh air filling his lungs.

He paused again. Though this time both Adrien and Nathalie knew this was because he wanted- No, needed – them to ask him. To show that they were as eager for the answer as him.

“Theory?” Adrien took the bait, shuffling forward in his seat to get closer to the screen.

Hawkmoth turned his back to them, letting his form be enveloped by the afternoon sun, the same light that would illuminate everything. “If the lucky charm reacts to an imminent threat, then that suggest that the charm’s output could be…” Another deep, guttural, sadistic laugh as he spread his arms out wide. He was so damn proud of himself. “Manipulated.”

Nathalie sighed, “Manipulated how?”

“Say that I have a scheme in mind. I need to find something, or someone specific, and if I attain what I seek, it’s game over for Ladybug.” Hawkmoth spun around on his heel, launching his cane over his shoulder dramatically on to catch it as he turned. “As long as no other imminent threat are in her near future, say an ineffective akuma who she doesn’t need the lucky charm to figure out, then it would pick up on my scheme and shape itself to try and tip her off.”

Finally, he came in close enough to mess around with the screen, navigating it to the very important picture that Nathalie took during the fight. He continued in a hush, passionate whisper. “But there’s a good chance, a wonderful, marvellous chance, that the tip could be used to give us just the answer we’re after.”

The picture was of Ladybug’s luck charm and, with the new information in mind, Adrien immediately understood what Hawkmoth had accomplished. The lucky charm had indeed tried to warn Ladybug of Hawkmoth’s scheme. Specifically, it had tried to warn her just who exactly Hawkmoth was trying to find.

The lucky charge was a spotted piece of paper. A coupon. For Wang Fu’s Massage Parlour.

“My dear boy, my dear Nathalie…” Hawkmoth hissed, “I present to you the catalyst of our victory; the Guardian of the Miracle Box.”

Notes:

Alya: Makes a joke about how much Adrien affects Marinette.
Adrien: Takes it in the worst way possible.

Chapter 17: Mirror Mistress: Down Bad

Summary:

Against her better judgement, Marinette lets Chat Noir stay in her room. But not because she likes him or anything! All while Lila puts her plans into motion.

She knew he was there. She missed the patter of his feet, or the groan of the hatch opening up to let him slip inside, and she was completely engrossed in her laptop, but she knew he was there. It was dark, real dark – outside of the light from her screen splashing across the bed, there was only darkness.

And Chat Noir’s eyes tended to glow when he was using his night vision.

She’d been watching him on and off for the last few minutes, waiting for him to do more than lurk in the dark, but he stayed put. It was hard to glimpse the rest of him, but with the bobbing of his eyes, she could imagine him nervously shuffling between both feet and knotting his fingers together with that goofy unsure look that struck him every time he was confused.

He was a six foot something super villain with the power to obliterate anything he touches. She is, what some people would lovingly refer to as, a gnome-sized shrimp with a busted leg and no superpowers (as far as he knows). And he was afraid to approach her.

Some part of her saw that as an accomplishment on her part.

Eventually, she stifled a sigh and called out “Are you going to stand there watching me all night, you mangy cat?”

There was silence. Then a short gasp before his fingers came up and clamped over his eyes.

“Seriously?” She muttered deadpanned. “First you break my leg, and now you’ve come to finish the job, is that it?”

Chat came stumbling into the light, tripping over his own tail and slamming head fire against her bed post. “N-No!” He slurred out as he rubbed his now bruised forehead. “I wouldn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“So, it’s another late-night bakery robbery?” She crossed her arm. “Is that what you see me as? A croissant dispensary?”

“I just wanted to give you this…”

She only now realized that he’d been hold his hands behind his back the entire time, even during his tumble, now pulling two items into view and shoving them into her lap. It was a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates; and both of them had been flattened.

Chat scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I kind of took a lot of tumbles before I got here.”

She took the chocolates in hand, narrowing her eyes at the heartfelt, crushed gift that managed to chip away at her heart. Curses, how did he know chocolate was her weakness? “Is this supposed to make up for getting my leg broken?”

“N-No…” She hated how easily his guilt-ridden tone and the way his body language sank made her heart clench up. “But I don’t know how else to make it up to you. I got my princess hurt, and nothing short of a royal execution is going to make that right.”

Marinette raised a brow, staring at the crushed chocolates in her hand. The word “Princess” sparked an idea in her, and she leaned back, crossing her arms with a satisfied smirk. “Hmmm. Well, let’s say you’re forgiven… temporarily. But only if you agree to act as my humble servant until I am properly compensated for this terrible injury.”

She said it mostly as a joke, waiting to see him roll his eyes or make some stupid joke about her ridiculous request.

She did not expect him to formally bow before her, his eyes lighting up the room. “Anything you want, Princess! Consider me at your service.”

“G-G-Good.” Marinette stumbled at first, but managed to wave off her stuttering. Well, what the hell? He was still her most hated enemy, and he keeps annoying her with all these weird feelings, and he was totally to blame for breaking her leg. So yeah, why not see how much she could make him demean himself?

She held up the mangled bouquet. “Let’s start by finding a vase for these,” she said, ignoring the fact that most of the flowers looked like they’d been through a meat grinder. “Make yourself useful.”

With the utmost seriousness, Chat took the flowers, giving her a playful bow. “Right away, Princess.” He scurried off toward her bathroom, muttering to himself as he scoured for anything that could function as a vase.

While he fumbled around, Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head. Get it together, Marinette, she told herself, feeling an unexpected warmth in her chest. This is Chat Noir we’re talking about, Henchman of Hawkmoth. This is about making him look stupid for my own amusement; that’s all this is.

Chat finally returned, clutching what looked like a soap dispenser filled with water, with the bedraggled roses crammed into it. “It’s all I could find,” he said proudly, presenting his work.

Marinette inspected it, pretending to scrutinize every petal. “Adequate,” she declared, mimicking the haughty tone of voice she’d heard Chloe use a time or two, “but I’m afraid I’ll need more than flowers and chocolates to feel properly appeased.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What else can you do for me, hmm?”

Chat took a step back, his gaze intense and serious. “Name it. I’ll be your knight for the night, Princess.”

Marinette tried to hide a smile. “Well, my ‘knight,’ I think I could use a snack. Fetch me a croissant.” She pointed to her desk, where she’d left her lunch bag.

Chat jumped up, eagerly rushing to her desk, nearly knocking her chair over as he fumbled through her things. Finally, he grabbed a croissant and brought it back, presenting it with a flourish. “One royal croissant, as requested.”

She took it, fighting a laugh at how eager he was to serve her. “Excellent,” she said, taking a bite. “And while I eat, you can entertain me. Regale me with a story, my faithful knight.”

Chat grinned, taking this odd roleplay in an enthusiastic stride. “A story, you say? Let me think…” He tapped his chin, before his face brightened. “Have you heard the one about the superhero who got so distracted by his beautiful princess that he tripped over his own tail?”

“Oh, so this is a biography,” she snickered.

Chat’s laugh was low and sheepish, but he took the teasing in stride. “I guess you could say that, Princess.” His cheeks darkened a bit as he scratched the back of his neck. “I really am sorry, you know.”

She sighed, half in mock exasperation, half in genuine fondness. “Alright, alright… you’re forgiven. But you owe me more entertainment.” She glanced at her laptop. “You caught me right in the middle of Men in Black and I’d like to watch it in peace.”

“Men In Black?” Chat’s ears perked up, and he shook his head, looking intrigued. “They made an entire movie about people wearing suits? Huh, sounds like something my dad would watch.”

“You mean you’ve never watched it?” She stared at him, aghast. “Oh, Chat, we have to fix this. Men in Black is a classic.”

His face lit up. “Really? So, it’s… Educational?”

Marinette snorted. “Uh, not quite. But it is quality cinema. Here.” She patted the empty space on her bed. “I’m going to give you a crash course in Earth’s most powerful superhero, and why t’s Will Smith.”

Chat hesitated for a moment, glancing at her leg as if wondering if he’d somehow make it worse just by sitting too close. “Are you sure? I don’t want to… Uh, crowd you, Princess.”

“Just sit down, Chat.” She rolled her eyes, then adjusted her laptop so they could both see the screen. He finally settled onto the bed, still looking like he might bolt at any moment.

As the movie began, Chat watched in awe, his eyes glued to the screen as if he’d just discovered an entirely new universe. Marinette couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the way his face lit up at each scene. It was… cute, almost alarmingly so.

“I don’t get it,” Chat started a while later, “why does shooting the little girl instead of the aliens help him pass the test?”

“Because,” She craned her neck, unable to resist smiling at how Chat waited with baited breath on her word, “It shows that J is observant, can think under pressure, and doesn’t immediately assume the aliens are the bad guys when they’re just minding their own business.”

“Can’t have a hero who just guns down whoever looks the meanest.” She chided, “Otherwise Ladybug would have wasted your ass at the start.”

“Heh, she is pretty chill, even on the battlefield.” He mused, “I don’t know how she keeps her cool so easily.”

Marinette was stunned for a moment. Keeping her cool? Making it look easy? Is that how it looked to Chat Noir? Oh god, if only he knew how much of it was internal screaming and complete confusion.

At some point, Chat leaned closer, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Do you think they have real aliens like that out there?”

“Oh, definitely,” she whispered back, matching his tone. “I’ve met some myself. They’re obsessed with pastries.”

His face lit up in delight, and he looked like he was about to ask her a hundred more questions. But then his eyes met hers, and for a moment, they both froze, inches apart.

Marinette quickly cleared her throat, turning back to the screen. “Well, keep watching. This part’s the best.” She clicked forward, trying to shake off the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “’Cus of the… Uh… Tiny gun.”

Chat settled back, grinning softly, and she could feel his presence beside her, a strangely comforting warmth in the dark room. It was a beacon in the night, one that, over the course of the movie, drew her closer to the man, practically snuggling up to him by the time the credits rolled.

She didn’t mean to stare, but she couldn’t help it. He was… Okay, she could admit that he was borderline conventionally attractive. His ugliness was hidden underneath some nice packaging. So, she could state without shame that she wanted to run her fingers through that wild mane of spiked hair that seemed to defy gravity. That she wanted to peer into those wide emotive eyes that gleamed like little starlight tears. That she wanted to pet those adorable little ears that actually reacted with the rest of his body like a cat’s.

On the outside it was easy to see him like one human sized teddy bear you just wanted to cuddle and tell all your secrets to. But it had to be surface level, there had to be some rot hidden within, because she hated him, she had to hate him, so why did he make her feel so confused with ease?

“I just don’t get you.” She blurted out.

He blinked turning on her with that thoughtful smile. “Hm?”

She frowned, her eyes set on a downward spiral, refusing to let even a smidgen of the feelings he spawned reach the surface. “You can act gentle and sweet sometimes.”

He tilted his head back innocently, “That’s a bad thing?”

“It is, because you shouldn’t be gentle, or sweet, or friendly.” She snapped in a harsh, almost desperate whisper. “You’re the bad guy.”

Marinette wanted it to hurt him. She wanted her insistence to be met with indignance, to see the smile break away and reveal his fangs and bitterness. She wanted anything she could go to prove her right, to justify that fierce hatred she needed to feel. Something that would get rid of all the adoration in his eye that she never did anything to deserve.

But he didn’t, he kept smiling, like she’d just made a funny observation.

“I can’t be the bad guy all the time, Mari.” He murmured, propping his chin up on his fist.

Her lips puffed out in a pout, “Sure, you can.”

The bastard had the nerve to laugh, leering closer to tap her on the cheek. She should have clocked him right there, broke his stupid face, or at least pushed that stupid, stupid finger away. But she didn’t, she just kept letting him do what he wanted. Why? Why?!

“I think you’re just struggling to admit that you enjoy my company.” He hummed, smug as he was snug.

As the mature individual in the room, she mimicked a vomiting noise. “As if, I’m just waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you back.” Instead of pulling herself away, she thrusted herself even closer to the asshat, getting up in his face and stabbing her fingers into his chest. “Trust me, I’m gonna humiliate you so bad that you’ll never cross Marinette Dupain Cheng ever again.”

Mocking fear pushed through a lazy smile. “Oh, I bet.”

His eyes burrowed into her, breaking through every layer she erected, every crippling self doubt that hoisted itself aboard her defence mechanism. He looked through all the bullshit and saw her, the weak, pathetic, feeble Marinette; and he didn’t seem to mind what he saw one bit.

“Don’t you look at me like that!” She cried out, flushing scarlet.

“Like what?” He continued to tease, to taunt, to mock. He was playing her like a fiddle, she knew it, he knew it, and he just couldn’t help himself rubbing it in her face.

“Like you don’t know.” She scoffed, finally wiggling away from him, breaking herself free from those hypnotic eyes and that sickeningly comfortable body. “It’s all a part of your evil game, to lure me into a false sense of security before you strike.”

He paused for a moment, pulling back into deep thought as he tapped his finger against his chin. “…So, I make you feel peaceful?”

She groaned, “You are insufferable.”

He winked. The fucker winked. “Only for you.”

This time, she didn’t hesitate, she took hold of her anger (and her denial) and poured it into one blow, ripping her pillow out from under her and slamming it into Chat’s stupid, beautiful face. There, that was better, with the pillow now smothering him, she couldn’t see anything anymore, she could let her senses come back.

“I hate you.” She hissed, pressing harder.

And despite the fact that she could no longer see his lips – she knew.

“Don’t smile at that, I’m insulting you!”

---

Lila found that her favourite spot in Paris was the local park. It was serene, especially on a beautiful day like this one. Despite being in the middle of the city’s hustle and bustle, it somehow manages to keep the outside noise of the street from polluting it, leaving just a soft rolling patch of grass, cornered off by healthy trees and dotted with songbirds and the occasional pigeon.

It was the perfect spot to clear your mind, amp yourself up; and witness the calm before the storm. There was something magical about such a content visage just before a scheme that would twist it with chaos.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Trixx’s voice rose from underneath the waves of Lila’s hair. “You know I like watching you work your magic, Darling, but shouldn’t we be going after the Guardian now?”

Lila raised her finger up to grasp the brim of her sun hat, tutting under her breath. “Ah, but that is precisely what we can’t do.”

She could visualize Trixx’s eyes narrowing in her mind’s eye. “We have the location and the power.” Trixx said, unsure. “What’s stopping us?”

Another thing that Lila had to admit; some of the best parts of a good scheme was explaining it. She had no shame is saying that she loved the sound of her own voice, and she loved the sound of others pleading for answers from her.

“It’s simple; There’s no telling what we’ll face inside the Guardian’s home, and you’re not able to tell me.” She drew her fingers down to the bridge of her nose, “If the old man still has any of the brain cells that allowed him to survive so long on his own whilst constantly hunted, he’ll have some contingency for his own holders coming after him. Especially after Chat Noir’s little stint.”

Then again, in Lila’s opinion, if the old man still had any brain cells, none of this would have been allowed to happen in the first place.

Trixx risked rising from his hiding spot, sitting himself down on her nose while his tail lashed out at her cheek. “Mhm, you’ve really thought this through.”

“I can’t risk Volpina running in blind.” She sighed, stretching out her body over the bench she occupied. “And, as much as it pains me to admit it, there’s a chance that we fail, or we don’t get all the loot. The moment the Guardian or Ladybug realize what I’m doing, Volpina’s career is over; and I quite like my current position.”

Trixx pressed his paws together, nodding along. “And the Guardian will expose Lila Rossi too.”

“Exactly.”

“If Volpina isn’t gonna be available, then you’re gonna need some help.” The fox’s tail curled over his head, tapping at his nose in an exaggerated thinking gesture. It took a minute, but eventually the realization struck Trixx with an overjoyed squeal. “Ooooh, I think I get it now.”

The meaning behind the failed lucky charm, the coupon, was to warn of danger heading for the Guardian. That much Lila knew for sure. Barring an entirely unknown third party joining their fight, this meant that Hawkmoth either knows or is close to find out the Guardian’s identity. Which means he’s most likely making his next move soon.

From Lila’s perspective, if she were in Hawkmoth’s position, her first priority when going after the Guardian would be to create a situation to distract the two heroes. Chat Noir and an akuma to face Ladybug and Volpina while Hawkmoth went for the true prize.

The solution to her problem was obvious then, a move that killed the whole flock of birds with one big rock. She couldn’t go after Fu as Volpina, but she could go after him as an akumatized accomplice and get the drop on Hawkmoth at the same time.

If Hawkmoth hadn’t figured out the Guardian’s location yet, she had room to mislead him while secretly attacking Fu with the chaos as cover. After all, Volpina will already be absent, so no one will be around to tell Hawkmoth that she isn’t fighting Volpina; so long as she keeps her mind strong and gives Hawkmoth no reason to dig deeper into her mind.

If he has figured it out, she can hitch a ride to the Guardian, watch Hawkmoth take care of all the dirty work and then jump in for the spoils. The best part of this plan was that Lila Rossi gets her own hero story. No matter how this ends, she can play it off as the brave akuma victim valiantly resisting Hawkmoth’s control and protecting the innocent old man, but tragically failing to stop the miracle box from disappearing.

It was a scenario where no matter who lost, she always won.

A mad grin stretched out over her face as she picked Trixx up and hugged the kwami to her chest. “Do you approve, Trixx?”

Trixx match her grin with a mad cackle, two tricksters in perfect sync. “I do love a good ‘Heads, I win. Tails, you lose.’ scheme.”

Lila couldn’t resist jump to her feet, spinning the kwami around in the shadow of a great tree and peppering his forehead with kisses. Oh, how good it felt to bring a plan together.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be the biggest con of Volpina’s career.” Trixx scrambled back into the shelter of her hair as more people entered the park, peaking out by her neck curiously. “But how are you going to get his attention?”

Lila stared ahead, to where two familiar figures, who she’d called here over an hour ago, emerged from the entrance gate, Alya and Adrien – and she smiled a putrid smile.

“Simple, I just need to… Get in the mood.”

Lila plastered on her warmest fake smile, calling out, “Alya, over here!” She stood, rushing to embrace her, taking extra delight in how Adrien subtly stiffened at her presence. She loved how the very sight of her could unravel him ever so slightly.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you.” She pulled back, eyes wide with feigned warmth.

Alya returned the smile. “I haven’t seen you all week, Lila. Have you been okay?”

Lila made a show of brushing a stray hair from her face and sighed. “Just some… uh, family drama I’ve had to focus on. Nothing to worry about.”

Alya’s face softened. “You sure?”

“Very sure,” Lila replied with a well-practiced look of brave sadness before shifting her tone. “But I heard about Marinette’s terrible accident. Is she okay?”

Alya chuckled. “Aside from being a bit of a grump, she’s doing fine.”

“Our girl’s a fighter,” Adrien added, a small, admiring smile on his face.

Lila felt a spark of jealousy flare up, a bitter taste in her mouth as she watched Adrien’s dreamy, fond expression at the mention of Marinette. How dare he look at her that way, especially with that stupid infatuated look on his face?

It made her feel sick—the way he clearly pined for someone so far beneath her, someone so pathetic and naive. Adrien, in her eyes, was a perfect prize. He was gentle, painfully idealistic, and someone she could easily bend and manipulate if only she could steer his foolish heart in her direction. Not to mention, getting Adrien would be a quiet but satisfying victory against Gabriel Agreste after his blatant disrespectful treatment of her at the fashion contest—humiliating him by making his son hers.

But the sight of Adrien, utterly captivated by Marinette’s name, almost made her rage boil over. Her thoughts seethed with an ugly satisfaction, twisting her mouth into a silent sneer. It wasn’t not just him not looking at her that way, but the mere idea of Marinette with Adrien in particular was putrid.

They shared a lot of the same traits, namely that they were both pathetic, and both doormats. Where it was attractive with Adrien, with Marinette it was horrific; together? They would make the world's most cowardly, unbearable couple.

Really, stopping the two from becoming involved was what was best, what was healthy, for both of them.

She forced herself to keep her tone light. “That’s great to hear. I just felt so terrible hearing about it; everyone was so worried.”

Alya shrugged. “Yeah, everyone pitched in to sign her cast. It’s like she’s become Miss Popularity overnight,” she joked. “I think it’s all a little overwhelming for her. She isn’t used to this much attention.”

“It’s about time! That girl works so hard and gets so little in return.” As if she cared. Lila scoffed internally. How predictable—everyone pretending to care, swarming around Marinette now that she’s “injured.”

It was pitiful how no one else saw it. Almost nobody paid Marinette any mind before, they ignored her, walked over her, barrelled into her without a care in the world. But Alya reports Marinette breaking a leg, and suddenly all those pests decide to pretend they give a rat's ass about her.

If they had only a shred of reflection, they'd realize how fake they are, how fake they all are. She was a liar by trade, and honestly, she thought that was more tolerable than being delusional. Knowing what you're saying is bullshit and saying it anyway is far more admirable than convincing yourself that bullshit is gold because you're too afraid to face reality.

To lie was to be honest to yourself.

Alya nudged her. “You should head over there too, Lila. I’m sure Mari would love to see you.”

Lila faltered for a moment, then shook her head as though battling some deep inner conflict. “I-I don’t know…”

Alya frowned, confused. “Is something wrong?”

Lila cast her eyes down, affecting a tremble in her voice. “I just… I know it’s stupid, but I get the feeling Marinette doesn’t like me.”

Alya waved her hand dismissively. “That’s nonsense!”

“No, no, it’s not her fault.” Lila placed a hand over her heart, letting her voice quiver. “After my mistake during the fashion contest—I practically betrayed her! I almost endangered her dreams and humiliated her in front of her idol. I don’t know if I’ll ever win her trust again.”

“Hey, now,” Alya said, her voice comforting. “Marinette’s one of the most understanding people I know. She knows it was all one big mistake, and she’s cool with it; it’s fine.”

Oh, Alya, Lila thought, fighting not to roll her eyes. You’re supposed to be a journalist, but you’re the least curious person I’ve ever met. Lila could weave any lie without fear of Alya challenging her, no matter how absurd or twisted. She’d sabotaged Alya’s best friend right before her, and yet Alya was still desperate to believe her. It was pitiful, really.

“It’s just… Oh, I’m sorry.” Lila let tears pool in her eyes. “Oh, my father was right; I’m such a fragile cry-baby. I just feel so… so guilty.”

“Lila, it’s okay,” Alya said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

But Lila was beyond hearing. She was drawing all her bitterness, her hatred, her resentment up to the surface. Her stomach churned with disgust as she dwelled on the image of Marinette, admired and adored by the same people who’d once ignored her. She let her negative emotions consume her, digging deep into her cynicism until she could almost feel the darkness spilling out from her.

It came, as she knew it would, like a familiar, dark friend. The sound of fluttering wings filled her ears, and she sensed its presence hovering close, ready to root itself in her festering thoughts.

Took him long enough.

Alya’s voice suddenly sharpened. “Lila, look out!”

But it was too late—the akuma had already latched onto her earrings.

Hawkmoth’s voice rumbled through her mind, silky and sinister. “Mirror Mistress—I am Hawkmoth.”

Notes:

At this point, Marinette's gonna be holding her pictures of Adrien like a cross to pray the catboy fever away.

Lila's just living her best life at the moment with her Foxxy Soulmate.

Chapter 18: Mirror Mistress: Divide and Falter

Summary:

Marinette is forced to make a tough decision when Volpina mysteriously doesn't show up to deal with Lila Rossi's akuma.

Fu bit back a groan as he collapsed against the bathroom wall. There used to be days when his hands were quick enough to snatch a fired bullet out of the air and crumple the full force in his palm. Now, he struggled to keep himself drop dropping a bottle of pills into the sink, fighting just to keep his arms from shaking.

His time under the guardians had opened the gates of immortality for the man, and yet it did not stop the marching of time. Age may no longer be able to claim him, but it could satisfy itself leaving many, many scars to wear him down. The pain that rattled his bones, that kept them strained and tenuous, was like screams in his ears. They kept him awake, kept him distracted; on a bad day it was so unbearable that his mind was lost to it.

But like most pains, they were cunning enough to subside, to give the body enough time to get used to the respite lest the body become numb to it.

If there was one thing that Wang Fu had learned since the day he lost everything, it was how to endure.

Enough pressure with moans arrested behind gritted teeth, he found the stability to force his medicine down his throat. A wave of relief washed over him, overwhelming the echoes of a life ravaged by his own mistakes. Wayzz once said that it was ironic, playing as a man who soothes others’ strain while never being able to escape his for more than a short while. Fu, in response, always thought that life’s ironies were just a way of telling you that you’re on the right track.

Though in recent times, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d careened off the tracks long ago. He’d assured Marinette that there is a reason behind everything, that Chat Noir’s betrayal was not inherently an echo of a future doomed – and he believed it too. He had no doubt in Marinette’s role as Ladybug and, while not put to good use, this Chat Noir was so obviously Plagg’s rightful holder.

His only doubts were in his own waning abilities, and that he may not have the right wisdom to counsel and guide his champions. How could he advise others in the ways that he himself had never been taught? He’d only been a boy, a foolish, selfish young boy when he was left with the responsibility of the miracle box. A boy with no teachers left to tell him what anything meant, what risks he could take, and what rules he could bend.

He hobbled out of the bathroom with the same thoughts weighing down his brow. He preferred to get through all of this in the mornings, it was almost routine, just so he didn’t burden the others with it. But he could never escape the sight of Wayzz, that old turtle was always watching, and always worried.

As he made his way across the wall leading back to the main room, he heard the echo of the doorbell rattling to announce that someone had made their way through the front door, and apparently right through his ‘Closed’ sign. He frowned, having cleared the next few days so he could focus on deciphering the grimoire – a wealth of guardian knowledge he was sure would come in handy for Marinette and Lila.

“We’re closed.” He called out, more than a little disgruntled despite trying to remain polite.

A politeness he still fought to keep, even when he pushed through the door and saw the man standing at the other end of the room.

“Ah, shame.” Hawkmoth muttered with a vile grin, smashing the butt of his cane through Fu’s novelty telephone. “All the reviews say you have magic fingers.”

The man had a penetrating gaze, Fu had to admit. You could feel it peeling back the layers of your character the moment it landed on you, as if you could physically feel something blunt and heavy smashing through your walls. It roamed over Fu’s form with ruthless eyes, scrutinizing and measuring every detail to whatever he’d imagined of Fu before arriving.

Fu held no such gaze for Hawkmoth. He already knew that nothing of substance about this villain was on the surface, the flash, the style, the form; it was all a show put on to hide himself behind a smoke screen. Whether he was hiding from the audience, or from himself, Fu did not know.

“Mhm, Guardian training has some alternative applications, I admit.” Fu didn’t let any alarm show, he continued his way over towards a table on the far end of the room. “I was quite popular with the ladies in my youth.”

At first, he thought it would be a mistake to take his eyes off Hawkmoth, to dare turn his back on someone he knew full well had the ability and the desire to cause him harm. But thinking about it, he realized that men such as Hawkmoth didn’t open with such attacks; not because of a lack of ability, or willingness, but a need. Hawkmoth was a showman, a man desperate to be seen, when he decides to attack Fu it will be from a position where he knows he has all of Fu’s attention.

Of course, such a desire would eventually be overpowered by survival instinct if Fu threatened him enough, but for now, it was an advantage; a path to stalling the villain until Fu could find a solution.

“You old dog, you.” Hawkmoth laughed, pressing his cane against his chin thoughtfully. Like they were just two old friends making jabs at one another. “And here Plagg told me that you have no sense of humour.”

Fu inclined his head with a small, wistful smile. It had been a long time since he’d had… Well, any sort of relationship with a human at all, much less a woman. The mantle of Guardian made human connection impossible. At least, until the heroes came.

Another bitter irony. It’s only through Hawkmoth’s continued terrorizing of Paris, through creating a need for the miraculous heroes, that Fu could find companionship.

Fu sighed, retrieving a tray of herbs and cups from his cupboard. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Two minutes later, the two sat across from each other, two steaming cups placed at the centre on a tray, with neither party willing to take the first sip. If Hawkmoth was willing to entertain manners, then Fu guessed he was as well.

“You know, I’d always wondered what you’d look like.” Hawkmoth didn’t sound disappointed, just amused. He dedicated his fingers to idly pushing the tea tray, gently spinning it around, and around, and around, until Fu’s old eyes couldn’t keep up with the motion.

The spinning came to a sudden stop with Hawkmoth’s thumb falling, catching the corner of the tray and leaving them with a familiar scene. This time, however, the positions of the cups were different. Quickly, Fu realized that Hawkmoth too was biding his time. He was in enemy territory with no map or intel. After all, what were manners between enemies if not a shelter to hide behind while waiting for your opponent to show their hand.

“Always imagined something more… Wizard-y. Not looking like you should be running an ugly little gift shop selling novelty key rings shaped like famous landmarks.” Hawkmoth leaned back in his seat, openly gesturing to the tea.

And Fu dared to lean forward and take his cup, showing no hesitation before he took that curtesy sip. “The Hawaiian shirts called to me, what can I say?”

“We both know what I’m here for, Fu.” An edge to his voice cut through the pleasantries, but the villain’s casual grin still remained. “The only question is if I’m going to have to smash up your business before I leave with the box.”

Fu chuckled softly, placing his cup back on the tray. His hands still trembled faintly, but he masked it with the ease of a man who had long since learned to carry heavy burdens without complaint. “Smash up my business? Oh, my dear boy, this?” He gestured to the room around him, an empty room with the barest essentials pushed to the side. “This is hardly my business. This place is a hobby, a distraction. My true business lies elsewhere.”

Hawkmoth leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared down the old man. “Is that supposed to scare me? That you’re hiding behind some clever little riddle while your champions do all the heavy lifting? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Fu gave a dry laugh, the kind that spoke of years of weariness. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. But I do wonder if you’ve considered the possibility that all this—” he gestured vaguely to the massage parlour, the teacups, the entire charade, “—isn’t meant to protect my secrets from you, but to protect you from my secrets.”

Hawkmoth’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flicker of unease. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the smug confidence that had become his trademark. “I don’t scare so easily.”

Fu simply smiled. “Fear isn’t necessary. Respect will do.”

Hawkmoth stared at Fu, his grin returning, though tighter, his patience visibly thinning. "Respect, is it? Then perhaps you’ll respect my time enough to stop stalling. You know what I’ve come for.”

Fu sighed, folding his hands in his lap. His expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, he looked every bit the frail, tired old man. “What does your son think of you coming to terrorize an old man?”

Hawkmoth’s hand froze on the head of his cane, his grin wavering. Then, it returned sharper, like a blade drawn against a whetstone. “He thinks it brings me one step closer to obtaining our miraculous wish.”

Fu tilted his head, scrutinizing the villain before him. “I pity the man who wields the power to move the heavens and yet still scrambles for a miracle.”

“The Butterfly Miraculous can’t right the wrongs of my world.” Hawkmoth’s voice dropped, his tone both bitter and resigned.

“But it can show you how to live with them,” Fu replied softly.

“I did live with them for a time. I lived with the pain, the loss, the abuse. I faced indignities, suffering in the gutter while my fellow man would sooner die than acknowledge me as a human being and treat me with anything but contempt.” Hawkmoth leaned forward, his mask of smug confidence fracturing as his voice rose with restrained fury. “And let me tell you, it didn’t change because I sat back and took it on the cheek. It changed because I did something about it.”

Fu remained silent, his steady gaze not wavering as Hawkmoth stood, towering over him now.

Hawkmoth continued, gesturing sharply with his cane. “I’m sure this is a revelation for an order who dedicate their existence to watching the world burn from behind their temple walls, but in the real world, we need to solve problems before they consume us.”

Fu’s voice was calm, almost pitying, when he spoke again. “Yet I see a man already consumed. And determined to drag his own blood down with him.”

Hawkmoth’s glare darkened, his knuckles whitening around his cane. “I doubt a man as blind as you sees much of anything.”

Fu’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I see more than a man like you will ever know.”

Before the words had fully sunk in, a soft click echoed in the room, and a dart shot out of a hidden compartment in the wall, aimed directly at Hawkmoth’s neck. His hand shot up with inhuman speed, catching the dart between his fingers midair.

A younger Fu might have admired the precision and reflexes. Now, he only sighed.

“Oh, but I do appear to know a lot,” Hawkmoth said, his voice smug again. “You know, that might have worked if you didn’t keep glancing at it.”

He twirled the dart once, then let it drop to the floor. “The Miracle Box, old man. And any texts, too.”

“I can’t do that, villain.” Fu’s tone was steady, but his hand crept toward the edge of the table.

The room was filled with tense silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken threats. Hawkmoth reached down, picking up his untouched cup of tea and swirling it idly.

“If you’re waiting for your drug to take effect,” he mused, “I’m sorry to say that I haven’t drunk a drop. It would be mighty foolish of me to accept tea from the man I’m robbing.”

Fu chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Oh, I didn’t poison your tea.” He stood with surprising ease, his movements suddenly fluid and purposeful. “I drugged both cups.”

Hawkmoth blinked, his expression shifting from smug to wary as Fu began to stretch his arms, rolling his shoulders back with a grin that seemed decades younger than the man he’d been moments ago.

“My bones get a little fragile in my old age,” Fu explained, “so I whipped up some special, miraculous herbs for my tea. One that works for me alone. The effects are temporary, but for a time…” He straightened fully, towering just slightly, his presence suddenly commanding. “I get to live like a younger man.”

There was no activation phrase, there was only an emerald glimmer that replaced the old man with a jade knight. His armour gleamed, and his voice was steady, filled with the authority of a warrior reborn.

“In other words,” Jade Turtle said, pounding his fist into his palm with a resounding crack, “I have about two hours to teach you some manners, boy.”

---

Marinette’s grip on the phone tightened as she listened to Alya’s cheerful, oblivious reply. Her patience, already hanging by a thread, felt like it was unraveling. The dull ache in her leg throbbed in rhythm with the pounding frustration in her head. “Alya,” she said, her voice teetering on the edge of an explosion, “Ladybug is not a machine! She’s a person. What if she’s sick, or trapped, or—” her gaze darted bitterly to her cast, “injured?”

Alya’s laugh came through the line, light and airy, completely detached from Marinette’s simmering anger. “Girl, if Ladybug’s anything like Volpina, she’s unstoppable. And don’t worry! I’ll be fine—I always am!”

Marinette stared at the ceiling, her jaw clenched. Unstoppable. If only Alya knew just how stoppable Ladybug could be when stuck in bed with a busted leg and zero ability to help. She glanced at her Miraculous, sitting uselessly on her bedside table, mocking her. Every instinct screamed at her to leap into action, but her body had other plans.

“Alya, I’m begging you,” Marinette said, her voice cracking slightly. She hated how desperate she sounded, hated that she had no way to physically stop her best friend from running headfirst into danger. “Let Volpina and Ladybug handle it. That’s literally their job. Yours is to stay alive so you can keep annoying me.”

There was a pause, just long enough for Marinette to foolishly hope she’d gotten through to Alya. Then came the distracted reply: “I hear you, Girl. I really do. But this story could be huge! If I get a good angle, I might even catch Volpina’s fox illusion up close. Imagine the footage!”

“Imagine the eulogy,” Marinette muttered under her breath, glaring at her phone as though it would somehow transmit the weight of her frustration into Alya’s head.

The sound of wind rushing past Alya’s phone grew louder, punctuated by the occasional blare of a car horn. Marinette could practically see her best friend weaving through traffic, chasing after danger as if she were indestructible.

“Alya, please,” Marinette tried one last time. “If not for yourself, do it for me. Just… wait until Volpina shows up. Let her take the risk.”

The line crackled as Alya huffed, clearly pedaling harder. “Volpina’s good, but I’m not just gonna sit on the sidelines. Don’t worry, Marinette. I’ve got this!”

Marinette let out a strangled groan, her free hand clenching her blanket. “Alya! You don’t got this! You’re not a superhero!”

“Yet,” Alya teased, her voice brimming with audacious confidence.

Marinette flopped back against her pillow, her eyes shutting tightly as she exhaled sharply through her nose. Her best friend was impossible. No, worse than impossible. Alya was reckless, stubborn, and far too certain that Ladybug could magically fix anything.

And Marinette, lying helpless in her bed, could do nothing to stop her.

"Just be careful," Marinette muttered into the phone, her voice quieter now, strained with the effort of holding back her frustration.

"I’ll be fine," Alya assured her, her voice tinged with just a hint of teasing. Then, in a tone that made Marinette’s stomach drop, she added, "You’re the reason Lila got akumatized; you’re the one who should be worried."

The phone almost slipped from Marinette’s hand. Her throat tightened as guilt and disbelief swirled together. "The akuma is Lila?" she managed to croak out.

"I know, surprising, right?" Alya huffed. "She always seems so in control."

Marinette bit her lip. Lila. Of course, it was Lila. Because even when Marinette was confined to bed, unable to defend herself or anyone else, somehow, Lila Rossi still managed to make her life worse.

"What did Hawkmoth get her on?" Marinette asked, though she already had her suspicions.

Alya’s response was breezy, as if the answer were obvious. "She felt really guilty about what happened at the design contest."

Marinette snorted before she could stop herself. "Yeah, right."

"What was that?"

"I-I said yeah, right?" Marinette stammered, forcing a nervous laugh. "I didn’t know she felt so bad about it."

"Well, she did," Alya said with conviction, her tone softening. "She kept talking about how she let everyone down and how unfair it was to you. I mean, she really beat herself up over it."

Marinette pressed her lips together to stifle a bitter laugh. She could just imagine Lila spinning her web of lies, painting herself as the misunderstood victim. And Alya, ever the compassionate friend, buying every word.

"Ah, well," Alya continued, her voice taking on an optimistic tone, "I’m sure everything will work out after Ladybug and Volpina break her free and calm her down. You just need to sit her down and explain how much you value her friendship."

Marinette felt her chest tighten.

Her free hand clutched at the blanket, and she glared at her Miraculous, sitting so innocently on her bedside table. She should be out there—not just for Paris, but for herself. How could she let Volpina handle this? How could she trust anyone to clean up a mess that was so tangled with her own life?

"I’m sure Volpina will do great," she said instead, her voice clipped.

---

Mirror Mistress, you live in the world of blind masses unable to see the truth of what they see in the mirror. I offer you the power to enforce self-reflection. All I ask in return is that you keep Ladybug and Volpina at bay.

Lila took the time to examine her new form in the cracked mirror of a smashed car as she passed. A wrap of shimmering spandex forming a skin-tight seal around her body, with dark lines cut into random spots to make the reflective material appear fractured. A veil, with shards of crystal hanging from it’s base, clung between her hands – which had been turned into blue-tipped talons shaped like fractured glass – meeting in the middle at the base of her back.

Her skin was as pale as snow, her hair – a glistening silver – was kicked up into a wild flowing mess that was stuck frozen in mid-air. And her face- Her eyes. She had no eyes. There were only two flawless diamonds where her eyes should be, and yet she saw everything.

As in everything she did, Lila made for an exquisite akuma.

“They should be here by now.” She sneered down at the wreck, dragging a talon across the hood of the car, slicing it up as if she were puncturing flesh.

Chat Noir stood a bit away, hanging from a lamp post overlooking the carnage that remained of the street. They’d been at this for too long, and too loudly, for Ladybug to not have swung into action by now. Something was wrong.

“Do you think they caught on to my Dad’s plan?” Chat asked.

Immediately, Lila snapped back “If they did, your dad would have called us back.”

She would like nothing more than an excuse to advance towards Hawkmoth’s location, he was probably locking horns with the guardian already, but she couldn’t afford the risk. Preying upon the last man standing after a battle that was sure to wear them out was one thing, trying to pull that crap with Chat Noir tagging along was another matter entirely. She judged the boy an idiot, but Trixx had been very clear about the dangerous powers of the Cat Miraculous when the holder is pushed.

That’s why Ladybug was as important to her plan as she was to Hawkmoth’s. The moment Ladybug arrived, Lila could leave her to keep Chat busy while she pretended to be hunting down Volpina. She couldn’t afford to wait around, but she also couldn’t afford to set off Chat’s danger senses.

It didn’t help that Chat already seemed… Uncomfortable with her. He kept his distance, tried not to look at her, and even exchanging words seemed to leave him shaky. She was so sure that he was an idiot, but for a moment she’d panicked that he’d somehow caught onto her.

Maybe she was just that intimidating?

---

Chat Noir’s tail flicked nervously as he perched on the lamp post, his emerald eyes darting between Mirror Mistress’s crystalline form and the destruction below. She was terrifying, sure—but not in the same way other akumas were. It wasn’t her powers or the sharp, glassy talons she flexed with unsettling precision. No, it was something more… human.

It was the way her voice carried that false air of authority, the condescension that dripped from every word she spoke. It was too familiar. Too much like the girl he knew in real life, the girl who seemed to slither her way into every social circle, leaving chaos in her wake.

Adrien didn’t like Lila Rossi. And while he usually kept his opinions to himself, when it came to her, he couldn’t help but think creep.

And now she was standing before him as Mirror Mistress, every inch of her exaggerated in a way that made his skin crawl.

“I’ll scout ahead,” he muttered, his voice steady, though his grip on his baton tightened.

“No,” Mirror Mistress snapped, her tone brooking no argument. She glided closer, the crystalline shards of her veil catching the streetlights, sending fractured rays dancing across the asphalt. “We stick to the plan. Hawkmoth entrusted us with this mission, Chat Noir. I don’t need you running off and messing it up.”

He forced a crooked grin, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened whenever she looked his way. Even without real eyes, those diamond-like sockets seemed to pierce right through him.

“Messing it up? Me? Never.” He twirled his baton, feigning confidence. “I just figured I’d speed things along. Ladybug’s usually here by now. Maybe she’s onto us.”

Mirror Mistress sneered, dragging a talon across the hood of a ruined car with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “If she was, we’d know. My guess? She’s too afraid to face me.”

Afraid of you? Chat thought, suppressing the urge to laugh. If Ladybug wasn’t here, it wasn’t fear keeping her away. Something was wrong. His gut told him so, and it wasn’t just the unease he felt around Lila—or Mirror Mistress, or whatever she wanted to call herself now.

“Sure,” he said, hopping down from the lamp post. He kept his tone light, playful, the way Chat Noir was supposed to sound. But as he approached, he maintained a careful distance, his tail flicking once more.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care.

“Ladybug will come,” Mirror Mistress said, her voice dripping with arrogance. “And when she does, she’ll see her reflection for what it truly is.”

Chat’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. Reflection, huh? Maybe start with your own.

Still, he stayed quiet, letting her bask in her villainous monologue. If he had to stick close to her, he’d at least try to figure out what her real plan was. But that didn’t make being near her any less unsettling.

The truth was, it wasn’t just Adrien who didn’t like Lila. As Chat Noir, he couldn’t shake the feeling that even in this villainous form, she was still playing a game no one else knew the rules to.

And for all his bravado, Adrien wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened if she won.

---

The wild screams of sirens broke through Lila’s boredom, flashing lights filling up the end of the street in a frenetic, pulsating effect. Well, if there was nothing else she could do, at least she could… Distract herself.

“Oh, how cute,” She purred, pulling her claws up to her lips. “The police think they’re doing something.”

Her eyes made their way up the street, scanning for an opportunity. Eventually, her curious gaze landed on a fire hydrant, and she found herself letting out a satisfied moan. She withdrew her hand from her size like a swordsman unveiling their blade, clawed fingertips spread out and tensed before being brought down on the fire hydrant, slicing off a nozzle and letting a powerful steam of water burst free and flow down the street. Within seconds, it was pooling at the police blockade’s feet.

Chat squinted down at her. “What are you doing?”

“Stirring up some trouble.” She didn’t look away from her work, just letting her smile shine as she observed the water steam – her opening. “It seems are heroes are in need of some motivation.”

There was a glimmer just as Chat tried to press for more, only to find her suddenly gone.

And then the unluckiest of the officers, Becker, found the akuma crouched down beside the wheel of his patrol car.

He and his fellow officers stumbled back, barely able to pull their guns from their holsters without fumbling it free from their fingers. Lila sat still, quiet and comfy, watching them flounder before her very eyes at just the sight of her. She’d only been able to speculate on the appeal of akumatization before, but this? Ah, yes, it did make one feel powerful to have such an easy effect on people.

Mirror Mistress tilted her head, her crystalline veil tinkling like wind chimes as she watched them with an almost feline amusement. “Oh my, so skittish. And here I thought the police were supposed to be brave.”

“F-F-Freeze!” The man called out, readying his weapon. “We’re not afraid to shoot.”

Mirror Mistress tilted her head further, her predatory smile softening into something fragile, almost pitiable. She placed a hand on her chest, a tremble in her voice.

“It’s not me, Mr. Police Officer,” she said, her tone wavering like a scared child’s. “It’s that awful Hawkmoth making me do this.”

Becker’s stance faltered, his aim dipping slightly as he blinked in confusion. “D-Don’t come any closer!”

Mirror Mistress took a tentative step forward, her talons held high in mock surrender. She dropped her voice, letting it crack with desperation. “He’s in my head… He keeps saying these awful things he’ll do to me… He won’t let me leave.” Her diamond-like eyes shimmered as she clasped her hands together. “Please help me, I’m so scared. I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

Becker hesitated, his grip on the gun slackening. Behind him, another officer stepped forward. Lucile, her name tag glinting in the blue and red lights, holstered her weapon and moved slowly around Becker.

She extended a cautious hand toward Mirror Mistress, her voice steady but calm. “Just tell us where the akumatized object is, ma’am. We can help you.”

For a moment, Lila stared at the badge on Lucile’s chest, her fragile expression melting away like a mask. A sly grin formed, sharp and cruel.

“You know, Officer…” she purred, tilting her head. “That badge of yours is awfully shiny.”

Before Lucile or Becker could react, Mirror Mistress vanished in a faint glimmer of light.

“H-How did she do that?” Becker stammered, spinning around wildly.

His question was answered a second later when Mirror Mistress reappeared directly in front of him, her talons slashing across his chest with a savage swipe. The reinforced fabric of his bulletproof vest tore like paper under her claws.

“Becker!” Lucile shouted, her gun raised again as her colleague stumbled back, clutching his shredded vest. Before she could fire, Mirror Mistress wrapped her talons around Becker’s arm and yanked him down into the water, disappearing with him in another flash.

“Where did they go!?” Lucile demanded, her voice tight with panic.

“Behind you!” another officer yelled, pointing.

Lucile spun around just in time to see Mirror Mistress reappear, tossing Becker like a rag doll into the side of a police cruiser. The metal crumpled under the impact, the car groaning as it collapsed around his limp form.

Mirror Mistress stood over the broken man, her claws dragging down her own cheeks. Thin, glistening lines carved through her pale skin, mimicking tear tracks. She looked down at her hands, her expression wide-eyed and horrified.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What have I done?”

The sharp edges of Lila's talons gleamed as she held them over her face, her unrelenting advance toward the two remaining officers unbroken despite the frantic gunfire.

BANG.

The bullet ricocheted off her claws, spinning uselessly into the distance.

BANG BANG.

She blurred, vanishing between shots as if the world itself paused to accommodate her movements. The officers, desperate, emptied their clips, but it was hopeless. Lila advanced with a grin that stretched too wide, claws raised to strike, her movements precise and terrifyingly graceful.

She crouched before them, claws poised for the kill—

CRACK!

A silver blur struck the officers, sending them flying backward. They landed unconscious several feet away, safely out of her reach.

“Do you have to be so dramatic about it?” Chat Noir’s voice called out as he dropped from the lamppost overhead, landing smoothly beside her. He twirled his baton with an air of practiced ease, though his emerald eyes glimmered with irritation.

Lila straightened, tilting her head toward him with mock innocence. “Oh please, like you and your father aren’t born drama queens.”

“Hey, when we put on a show, it’s funny. When you do it, it’s creepy.”

“Don’t hate me ‘cause I have more gumption than you,” Lila quipped, casually inspecting her claws as though they hadn’t been about to spill blood.

“I hate you for a lot more than that,” Chat muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving.

“What was that?” she snapped, her grin faltering.

He smiled, leaning casually on his baton. “I said you’re gonna have to do more than that if you wanna outdo me.”

Before Lila could respond, a single gunshot rang out.

Her entire body jerked back, a gasp of pain and fury escaping her lips. A crimson stain bloomed on her shoulder, stark against her shimmering costume. She turned slowly, her expression twisting with rage, to see a younger boy in a familiar red cap and blue shirt standing at the edge of the street.

Nino.

His hands trembled as he clutched Becker’s discarded weapon, and his eyes widened in sheer terror as the weight of what he’d done crashed over him. Without a second thought, he turned and bolted.

“Mhm, you’re right,” Lila hissed, her voice a venomous purr directed at Chat. “Why don’t I start with this little miscreant?”

Chat’s eyes widened, his casual demeanor vanishing in an instant. “No, wait—!”

But she was already gone, disappearing in a glimmer of fractured light as she set off after Nino.

---

“-and another police squadron is swept aside as Ladybug and Volpina have still failed to make an appearance. It appears that there is just no end to Hawkmoth’s latest trail of destruction.”

Marinette was a big fan of pacing. She did it all the time, it was good for working off energy, good for getting her brain pumping and good just for the sake of doing something when she felt useless and alone. So, as she chewed on her finger nails in abject panic watching the news broadcast of Mirror Mistress’ rampage, all she could think about it getting up and running circles into the floorboards.

Naturally, there was the complication that her leg was broken, making pacing all around an impossible task.

So, Marinette found a compromise and endeavoured to hop around the room instead.

“Where the hell is Volpina?” She squealed sharply, pressing the phone tightly to herself so that Alya couldn’t hear. “Did she take a vacation and not tell me?”

Tikki gazed down at her holder with worry; worry for the situation… And worry for whatever kind of psychosis was currently embracing her holder at the moment. “Maybe she isn’t in a position to use her miraculous.”

Marinette doesn’t really hear the comforting words, already spitting at herself in her mind, while grumbling under her breath in reality. “Of course, I decide to get my leg broken on the one day my partner wouldn’t be available.”

The phone chirped, “What was that, Mari?”

A quick eep followed Marinette’s journey to crashing into the bed frame, tossing the phone in between her hands like she was playing hot potato. She eventually managed to catch the phone without it slipping, leaving her to tentatively holding it up to her ear. “J-J-Just looking at the news, Alya.” She stuttered, “That new akuma sure is brutal.”

Alya took no notice of her tone, just whistling. “You’re telling me, her and Chat Noir are tearing it up.”

Marinette gulped, staring at Tikki with a frustrated grimace. All the powers of creation, and there was nothing she could do all because of some bum leg. “It’s that bad out there, huh?”

“It’s… Kind of scary.” Alya sighed, “I know it’s just another akuma, but it feels worse somehow. Like a bad omen.”

Marinette flopped back onto her bed, clutching the phone tightly as if it were her lifeline to the chaos outside. Her leg throbbed dully beneath its cast, a frustrating reminder of her current helplessness. She winced as Alya’s words settled over her like a dark cloud.

"A bad omen?" she repeated, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

“Yeah,” Alya admitted. There was the sound of movement on the other end, likely Alya pacing in her own fit of nerves. “I don’t know, Mari. Something about this one feels… wrong. Like it’s more than just Hawkmoth stirring the pot.”

Marinette bit her lip, her free hand clenching the edge of her blanket. Tikki hovered close, her tiny face etched with concern. Marinette wasn’t used to sitting on the sidelines, and the mounting dread in Alya’s voice wasn’t helping.

She’d notice some oddities herself. They weren’t enough to be considered signs really, but enough to trigger some sort of alarm in the back of her head. Hawkmoth was very particular about how he ran his operation, and he always kept in contact with Chat and his akuma in the attacks where he wasn’t present. And yet, in none of the footage she’d seen had that butterfly symbol come out even once. And no reappearance of the talking head made of moths routine to call her out again.

Hawkmoth was a man that liked to make his presence known, yet he felt so disconnected from this fight. It was almost like he was in the middle of something else while Chat handled it.

“There’s still time to come back, Alya.” Her voice cracked under the strain.

Alya hesitated, her tone softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Alya… please…” Marinette’s free hand clenched the edge of her blanket, her knuckles white.

“Mari, don’t be like that,” Alya said, trying to sound reassuring, though her voice wavered. “Ladybug will fix everything. You’ll see.”

“She won’t,” Marinette said flatly, her words heavy with a truth she could no longer keep bottled up.

“What? Of course, she will,” Alya said, laughing nervously. “She always does—”

“She won’t.” Marinette cut her off, her voice rising. “She can’t. Because she’s not there, Alya. She’s not going to be there because she failed everyone!” Tears welled up in her eyes as she gripped the phone tighter. “She can’t fix this, and you’re going to get hurt because of it!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, girl,” Alya said, her voice shaking but still trying to soothe her friend. “It’s going to be fine. I’m fine.”

The sharp crack of a gunshot ripped through the broadcast, dragging Marinette’s attention back to the screen. Her heart stopped as the camera caught a glimpse of Nino, sprinting desperately down the street, Mirror Mistress closing in on him with terrifying speed.

“Nino!?” Marinette’s shout was so loud it made Tikki jump.

“What about Nino?” Alya’s voice was sharp now, filled with worry.

“Stupid cameras, go back, go back!” Marinette fumbled with the keyboard, cycling through different news live streams, cursing under her breath. “The akuma, she’s after Nino now!”

“What the hell is he doing there?!” Alya’s panic matched Marinette’s. “I already told him about the akuma!”

“He probably went there after you!” Marinette snapped, her words tumbling out in a flurry of frustration and fear. “He’s going to get hurt; that boy has gotten folded in every fight he’s ever been in!”

“Mari—”

“Stop telling me to calm down!” Marinette’s voice broke, tears streaming freely now. “People are getting hurt, people are in danger because of me. This is exactly the time to freak out!”

The silence on the other end was deafening, and Marinette bit her lip to keep herself from sobbing.

Finally, Alya spoke, her voice trembling. “I think you’re just going a little stir-crazy locked up in your room. Just… just go to sleep, okay? Everything will be better when you wake up.”

Marinette’s throat tightened, her heart hammering in her chest. Nino was in trouble, and she wouldn’t be there to undo the damage. Paris was going to be at the mercy of an akumatized Lila Rossi, and there was nothing she could do to fight it. She couldn’t get out of her room, or her own bed for that matter.

For a long, drawn-out moment, she stared at Tikki. There was a thought in her head, a dangerous thought, and she needed a clear, direct answer. She wanted reassurance or disparagement; something conclusive. But Tikki couldn’t give her that, just a supportive glance that she would be there for whatever Marinette chooses, but this had to be a decision Marinette made on her own.

Marinette closed her eyes and let a shaky breath trickle out. Paris needed Ladybug right now. Marinette couldn’t be there for Paris.

But Ladybug still could.

“…Alya,” Marinette whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m Ladybug.”

There was a beat of silence so long it felt like eternity.

“…What do you need me to do?” Alya finally said, her voice steady, ready.

Notes:

The pieces are all coming together, and it's gonna be utter chaos.

It occurs to me that I should probably tell you guys that I do have a Tumblr. I don't do much with it outside of post links to chapters, but I do answer asks and occasionally write shitposts about my fics: https://www.tumblr.com/drtwit

Chapter 19: Mirror Mistress: Fake It To Make It

Summary:

The Mirror Mistress arc continues as Alya temporarily plays replacement Ladybug.

Lila didn’t really have much of an opinion of Nino. Quite honestly, she found it hard to remember him. He was that permanent third wheeler who hovered around Alya like a pest and stuck to Adrien like a mosquito, never contributing anything of interest, and only noticeable because he took up space. Shooting her in the shoulder was probably the first thing he’s done in his entire life that was worthy of note.

The second thing would be what she was about to do to him in retaliation. Because, as it turns out, a bullet to the shoulder really, really hurts – even when you’re a supervillain.

As she shambled down the winding alleyways in pursuit of her prey, Lila found herself constantly glancing to her wound, feeling her shoulder groan with every pump of her arm. There was no blood, just a line of fractured glass carved into her shoulder shaped around the bullet’s impact with cracks sprouting from the edges.

To think, if Nino stood his ground with the pistol, he might have actually stood a better chance. Alas, his courage was feeble, pitiful and fleeting, so now he was providing her entertainment as she awaited Ladybug’s inevitable interruption.

She was sure that, from Nino’s perspective, this was much like a horror movie. In line with that image, Lila didn’t break into a sprint to catch her prey, she merely shambled at the pace of a brisk walk. And also like a horror movie, she still managed to keep up, materializing a few feet closer every time he glanced over his shoulder to observe her.

The alleyway twisted and turned in chaotic angles, but Lila barely registered the scenery. Her attention was fixed entirely on Nino, his frantic attempts to find cover, to outpace her. He ducked into a narrower path between two buildings, his red cap barely visible against the dim light filtering in from above.

“Oh, come on, Nino,” Lila cooed, her voice echoing eerily in the confined space. She tilted her head as she walked, her claws trailing lazily along the brick wall beside her, leaving deep gouges in their wake. “You had the guts to shoot me, but now you’re running like a scared little rabbit? How disappointing.”

Nino’s sharp intake of breath was her answer, and she chuckled darkly, savoring his fear.

Her fractured shoulder groaned as she rolled it experimentally, the cracks shimmering faintly. It was a strange sensation, this semi-transparency that came with her akumatized form. She was solid and yet not, like living glass. The bullet hadn’t pierced her flesh, but the impact still stung like betrayal.

He had dared to touch her, to defy her. And now he would pay.

“Tick tock, Nino,” she sang, her voice dripping with mockery. “Every time you look back, I’m just a little bit closer. Isn’t that fun?”

Ahead, Nino glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as she appeared mere feet away. He yelped and dove into another side alley, disappearing from view. Lila sighed theatrically.

“They always run,” she muttered to herself, vanishing in a glimmer and reappearing effortlessly in the narrow alleyway. She materialized mid-step, her movement fluid and unbroken as though she’d been walking there the entire time.

Nino was crouched behind a dumpster, clutching the pistol with trembling hands. The safety was off, but his grip was uncertain, his knuckles white against the metal. Lila’s smirk deepened.

“There you are,” she purred, stopping a few paces away. She tilted her head, her claws flexing idly. “It’s cute, you know, how you think that little toy of yours will save you.”

“Stay back!” Nino’s voice cracked as he raised the gun, his hands shaking so violently it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped it yet.

Lila laughed, a low, cruel sound. “Oh, Nino. You can’t even hold it steady. What are you going to do? Shoot me again? Go on, then.” She spread her arms wide, exposing the cracked glass of her shoulder. “I’ll even give you a free shot.”

For a moment, Nino hesitated, his finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes darted between her taunting smile and the wound he’d already inflicted, doubt flickering across his face.

Lila took a step closer, her claws clicking against the pavement. “You’re not a fighter. You’re barely even a side character. But hey,” she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper, “you’re about to be the most memorable thing about this whole mess.”

Nino squeezed the trigger.

The bullet flew true, but Lila was faster. She vanished in a shimmer of light, reappearing an instant later directly in front of him. Her claws lashed out, knocking the gun from his hands with a sharp clatter.

“Oops,” she said, her grin widening as Nino scrambled backward, his back hitting the wall.

“Please,” he stammered, his voice barely audible. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, you meant it,” Lila interrupted, crouching down to his level. Her claws traced a line along the cracked pavement, each motion deliberate, predatory. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She let her claws rake the ground, the sharp sound reverberating through the alley like a death knell.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Nino, what are you doing out here all alone?” she cooed, tilting her head mockingly. “Don’t you know that it’s dangerous out here? Why, some say there’s an akuma prowling about.”

Nino scrambled backward, his limbs flailing as he tripped over a loose piece of debris, sending him sprawling into a stack of bins. Glass bottles tumbled to the ground, shattering around him with a deafening crash. The shards caught the dim light, scattering distorted reflections of Mirror Mistress in every direction. Her image surrounded him—on the broken glass, in the smooth surfaces of the bins, even faintly on the puddles from a recent rain. No matter where he looked, she was there, closing in.

“H-Hey, Dudette!” Nino stammered, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “Did I mention you’re looking… Greeeeat.”

Lila smirked, her lips curving into a cruel line as she stepped closer, her claws clicking ominously against the pavement. “That doesn’t answer my question, Nino,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Are you afraid of me? Do you not want to talk with me? Aren’t we friends?”

Nino swallowed hard, pressing himself against the wall as though it might somehow swallow him whole. “W-Well, Alya called, told me all about you getting akumatized,” he stammered. “And you know Alya, she’s always running off into danger, so I thought I’d try and find her before she did… Anything… Stupid…”

“Oooooh,” Lila drawled, crouching slightly as though she were about to pounce. “That’s so cute. You were trying to come and protect your little crush.” Her smile widened as she leaned closer. “Well, it would be cute… if you weren’t so pathetic.”

Nino winced at her words, his confidence crumbling further with every syllable.

“Really, Nino, you’re not exactly the hero type.” Lila’s voice turned sharper, cutting into him like glass. “You’re barely even cut out to be a sidekick.”

He flinched, looking down at the broken shards beneath him. “I-I know this is the akuma talking…”

“Oh, Nino,” Lila said, her tone softening to a mockery of sympathy. “This isn’t just the akuma talking. This is everybody talking. Everybody who’s ever looked at you, who’s had to suffer your company—they all know the truth. You have nothing to give, and everything to take.”

“That’s not true…” Nino’s protest was weak, his voice trembling.

“Don’t lie to me, Nino,” she hissed, her expression darkening as the reflections in the glass began to shift. In every surface, his image appeared, twisted and exaggerated, a parody of his fear and insecurity. “I know you believe it. After all…” She gestured to the glass. “I’m your reflection.”

The twisted reflections spoke volumes, their distorted faces sneering down at him. Lila took a step forward, her claws glinting dangerously in the light. “But hey,” she said, her grin returning, “if you want to prove me wrong, how about you make yourself useful for once…” Her voice dropped, venom dripping from every word. “And scream loud enough to draw that pesky bug out.”

Nino froze, his heart hammering in his chest as the shards around him seemed to magnify his fear. He glanced up at her, tears welling in his eyes, and for a moment, Lila saw the breaking point she’d been pushing for.

Chat’s entrance was much like the cat himself, loud, obnoxious and making her body groan. She didn’t give him the honour of acknowledgement, even as he stood behind her, a scowl affixed to his normally cheery face.

“That’s enough.” He spat.

Lila found herself giggling at the bumbling kitty cat’s attempt to sound tough. Whatever mocking commentary she had for his father, Hawkmoth at least had the voice to pull it off. “I’m not done with-”

One inch. That was how close the baton had come to taking her head off. The weapon shot past her ear like a bullet, embedding itself in the wall behind her with a sickening crunch. Lila stiffened, her grin faltering as she turned her head to see the staff’s impact—a jagged hole in the shape of her skull, eerily precise.

“I said, that’s enough.” Suddenly, Chat was down by her ear, a sharp hiss to his voice, like he was barely restraining a growl underneath it all. “If you have problems following orders, then you obviously make for a poor akuma.”

Lila’s smirk returned, this time softer, more dangerous. “I didn’t know the kitten had claws,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice taking on a mocking edge.

Chat ignored her entirely, brushing past her as though she were a mere inconvenience. The butterfly symbol glimmered over his eyes as he activated his communicator.

“Dad, the plan is a bust,” he said, his voice curt. “They’re still not here.”

Lila’s eyes narrowed, watching him intently. Chat Noir was really becoming a thorn in her side, he was the sole obstacle stopping her from going after Hawkmoth and the Guardian, who were probably fighting this very minute, the sole witness who could inform Hawkmoth that she was neglecting her duties.

If only she could get him out of the way…

“Trust me, I’ve been plenty distracting,” he said dryly.

Wait, why couldn’t she?

She watches him, his attention elsewhere and his back completely turned to her. And in her view she catches the pristine manner in which the sun’s gaze bounces off the tips of her bladed fingers.

All she needed was on clean strike.

Chat’s voice, oblivious to the growing danger behind him, droned on. “Maybe we just caught them on a bad day?” Chat mused, tilting his head slightly, oblivious to how his movement seemed like an invitation.

She crept closer, her claws clicking faintly as she brought them together, poised for a decisive blow. Lila’s lips curled into a manic grin as she raised her claws high, ready to bring them down. She could hear her heart beating, and she imagined it was Chat’s heart, imagined that his danger sense was going off the charts, but he would be too late to heed the warning.

She imagined how hard his heart would beat when she cut him open, when he was bleeding on the floor and he realized that he wasn’t so invincible after all.

“Wait, you’re doing what?” Chat’s tone shifted, incredulous. “What do you mean you’re pummelling a little old Asian man!?”

The absurdity of his words gave her pause. And that pause was enough for her instincts to suddenly scream at her to leap back. She obeyed just in time to avoid a familiar polka-dotted yo-yo that lashed out between them, skidding across the ground.

Both Lila and Chat spun on their heels, eyes darting to the rooftops above.

“Sorry to drop in like this,” called a figure from above, her yo-yo swinging lazily at her side. The red suit and black spots gleamed in the light, her expression a blend of defiance and amusement. “But I’m running a little late.”

---

Marinette was Ladybug. Alya was still having some trouble wrapping her head around that little detail. The girl that ducked for cover at the slightest hint of a confrontation was the same girl that tackled Stormy Weather into a death drop. The girl that could barely string together a coherent sentence when Adrien was involved was mouthing off casually to Chat Noir every week. Her best friend, the world’s worst liar, was doubling as a super hero, and she’d somehow managed to keep it a secret from her.

On the ride to the bakery, Alya found herself repeating ‘You’re Ladybug? Like, really, really Ladybug?’ several times much to Marinette’s exasperation. She could barely contain herself when waving to Sabine and Tom as she let herself in, feeling that temptation to blow up and ask them if they knew or approved of what their daughter was up to, if this was some elaborate hoax, rattled her with every step.

It was only when Marinette pushed the earrings into her palm and the cutest little creature appeared on her shoulder, trading a casual wave between them, that it all became a reality.

Marinette was fucking Ladybug.

And now, suddenly so was Alya.

This was way too crazy for a day that started with her dad’s two hour lecture on the brain chemistry of parrots.

Alya was a budding reporter, questions were her blood and vice, but with Hawkmoth running rampant and Volpina absent, Alya didn’t have time to ask her questions. So, she took the magic jewels, said the magic words and took off across Paris… Magically. When Hawkmoth was done and dusted, then she could have her chance to freak out, but for now, hero mode.

She and Marinette had shared the same worry – if anybody close to them noticed that Ladybug disappears at the same time that Marinette is taken out of commission, someone could very well put it all together. But then, what happens when a different girl wearing the spots shows up on the scene? Not to brag, but Alya and Marinette had some obvious opposites in hair, skin and proportions.

Turns out that Tikki had that covered. Alya had barely had time to marvel at Tikki before the little Kwami zipped into the earrings, leaving her with a quick “You’ll do great!” and a shower of sparkles. The transformation had been disorienting, like suddenly standing on a roller coaster that wouldn’t stop moving.

Alya wasn’t an exact copy of Ladybug, but she’d imagined her outfit and form just close enough that it could be easily shrugged off as a style switch. Though, Alya had to admit that shrinking to be more Marinette in stature made her feel… Compact, like her whole body was tightening over a load it wasn’t made to handle. Though maybe that was just the feel of the Ladybug power thrumming within her now.

Swinging was a process. As in, Alya attempted it twice, ate it big time on a brick wall both times and decided to lean on her super athletics to sprint across the rooftops. “I’ll stick to running for now,” she muttered under her breath, leaping across a narrow gap between buildings. Her heart raced as she landed awkwardly but stayed upright. “Baby steps, Alya.”

“Remember, you’re not alone, you’re acting with Tikki. Try not to fight her.” Marinette’s voice echo’d over the convenient communicator that had been spat out of the yoyo. There’d also come a body cam with it, allowing Marinette to monitor everything from Alya’s perspective, and play backseat driver. “Ladybug is like... Like a car, and you and Tikki are at the wheel.”

Still, she had to admit, the view was incredible. The city stretched out below her, a patchwork of rooftops and chimneys that she’d only ever seen from the ground. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Alya’s initial response was to roll her eyes, though she knew Marinette couldn’t see it. “Oh, great, I’m driving a superhero Ferrari, and I haven’t even passed my permit test.”

“You’re doing fine,” Marinette said in her usual calm-but-panicked tone. “Just keep your focus. You’ve got this.”

“Don’t worry, Girl.” Alya called back over, “I’ve got the best super powers in the world, I got this!”

And that brought her to the here and now, her yoyo attack that was meant for Mirror Mistress’ head now limply clattering to the floor between the two surprised villains. As far as they knew, she totally meant to do that.

“And here we thought you’d never show up, Bugaboo,” Chat said with a sharp whistle, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned casually on his baton, watching Alya make her dramatic landing. “What, did you get cold feet?”

Alya’s eyes swept across the scene, tension rooting itself in her muscles as her gaze locked onto Nino, huddled in a corner, blood dripping down his temple. Her stomach twisted, and a fierce, protective instinct flared within her. Nino. Gentle, loving, always looking out for others—now crumpled in pain, trying to make himself invisible.

Her fists clenched at her sides.

Lila might be her friend underneath all that akuma corruption, but right now, she was the enemy. If Alya didn’t stop her, more people would get hurt.

“The only thing that’s cold around here is… your attitude?” she shot back, trying to keep her voice steady. It didn’t come out quite as sharp as she hoped, the words fumbling in her throat as she overcompensated with an exaggerated, deep ‘hero’ voice. “…Villain.”

She could practically hear Marinette face-palming through the communicator. “Alya, you’re laying it on too thick.”

Before Alya could retort, Chat Noir lunged forward, his baton a blur. She barely managed to bring her arms up in time to block him, his sheer force sending her stumbling back. His attacks were relentless, each strike faster than the last. He was a blur of black and green, pushing her closer to the warehouse entrance as she struggled to regain her footing.

By the time she recovered, the two of them were sheltered beneath the shadow of the warehouse’s doorway.

“Wait,” Marinette’s voice chimed in her ear. “This could be good. If you break the door mechanism, you’ll trap both of them here with you and let Nino escape. Where’s Mirror Mistress?”

Chat’s sharp chuckle cut through the air. “You wanna try that again?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to think,” Alya shot back more smoothly this time, her irritation bubbling to the surface. “My brain is just too full of all the fucks I don’t give about your banter.”

Chat smirked, raising his hands defensively. “Sheesh, who kicked over your cereal this morning?”

Alya opened her mouth to respond but stopped as her eyes caught a glint of movement over Chat’s shoulder. Her instincts—or Tikki’s influence—kicked in. Without thinking, she lashed out with her yo-yo.

This time, it hit its mark. Mirror Mistress yelped as the yo-yo wrapped around her, hoisting her off her feet and dragging her into the warehouse.

Taking Marinette’s advice, Alya lunged past a confused Chat, slamming her fist into the door mechanism. The door groaned shut behind her, trapping the three of them inside. She smashed the mechanism further, ensuring there was no easy way to open it again.

“And just where are you slinking off to, Shiny?” Alya taunted, her yo-yo spinning idly at her side, more as a calming motion than a strategic one.

Lila pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Making sure your partner isn’t sneaking up behind us,” she replied with a mocking smirk. Tilting her head to the side, she added, “Or did you come all by yourself, hmm?”

“Maybe Volpina just knows I don’t need backup to take on your clowns,” Alya shot back, her confidence growing.

Lila laughed as she rose to her feet, combing her claws through her hair. “Come on, Kitty. Let’s take out the trash.”

Chat crossed his arms, tilting his head at her. “Chat Noir to you, thank you very much.”

Lila rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. She jumped off her feet, charged forward, claws raised and ready to slice into Alya’s flesh and-

Gone. Lila completely vanished from view.

“Where did she go!?” Alya exclaimed, stumbling back.

In place of Lila, Chat was more than happy to jump in with his baton at the ready. And considering what Alya saw him almost do to Lila’s head earlier, she wasn’t about to chance getting hit by it.

“You don’t need to focus on her right now.” He cried out, burying the butt of his baton into her stomach and using it as a leverage point to hoist her up and then slam her into the ground.

Suffice to say, Alya was left a little dizzy.

There was no mercy after that, the moment she got up Chat launched into another flurry of attacks. They were so fast she could barely make them out as more than aggressive smears getting closer and closer to her face. There was no fighting back or getting away, he was fast, skilled and deadly and all she could do was dance in that small space in between that let her escape his wrath.

“Just keep dodging, Alya!” Marinette called out into her ear, “Chat likes to really go for his swings; uses up a lot of energy at once.”

Alya ducked, sidestepped, and twisted out of Chat’s reach, narrowly avoiding a swing aimed at her ribs.

“What does she think I’m doing?” Alya muttered under her breath, her irritation mounting as the relentless onslaught continued.

Chat Noir smirked, twirling his baton lazily. “You’re looking a little sluggish there, Bug. Do I need to turn on easy mode?”

Alya growled, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll show you—” She lunged at him with her yo-yo, her momentum wild and uncoordinated. Unfortunately, Chat sidestepped with infuriating ease, and she went stumbling right past him.

“FACK!” Alya barked as she nearly tripped over her own feet.

Chat snickered. “Oh, was that supposed to hit me?”

Alya wheeled around, launching into a flurry of attacks, swinging her yo-yo, throwing kicks, and jabbing punches, but Chat dodged each one with casual grace, not even breaking a sweat. Alya was panting, her frustration mounting with every miss.

“Okay, now this is just getting kind of sad,” Chat said, his tone equal parts amused and pitying.

Before she could come up with a retort, Chat stepped in close, driving his knee hard into her stomach. The force sent her flying backward, up and over the railing to the catwalk above. She landed with a groan, clutching her abdomen as her back hit the cold metal floor.

Marinette’s voice rang through the communicator in her ear. “What are you doing!? You’re supposed to be Ladybug, not a bull in a china shop!”

Alya groaned, rubbing her bruised stomach. “How else am I supposed to hit him? Wait for him to knock my block off? I don’t exactly get into pole fights often, Mari!”

“It’s not about brute force,” Marinette shot back. “It’s an instinct thing. Tikki is trying to guide your body, but you’re fighting it. You’ve got a kind of… sixth sense that helps you react to danger.”

Alya raised a brow, wincing as she pulled herself to her knees. “Like spider-sense?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Marinette said, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Alya froze, blinking in disbelief. “Have you watched any superhero media?”

“Not really? I dunno, I’m just not interested in those sorts of stories.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“The fight, Alya!” Marinette snapped, exasperated.

Alya pushed herself to her feet, her gaze locking onto Chat, who now stood smugly on the opposite catwalk. He leaned on the railing, casually tapping his baton against his shoulder.

“Come on, Bugga-Boo-Boo; I’m waaaaiting,” he taunted, his grin widening.

Alya’s jaw tightened as a grin of her own spread across her face. Oh, she was going to enjoy wiping that smug look off his face.

Huh. She was really starting to understand Marinette’s frustration with this guy.

Though, of course, she didn’t crush on him like Marinette did.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Alya muttered, spinning her yo-yo with newfound determination. “I always wanted to swing around.”

She charged forward, her yo-yo spinning like a lasso. She visualized the move—grappling to the nearest beam, swinging gracefully through the air, and landing a perfect spin kick to Chat’s stupid, smirking face. She leapt over the railing, tossing her yo-yo with all the confidence in the world.

“You better start calling me Tarzan, because I’m gonna—”

The yo-yo bounced harmlessly off the wall, clattering to the ground.

“—faaaaaaaaall!”

Gravity did its job, and Alya plummeted, hitting the floor below with a resounding crack that echoed through the warehouse. Even Chat winced at the sound.

“Ow…” Alya groaned, sprawled out on the ground.

Chat peered over the railing, his ears twitching. “You… uh… okay down there?”

“Not really,” Alya grumbled. “Can I have a minute?”

“Sure?” Chat said, raising a brow but staying put.

Marinette’s exasperated voice chimed in again. “Alya, you’re supposed to follow the yo-yo, not just lob it.”

Alya rolled onto her side, glaring at the air like she could see her best friend’s face. “The fuck does that even mean? I didn’t see the yo-yo moving on its own.”

“That’s because you keep pulling it back!” Marinette retorted. “You need to trust the power, Alya. That’s the key part of the Miraculous—a leap of faith!”

Alya let her head thunk against the floor, her chest heaving. “Yeah, well… my leaps suck.”

Chat’s laughter echoed from above. “Take all the time you need, Bug! I’ll be here.”

Alya clenched her fists. “Oh, you’re so dead.”

Just when she was going to make a move to get back to Chat, the sound of scraping glass drawing her ears to the other end of the room. High above she spotted Mirror Mistress, only the akuma wasn't coming for her or her miraculous she was diving straight for the nearest window.

“There she is again, trying to weasel her way out of fighting me.” Alya pulled herself upright, forcing a smirk. “That is so rude!”

She reeled in her yoyo, casting it out again in a smooth motion. This time, she didn’t yank it back immediately but let it fly, watching its trajectory with bated breath.

“Okay,” she whispered, watching the yoyo’s tiny movements. It almost seemed alive, wiggling, adjusting, pointing her where to go. “I think I’m getting it now.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” she shouted, pulling the yoyo tight and yanking it downward.

The move was perfect. Mirror Mistress was slammed into the ground with a forceful thud, shards of glass scattering around her on impact. Alya landed in front of her, pulling her yoyo taut.

“I’m sorry, Lila, but this is an intervention,” Alya said, her tone brimming with faux sympathy. “You’re completely out of control.”

Lila snarled, her expression venomous. With a glint of light, she vanished, reappearing directly in front of Alya. Her claws slashed so fast that even as Alya threw her head back, she felt the sharp sting of them grazing her nose.

“On the contrary, Ladybug,” Lila hissed, voice dripping with malice. “I’ve never felt more in control in my life.”

The fight resumed, Lila’s claws tearing through every piece of scenery around them. Alya dodged with growing confidence, her movements becoming sharper, more fluid. When Chat dropped down from above, baton raised high, Alya didn’t hesitate.

“Mind if I cut i—”

Alya whipped her yoyo around a loose metal pipe and lobbed it at him. It struck Chat across the face, sending him sprawling.

“Ha! Take that, Fleabag!” she crowed, her triumph short-lived as Lila slashed across her arms and smashed her through another wall. Alya landed hard, coughing as dust and debris settled around her.

“Ah… shit,” she gasped, struggling to get to her feet.

She barely had time to recover before she heard the distant shattering of glass. Through the Alya-shaped hole in the wall, she spotted Lila standing amid swirling shards of glass, each piece orbiting her like a swarm of deadly fireflies.

Lila raised a clawed finger, pointing directly at Alya. The shards burst forward in a concentrated stream, tearing through the air with a horrifying whistle.

“Oh, hell no!” Alya cried, diving into a roll to avoid the onslaught.

The glass tore apart everything in its path. Alya broke into a sprint, weaving through the crumbling remains of the warehouse.

“Okay, a direct fight with her is a no-go,” Alya muttered, her heart pounding. “Lesson learned.”

Alya’s heart raced, pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own frantic breaths. Her vision blurred at the edges, and every step she took felt like dragging lead weights. Her limbs screamed for mercy, and she was half-convinced she was bleeding out. She needed to find cover—fast.

The sound of Lila’s laughter, sharp and echoing, spurred her forward. Glass shattered somewhere behind her, followed by the whistling hiss of shards cutting through the air.

Alya barrelled through door after door, slamming into walls and careening into abandoned rooms, her body moving on instinct alone. The chaotic symphony of Lila’s giggling and breaking glass followed her like a predator toying with its prey.

When she finally stopped, it wasn’t by choice. Her legs gave out, sending her collapsing into an empty meeting room. She dragged herself behind the thick frame of a window overlooking the room, clutching her side and wincing at the sharp jolt of pain.

Her chest heaved, her body trembling as she tried to catch her breath. “How does Marinette make this look so easy?” she muttered bitterly, the words half-choked by exhaustion.

Her respite didn’t last. The sound of scraping glass and Lila’s voice, sweet and chilling, filled the silence once more.

“Oooooh, Ladybug… You’ve made such a mess of my costume. I’m not mad, but… the least you could do is come out and apologize.”

Alya clenched her fists, forcing herself to sit up straighter. “Focus, Alya,” she muttered under her breath. “You’ve got this.”

The akuma is in her earrings. I don’t need to beat her, I just need an opportunity.

 The sound of footsteps drew closer, the faint glimmer of glass flickering in the dim light.

Her yoyo rested loosely in her hand, the string tangled slightly. She stared at it for a long moment, taking in the tiny, almost imperceptible vibrations in its surface. The movements weren’t random; they were deliberate.

“Trust the power,” Alya muttered to herself, gripping the yoyo tighter. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, Tikki. Let’s do this.”

Alya groaned as she pulled a jagged shard from her leg, biting back a scream. Blood welled up from the wound, but she couldn’t focus on it—not now. Gritting her teeth, she shuffled to the door and pressed herself flat against its frame, holding the shard up like a makeshift mirror.

Using its reflective surface, she peeked around the corner without exposing herself. For a brief moment, the hallway beyond was empty, and she allowed herself a sigh of relief.

Then the reflection filled entirely with Mirror Mistress’s cold, diamond-like eyes.

“I see you.”

Alya’s heart stopped. She scrambled to her feet just as the window behind her shattered in a cascade of dazzling, deadly shards, all guided with terrifying precision into her path.

They didn’t strike her, though. No, they circled her, a predator toying with its prey. Each shard reflected Mirror Mistress’s image, her haunting voice speaking in unison from every direction.

“I wonder, Buggy,” the fragmented voices echoed, “What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

Alya tried to step back, but the circle tightened. Each shard seemed to show her something different:

A torn-apart Ladybug, battle-worn and barely holding herself together.

“The hero?”

A faceless mannequin lying shattered in the mud, hair unmistakably like Marinette’s.

“The civilian?”

A beacon of hope, standing tall among adoring fans.

“The dream?”

And Alya as she was now—battered, bruised, and bleeding, lost in a dark warehouse.

“Or the reality?”

Before Alya could react, the assault began. Blows rained down on her from all sides, unrelenting and brutal. She couldn’t see where they came from; the source was nowhere and everywhere all at once. Her body screamed with every impact, her vision swimming as she struggled to stay conscious.

When it finally stopped, Alya wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She awoke to a pounding headache, her limbs heavy and her senses dulled.

Through the haze, she saw Chat Noir crouched over her, his green eyes sharp and intense.

“Oh, come on,” she mumbled weakly. “I haven’t even gotten up yet.”

Chat didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“What? You gonna take a picture?” Alya croaked.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his baton slammed into the ground inches from her neck.

“…You’re not Ladybug, are you?” he growled, his tone low and threatening.

Alya forced herself to find her voice, though it was barely a rasp. “I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

“And doing a poor job of it,” he snapped, his knee pressing sharply against her midriff.

“Hey—”

His voice grew colder, his weight pressing her into the ground. “Where is Ladybug?”

Alya coughed into her communicator, barely managing to choke out, “Girl, I think your Kitty is missing his nemesis.”

There was a moment of tense silence before Chat finally eased off her, the dangerous glint in his eyes softening.

“So… Ladybug is alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Despite her state, Alya found just enough strength to giggle weakly. “Aw, he does care about you.”

“Alya, I swear to god,” Marinette groaned through the communicator.

Chat moved closer, his hand outstretched and reaching for her earrings. “Guess this just means easy pickings for me then.”

Alya cried out as Chat Noir’s hand shot toward her earrings. In a desperate move, she pressed her foot against his chest and pushed herself away, stumbling as she gasped, “W-W-Wait!”

Chat froze, looking more annoyed than deterred. “What?”

“…Where did Mirror Girl go?” Alya managed, her breath hitching as she gestured weakly around them.

Chat’s expression shifted instantly, his eyes widening in realization. He shot upright, turning frantically in every direction. Alya followed his gaze, and the two of them landed on a jagged hole in the wall where Mirror Mistress had made her escape.

“God damn it,” Chat muttered, his tail flicking with irritation.

He glanced between Alya and the hole, conflict flashing in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he was weighing whether to finish her off or follow Lila. With a heavy sigh, he finally broke the tension.

“You’re lucky I want to keep Lila under watch more than I want your miraculous.”

Without another word, he tore past her, leaping through the hole with his baton extending to pole vault himself in pursuit.

Alya wanted to shout after him, to demand he come back so she could finish what they started—or at least kick his smug tail. But her body betrayed her. Every muscle screamed in protest as she slumped back against the wall, her vision swimming. She clutched her side, where Tikki’s magic was barely holding her wounds at bay.

“Mari, do you seriously deal with this crap every week?” Alya groaned into the communicator.

Marinette’s voice crackled through the connection, her tone surprisingly light. “Well, they’re not all Mirror Mistress level, but… yeah?”

Alya let out a frustrated groan as the red suit dissolved, leaving her back in her civilian clothes. The energy drain hit her like a truck, and Tikki fluttered weakly in front of her.

“How do you say it so casually?!” Alya demanded, her exasperation breaking through her exhaustion.

“I’ve been doing it for half a year, Alya. I guess I just… got used to it,” Marinette replied.

“To think, all it took to turn nervous little Mari into a badass was giving her a mask,” Alya murmured, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Pfft, as if,” Marinette said, the warmth in her voice cutting through the static. “Ladybug would never be so confident without your support.”

Alya smiled faintly despite the pain, her head leaning back against the wall. “I meant what I said back then. You deserve all the support I can give you. Guess my workload just doubled now.”

Marinette chuckled softly. “I meant what I said back then, too. Even if the Guardian chose someone else for the Fox miraculous…” She hesitated before continuing, her voice carrying a rare tenderness. “You’re kind of my hero, Alya.”

Alya’s smile grew. She wiped at the corner of her eye, feigning nonchalance. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you in check, Ladybug.”

“Always,” Marinette replied, the simple word filled with gratitude.

After a moment of silence, a voice spoke out. “Alya?”

“Yeah-” It took her a moment too late to realize that it was far too masculine to be Marinette. “…I am terrible at this secret identity thing.”

Nino stood in the doorway, a ripped up shirt clumsily wrapped around his bloody forearm and his jaw reaching the floor. “Y-You’re Ladybug?” He squeaked.

“Uh. Just temporarily.” Alya smiled weakly, desperately hoping he didn’t hear anything that revealed Marinette. “The OG isn’t available right now, so I’m just filling in today.”

He paused. Then he nodded, his face breaking out into an awed grin. No questions, no suspicion, Nino just accepted it.

“Wow! That’s awesome.”

Alya, with most of her injuries disappearing with the detransformation, managed to push herself to her feet while Tikki nibbled on the emergency macroons Marinette left her with. She crossed the room to peer down at Nino’s arm through worried eyes. “Nino, you’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, Lila cut me good.” He said casually, “And I’m not that good with bandages.”

Alya scoffed, she couldn’t believe how nonchalant he was being about this. “Why were you out here in the first place? Firing a gun at an akuma?”

“I was worried about you guys.” He said honestly, “You and Adrien were at ground zero, I had to make sure you were okay.”

And look where that got you! Alya’s chest tightened with frustration. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to tell him just how reckless and dangerous it had been to come out here. Mirror Mistress had done a number on her—and she had superpowers to protect her. If Chat hadn’t shown up when he did, what would’ve been left of Nino after Mirror Mistress was finished with him?

“That’s so reckless… And dumb… And- And-” She had to stop herself, suddenly finding herself lightheaded and breathless. She pressed her palm flat against her sweat-soaked forehead. “I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I?”

Nino just shrugged, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Nothing new.”

“Don’t sass me, Nino.” Alya pouted, crossing her arms. “I have super strength now.”

Nino chuckled and slowly moved past her, whistling as he gazed at the hole in the wall where Lila had made her escape. “What are you going to do now?”

Alya stared out at the city, her thoughts racing. Her body screamed for rest—every muscle ached, and all she wanted was for the day to end. But Paris was still in danger, Hawkmoth was still out there, and the fight wasn’t over. She couldn’t afford to stop, not when Marinette never would.

“I’m gonna get up, find the bad guys, and save the day. What else?” she said, cracking her knuckles. Tikki finished off the last macaroon with a sharp nod, and Alya straightened, feeling more determined than ever. “If only we knew where they went.”

“I don’t know if it helps,” Nino said, scratching the back of his neck, “but I overheard them a bit before Lila spotted me. Sounded like they were supposed to be distracting you—well, the other Ladybug and Volpina—from something.”

“Distracting us from what, though?” Alya asked, brow furrowed.

Before Nino could answer, a familiar voice suddenly screamed through her earpiece, causing her to flinch.

“Alya! I know where they are!” Marinette’s frantic voice was filled with fear. “Oh god, how didn’t I see this before!”

Nino glanced at her, confused by the high-pitched sound of Marinette’s voice crackling through the communicator. “Is that Ladybug on the phone?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec.” Alya raised her hand, trying to calm him down. She turned away, focusing on the conversation. “Girl, you don’t have to yell in my ear.”

“The last lucky charm tried to warn me,” Marinette continued, her voice shaky with panic. “They’re after the Guardian!”

Alya’s eyes widened. She didn’t know who the Guardian was, but the name sounded important—and bad news if the villains were targeting him. She could hear papers rustling in the background and the faint sound of Marinette dropping her crutches.

“He works at a massage parlour on the other side of the city,” Marinette continued. “You need to step on it!”

Alya nodded absentmindedly, her mind already racing. She turned to Tikki, summoning her transformation once more. As Ladybug, the familiar rush of magic washed over her, her bruises and fatigue fading as the magic healed her. The wave of relief was instant, and her body hummed with fresh energy, ready to face whatever came next.

“Nino, get somewhere safe. I’ve got villains to pummel.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. With a swift motion, she dived out of the opening, casting her yoyo and swinging into action.

“I just really hope that I figure out how to beat them before I get there.”

“That’s the process, Alya,” Marinette’s voice rang out over the communicator, “figuring it out under pressure.”

Notes:

This all became much longer than I originally thought. Next part should be the close out to this little mini-arc.

Chapter 20: Mirror Mistress: Pyrrhic Victory

Summary:

The mini arc comes to an end with Marinette and Alya's last ditch plan to stop Hawkmoth from getting the Miracle Box.

Notes:

Part of this chapter is just Marinette realizing that she can pull the funniest shit on Lila.

The record player stuck out like a sore thumb. You had this sparse space with a few accessories, littered with ancient poems hanging on the wall and modern amenities scattered about. Then you had this bulky gramophone that looked far more intricate and expensive than anything else in the room, engraved with depictions of animals (conveniently all under the umbrella of animals the miraculous were based on) on the side – tipped off with a Chinese symbols spelling out ‘Miracle’.

And if that hadn’t given the game away, the instant switch to aggression in the old man the moment Hawkmoth set his eyes on it was an ill-timed confession.

Jade Turtle was true to his word about his little recharge herbs, turning into a canon ball shooting across the room and burring his head into Hawkmoth’s gut. The force knocked the wind out of the villain and sent him spiralling backwards to slam into the wall with enough velocity to leave a dent.

I guess he’s lost any concern for destroying his building. Hawkmoth mused as he peeled himself off the wall.

There was little time to recover. Fu closed the distance with surprising agility, twisting mid-air into a flying kick aimed squarely at Hawkmoth’s chest.

Hawkmoth barely dodged to the side, feeling the air ripple from the sheer force of the kick. His sharp instincts took over, and as Fu’s momentum carried him forward, Hawkmoth spun and planted his foot into the back of the Guardian’s head.

The blow sent Fu crashing face-first into the wall, leaving a fresh dent beside Hawkmoth’s own. The old man crumpled momentarily, the impact reverberating through the room.

“Not bad for your age,” Hawkmoth sneered, watching Fu slump down the wall clutching his leg. “But I wonder… how many more of those can you take?”

Master Fu coughed, steadying himself on one knee. His eyes burned; his resolve unshaken. “You’ve underestimated me, villain. And that will be your downfall.”

Master Fu pushed himself off the wall with a grunt, the strain of the fight evident in his labored breaths. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, remained locked onto the real prize: the Miracle Box sitting atop a low wooden shelf.

Hawkmoth’s gaze darted to the same target. “It looks different from how the grimoire depicted it, I assume you’ve made some modifications.” he purred, his cane twitching in anticipation. “Nothing I can’t get through, of course.”

“It’s protected by spells and passwords; only I can open it.” Fu hissed.

“One thing I learned as a street urchin is that enough time and persistence can break any lock.”

Fu didn’t reply, his focus narrowing as he dashed toward the box. Hawkmoth lunged simultaneously, his cane extending to swipe it off the shelf.

The Miracle Box clattered to the floor between them, sliding across the room as both combatants scrambled after it.

Fu reached it first, scooping it up with both hands as he tucked into a roll to avoid Hawkmoth’s outstretched cane. But the villain was quick, catching Fu mid-roll with a sharp jab to his shoulder. The impact sent the box flying through the air.

Hawkmoth dove, snatching the box mid-arc and cradling it like a prized trophy. “Such a tiny thing to hold so much power,” he taunted, smirking down at Fu.

But the Guardian wasn’t done yet. With surprising speed, Fu swept Hawkmoth’s legs out from under him. The villain hit the ground hard, the box tumbling from his grip.

“Careless,” Fu chided, snatching the box once more. He spun on his heel, intending to retreat toward the far end of the shop, but Hawkmoth wasn’t far behind.

The villain lashed out with his cane, hooking it around Fu’s wrist and yanking him back. The Miracle Box slipped from the old man’s grasp and skidded across the floor again.

It was chaos.

Hawkmoth and Fu lunged for the box at the same time, their hands colliding atop it. They grappled, each trying to wrest it from the other’s grip.

Hawkmoth used his strength to leverage the box away, twisting Fu’s arm in the process. “You’re outmatched, old man,” he growled, shoving Fu back.

But Fu wasn’t done. He twisted gracefully, using the momentum from the shove to spin around and slam his palm into the box. The impact caused it to slip from Hawkmoth’s fingers and roll across the floor again.

The two stared at each other for a split second, both panting, before they dived for the box once more.

This time, Fu got clever. As he grabbed the Miracle Box, he tossed it high into the air. While Hawkmoth instinctively leapt to catch it, Fu seized the moment to deliver a punishing kick to his midsection.

The box bounced off Hawkmoth’s fingertips, spinning through the air before landing precariously on a narrow shelf.

Both froze, eyes locked on the box as it teetered.

“You’re persistent,” Fu admitted, his tone begrudging.

“You have no idea,” Hawkmoth retorted, his voice steel.

With a sudden burst of energy, both fighters leapt for the shelf. The box fell into Fu’s hands, but Hawkmoth was already there, twisting his arm in a painful hold.

Fu grunted, refusing to relinquish his grip. “This isn’t yours to take!”

“And yet, here I am taking it!” Hawkmoth countered, wrenching the box free. “You might even say that I’m a criminal or something.”

The struggle continued, the box flying between them like a game of hot potato. Each time one seemed to gain the upper hand, the other found a way to snatch it back.

Eventually, Fu pulled out his miraculous power, catching Hakwmoth mid strike by making a shield of emerald energy burst forth and blast Hawkmoth through the wall and out into the street. In hindsight, this was probably the action Fu should have taken first, not only putting distance between Hawkmoth and the box, but making a big scene of their fight was the only way he’d be able to tip off his heroes to what was going on.

The thought made Hawkmoth grin even as his body tumbled across the concrete, ending with a resounding smack as his head banged against the back of an abandoned sewage truck on the other side of the street. Even at his most desperate, the Guardian’s need for secrecy had become such second nature that he sabotaged himself and gave Hawkmoth’s plan more room to breathe.

Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Hawkmoth brushed off the dust and cast a glance back toward the gaping hole in the shop. Around him, curious onlookers had already begun to gather, their phones recording every moment. An audience to the only show that mattered.

But Hawkmoth’s eyes were only reserved for the man emerging from the crumbling ruins of his home, shield raised high and the fire still burning in his eyes.

“You know, I should be angered that you’re getting in my way.” Hawkmoth called out. A tinge of nostalgia colouring his tone as he pulled himself to his feet. “But I can’t help but feel in awe.”

He leaned forward, placing his weight on his knee as he spun his cane around, gesturing wildly like a carnival preacher talking up their one-eyed monster attraction. “We used to hear stories about the Jade Turtle when we were kids, no one could ever confirm you were real, but you were a legend.” A slightly maddening chuckle escaped him. “And now I get to fight you one on one? Oh, this is like a childhood dream.”

“I don’t like the circumstances that forced me to this,” Fu sighed, his voice steady despite the strain. With a tug, he tightened the straps securing the shield to his arm. “But I will admit that it feels good to stretch my legs.”

Hawkmoth stabbed his cane into the ground, his smirk stretching wide. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Old Man. Because no matter how this ends, you’ll be out of a job when this is all done.”

Fu raised a brow, his stance steady. “Hm, you’re correct.” His lips quirked into the smallest of smiles. “I better go all out then.”

Without another word, Fu planted his feet and raised his hands, channeling the energy of his miraculous into his palms. The emerald glow of his shield dissipated, reforming into two orbs of pure energy crackling fiercely between his hands. The charge built rapidly, arcs of green light running up his arms and sparking against the air.

Hawkmoth’s amusement faltered, his stance tensing. “What are you—?”

Fu pressed the orbs together, a sharp crack resonating through the street as the energy merged. The resulting sphere blazed with intensity, expanding outward, though its shape remained tightly controlled. The light crawled over Fu’s entire body, encasing him in a radiant cocoon before bursting outward.

The light dimmed just enough to reveal its new form—a towering construct shaped like Fu himself, forged entirely from the Turtle Miraculous’ protective energy. The construct radiated raw power, standing over the battlefield like an emerald giant. Inside its chest, Fu’s real body floated in a meditative pose, his hands guiding the construct’s movements.

Hawkmoth stumbled back, his confident grin giving way to wide-eyed shock. “…Okay. Full disclosure: I’m impressed.” His voice cracked slightly. “And a little scared.”

Fu’s voice echoed through the air, calm but commanding, amplified by the energy around him. “Good. Perhaps now you’ll realize the severity of your actions.”

The construct took its first step forward, the ground trembling beneath its weight. Hawkmoth gripped his cane tightly, bracing himself. “You think size alone is going to stop me?” He spat.

“Size?” Fu’s chuckle rumbled like thunder. “This is not about size, Hawkmoth. This is about determination. About protecting what matters.”

The construct swung a glowing fist, and Hawkmoth barely managed to leap out of the way as it crashed into the ground, leaving a smouldering crater. Dust filled the air, but Hawkmoth didn’t let it slow him down, dashing forward to close the gap. The butterfly miraculous was not equipped for a direct fight, he knew that, it was geared around empowering others to fight in your stead – But Hawkmoth refused to stay in the background for a moment like this.

He was nimble enough to dodge the next fist, this one staying in the ground long enough for Hawkmoth to leap onto it, making a mad dash up the titan’s arm. There was a rush to this, an addicting thrill when he unsheathed his blade from his cane and heard that metallic friction shred his ears with untapped power. This one moment, facing against an oncoming tide of absolute power threatening to drown him underneath the waves while he could feel nothing but invincible; this was the pure distillation of being Hawkmoth, of being the man who would conquer the miraculous with his own two hands.

The Guardian didn’t make the journey easy for him, the construct vibrating and reshaping itself under Hawkmoth’s pounding feet. All along the arm, pools of energy moulded into jagged spike shooting out from the surface and bending towards Hawkmoths’ approach. Darting in between them with nary a nick against his ankles was an act of pure reflexes taking control while his thoughts and fears of self-preservation were still playing catch up.

When he reached the curve of the shoulder, Hawkmoth launched himself off, bringing himself into a downwards trajectory, his rapier held aloft like a spear, to the core of the construct where Fu sat.

Hawkmoth's rapier struck true, piercing through the emerald core of Fu’s shield. For a moment, it seemed as though victory was within his grasp, the glowing construct flickering in response to the intrusion. But the next second, a surge of energy blasted out from the wound, catching Hawkmoth full force and flinging him back.

He barely had time to recover before the construct’s massive fist came down, closing around him with crushing force and slamming him into the ground. The impact sent cracks splintering through the concrete, and his body screamed in protest as he felt blood trickle down his chin. His ribs groaned with every shallow breath, but still, he stood. He swayed slightly, his cane pressed against the ground for balance, but his defiant glare remained locked on Fu.

The titan’s fist rose again, poised to strike him down, when a sudden, jagged slash tore through its glowing arm. Emerald energy splintered like glass as Mirror Mistress landed beside Hawkmoth, claws still glowing with residual power.

“Are you okay, Master?” she asked, though her tone wavered with more apprehension than genuine concern.

Hawkmoth ignored her question, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he growled, “What are you doing here?”

Mirror Mistress flinched, swallowing hard. “S-Saving you, Master. The Guar—Old Man had you on the ropes.”

Before Hawkmoth could respond, the titan let out a low hum of warning, then hurled a nearby car at the pair. Mirror Mistress screamed, scrambling back in panic, but Hawkmoth stepped forward with a predator’s grace. His blade flashed, slicing the vehicle cleanly in half as the pieces careened past them, crashing harmlessly to the side.

His glare snapped back to Mirror Mistress, unwavering and ice-cold. “I gave you strict instructions to stay with my son and hold off the heroes.”

Mirror Mistress shrank under his gaze, her claws retracting slightly. “I… I thought—”

“You thought?” Hawkmoth’s voice was low, venomous. He gestured sharply with his blade toward Fu, who was already readying another move. “You were not brought here to think. Your disobedience could cost us everything!”

Mirror Mistress threw up her arms defensively, taking a cautious step back and glancing uneasily at Hawkmoth's blade, its edge gleaming ominously under the city lights. "I-I was fighting Volpina! She came this way," she stammered, desperate to justify her presence.

“Volpina’s here?” Hawkmoth spat, his frustration evident as he scraped his blade against the concrete, sparks flickering into the air. “Damn it all. That means Ladybug will no doubt be on her way soon enough.”

Mirror Mistress cleared her throat, circling him cautiously, her movements hesitant like she was trying not to provoke a predator. “To be fair, Master, I don’t think the two were gonna miss the Godzilla-sized elephant in the room.”

“Touche,” he admitted, though his irritation didn’t wane. He sheathed his rapier back into his cane with a sharp click, pacing as he considered his options. “Hmmm… I suppose I can settle for taking all the Miraculous—and the Ladybug earrings—in one fell swoop.”

Mirror Mistress tilted her head. “Ambitious. I like it.”

“Quiet,” Hawkmoth snapped, raising a hand as he thought. The heroes would be on them in no time, especially with the spectacle Fu had created. Even with Chat Noir as backup, the addition of Ladybug and Volpina complicated things. Time was their enemy now. They needed to strike quickly, incapacitate Fu, and escape with the Miracle Box before the situation spiraled further.

He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. “Alright. Game plan.” He turned to Mirror Mistress, fixing her with a sharp, commanding gaze. “The old man has to have a vulnerable spot. Even legends aren’t invincible. I’ll distract him—keep him focused on me. You use your powers to slip in and deliver the fool his retirement package.”

Mirror Mistress straightened, her confidence seemingly restored as she gave a sharp nod. “I will do whatever I can to please you, Master.”

“For god’s sake, tone it down,” Hawkmoth groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You make it sound weird when you say it like that.”

Mirror Mistress opened her mouth as if to argue but wisely thought better of it, opting for an apologetic bow instead.

Hawkmoth turned his attention back to the towering construct, watching as it shifted and glowed, emerald energy swirling like a storm around Fu’s core. His lips curled into a determined sneer. The Guardian’s strength is remarkable, but his discipline makes him predictable. He’s too focused on defense.

“Let’s go,” he commanded. Without waiting for confirmation, he charged forward, his cane held aloft as the titan’s massive fist descended toward him once more.

Mirror Mistress followed his lead, her form shimmering and distorting as she darted to the side, her claws gleaming with intent. The plan was reckless, but reckless was exactly what Hawkmoth excelled at.

Hawkmoth darted through the battlefield with surprising agility, keeping the titan’s glowing fists occupied. The construct’s immense power shook the earth with each blow, but Hawkmoth evaded, ducking and weaving through the chaos with the finesse of a veteran fighter. His cane blade sang with each swipe, slashing at the construct’s defenses, though his attacks did little more than distract.

Behind him, Mirror Mistress moved like a ghost, her presence marked only by flashes of light and fleeting shadows. She appeared and disappeared in a blink, slipping between different points of the environment with impossible speed—Fu’s shattered shop window, another thrown car in mid-air, even briefly appearing on the tip of Hawkmoth’s own blade. Her power was unnerving, her movements unpredictable.

“Going in for the ki—” She began, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she lunged toward Fu, claws extended for a final strike.

But before she could finish her sentence, a red yoyo shot from nowhere, wrapping tightly around her leg. She barely had time to gasp before she was yanked backward with a force that sent her sprawling.

Hawkmoth and Mirror Mistress snapped their heads toward the source, their gazes locking onto the unmistakable silhouette of Ladybug. She stood atop a nearby lamppost, her stance steady and confident, her signature yoyo in hand. The light of the glowing titan behind her framed her in a heroic glow that only made her cocky grin more infuriating.

Mirror Mistress clawed at the ground, shrieking in frustration. “Again!? Seriously!?”

Ladybug gave her yoyo a playful tug, pulling Mirror Mistress off her feet and onto her back with a thud. she vaulted from the lamppost, landing squarely in the fray. “Rematch, motherfucker!”

---

“I don’t remember this going so well for you before, Ladybug,” Mirror Mistress snarled, stepping forward and raising her claws to her face. The glint of their edges caught Ladybug’s reflection, splitting her image into jagged fragments between her fingers.

Even with her renewed confidence, Alya had to admit the sight was unsettling. Lila’s power remained a puzzle they hadn’t cracked, and her unsettling composure made it worse. But Alya squared her shoulders, crouching into a ready stance. “What can I say? I’m feeling a second wind!” she quipped, trying to sound braver than she felt.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the literal giant green elephant in the street—the titan that loomed over her, fighting both Hawkmoth and Mirror Mistress. It was on her side, right? Marinette had mentioned Master Fu’s wisdom, his skills, but never anything like this.

From the glowing construct’s core, a silhouette descended through the energy, revealing a small, frail old man peeking out from behind its leg.

“Master Fu!?” Marinette gasped over the communicator, “I never knew he could do all this…”

“Ladybug?” He asked curiously, giving her a suspicious once-over.

Alya gave a weak thumbs up and an unconvincing, sweaty smile. “Y-Yes, Master Dude! It’s me…”

Fu cocked an eyebrow, his lips twitching with an amused smirk. He turned his gaze towards the two villains regrouping further down the street, making sure that they couldn’t hear the two. Once he concluded it was safe he turned back to Alya and nodded, “Alya, I presume?”

Alya laughed nervously, “Aheh-heh-heh…”

Seriously, that was three people who’d easily figured her out in the last hour. How did Marinette manage to go months without suspicion?

Fu hummed with dismay, turning back to the villains now that they were moving in closer. At the very least, Fu didn’t sound mad at her or Marinette, simply concerned. “We’ll have to discuss this later.”

Hawkmoth’s brow furrowed, swinging his head to try and spy something, anything behind Alya. “Wait, where’s my son?”

Before Alya too could ask that very same question, everyone witnessed the end of a long pole descend from the sky and stab itself into the middle of the street. Down the pole slid a very sweaty, dishevelled-looking Chat Noir who landed on the ground with none of the cat-like grace he was known for.

“Don’t worry!” He gasped out breathlessly, leaning on the pole for support. “I’m… Huff… Huff… Here…”

Alya scratched her cheek awkwardly, “You left, like, five minutes before me; how did I get here first?”

His head hung low, speaking in a murmur that she could barely hear. “…I may or may not have gotten lost.”

She broke out into a snort that earned her a childish scowl from the boy, and encouraged Marinette to belly laugh.

Hawkmoth stormed over to Chat with righteous indignation, and at no time did the two look more like father and son than when Hawkmoth grabbed Chat by the ear while the boy groaned to give him a proper scolding. “You had Ladybug at your mercy and you didn’t take her miraculous?” His free hand stuck his finger forward with a grumble, “Boy, have I taught you nothing?”

Chat hesitated, clearly weighing his options, before sheepishly responding, “…Yes?”

Hawkmoth released him with a groan. “That was a rhetorical question!”

The street fell deathly quiet as the groups squared off against one another, the wind stirring dust and loose debris between them. Civilians had long since fled, leaving behind an empty battlefield. The tension in the air was almost palpable, each side waiting for the other to make the first move.

Alya began to spin her yoyo, her eyes darting uneasily between Master Fu and the villains. "Looks like we’ve got ourselves an old-fashioned standoff," she muttered.

Chat Noir cracked his knuckles and snapped his fingers with a cocky grin. "Except we’ve got the numbers advantage."

Hawkmoth raised his blade, pointing it directly at Alya and Fu. "And you’re running out of time."

Marinette’s voice crackled over the communicator. "Might be a good time for a Lucky Charm, Alya."

Taking a deep breath, Alya hurled her yoyo into the air. "Lucky Charm!"

The sky above flashed red, the signature light of her power casting long shadows across the battlefield. As the glowing energy swirled and condensed, Hawkmoth sneered and turned toward Mirror Mistress.

"Mirror Mistress," he commanded, his tone sharp as he sliced his blade back toward his akuma. The weapon stopped just an inch from his ear. "Fetch me my earrings."

The blinding light of the Lucky Charm enveloped everyone for a moment before fading, leaving a small object in its wake. The charm fell into Alya's waiting hand, and she quickly looked down to examine it. "It’s a—"

Her sentence was cut off as Mirror Mistress tackled her, sending them both tumbling across the street.

"I’m about done with your nonsense, Ladybug!" Mirror Mistress hissed, raising her claws and aiming for Alya’s face.

Alya barely managed to catch her wrists, gritting her teeth as she struggled against the akuma’s strength. With a sharp burst of determination, she slammed her forehead into Mirror Mistress’s.

The impact sent cracks splintering across the surface of Mirror Mistress’s reflective claws, glittering shards breaking off as Alya shoved her to the side. Wasting no time, Alya rolled away, quickly scrambling to her feet.

But Mirror Mistress was relentless. She was already upon her before Alya could recover, slashing and stabbing with ferocious speed. Alya could do nothing but backpedal, deflecting what she could with her yoyo. Every time she thought she saw an opening, Lila vanished in a flash of light, reappearing behind or beside her with another flurry of attacks.

"You’ve gotten faster," Alya growled, narrowly dodging a swipe aimed for her throat.

Mirror Mistress grinned wickedly, vanishing and reappearing just out of Alya’s reach. "And you’ve gotten sloppier."

Alya gritted her teeth, her yoyo spinning defensively as she backed away from another barrage of attacks. Every flash of light was a warning, every glint the promise of another slice of Mirror Mistress’s claws coming too close for comfort. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the reality of her situation set in. She couldn’t keep this up forever.

“Damn it, how is she so fast?” she hissed under her breath, leaping back to dodge another strike.

“It’s not super speed,” Marinette’s voice hummed in her ear. “She’s teleporting somehow, I know that at least. It has something to do with that glint.”

Alya cursed under her breath. "Great. So, she’s not just fast—she’s got magic cheat codes."

In the background, the sounds of Fu’s titanic construct trading blows with Hawkmoth and Chat Noir echoed like thunder. Buildings groaned and windows shattered with every heavy strike. Alya didn’t have time to worry about that, though. Mirror Mistress was relentless, pressing her with a furious tempo of slashes and jabs.

But as the fight dragged on, Alya realized something: the pattern of Lila’s attacks wasn’t random. There was a rhythm to it.

Okay… okay… focus.

This time, instead of dodging, Alya threw her fists forward, slapping Lila’s claws away and disrupting her flow. The sudden change threw Mirror Mistress off balance, her footing faltering.

Alya whooped. “Hey! I think I’m getting the hang of this rhythm!”

Mirror Mistress snarled, vanishing in another flash and reappearing with renewed fury. “Don’t get cocky! Even your luck has to run out eventually!”

But as she lunged with another heavy swing, she overextended, putting too much force into the attack. Alya sidestepped at the last second, and the momentum sent Mirror Mistress sprawling. She stumbled and tripped, face-planting into the ground with a loud thud.

Alya jumped back, panting heavily. She scanned the battlefield, her eyes darting as she muttered, “Speaking of luck… where’d I put that charm?”

Rummaging around the rubble, she finally spotted the red-and-black object buried under some debris. She darted over, snatching it up triumphantly. “Aha! Got it. It’s…”

She froze, her brow furrowing as she examined the item in her hand.

Behind her, Mirror Mistress scoffed as she pulled herself up, brushing dust off her arms. “Super glue?”

Across the battlefield, Hawkmoth’s distant voice echoed, sharp with irritation. “What is it?”

Mirror Mistress shouted back, “It gave her super glue!”

There was a moment of silence before Hawkmoth’s delighted laugh carried across the street. “Ha! Maybe it’s trying to tell her she’s a stick in the mud!”

A loud smack followed, presumably Chat Noir’s hand meeting Hawkmoth’s in a high five. “Good one, Dad!”

“Thanks, Son—”

Hawkmoth’s response was abruptly cut off as Fu’s construct scooped him up like a ragdoll and dunked him through the nearest building, leaving a gaping Hawkmoth-shaped hole in the wall.

From inside the rubble, Hawkmoth’s muffled voice groaned weakly. “That was a cheap shot!”

Fu’s voice came from his towering construct, calm and unbothered. “I’m an old man. I can afford it.”

Mirror Mistress’s heels clicked slowly as she closed the distance to Alya, her glowing eyes narrowing with amusement. “You’re making for a pretty poor reflection right now, Bug,” Lila sneered, circling her like a predator toying with its prey. “What’s the plan? Glue me to death?”

Alya’s grip on the glue packet tightened, but her tension didn’t escape Lila’s sharp gaze. “Aw, you’re nervous. Don’t worry—I’ll make this quick. You’ll barely have time to scream.”

Before Alya could snap back, Marinette’s voice cut through her earpiece, soft and almost distant, like she was deep in thought. “Reflection… mud… stick…”

“Uh, girl?” Alya said, sidestepping to keep her distance from Lila. She knew that tone. It was Marinette’s idea brewing tone, which was great, except it always came with a worrying lack of immediate clarity.

“Shhh! The neurons are activating!” Marinette cried.

Alya rolled her eyes but obeyed. “Okay. Take your time. It’s not like I’m in mortal danger or anything.”

What followed was a series of grumbled words, a few unintelligible squeals, and a sound that Alya swore was paper crunching. Finally, Marinette’s voice returned with a decisive command.

“Go for the eyes.”

Alya blinked. “What?”

“Go. For. The. Eyes.”

Alya glanced at the glue in her hand, then back to Lila’s diamond-like eyes, which glinted with an unnerving intensity.

Alya sighed and took a deep breath. “Alright. Screw it.”

She clenched the glue packet with her enhanced strength, wringing it so hard that it burst. A thick stream of glue shot out in an arc, directly toward Mirror Mistress’s face.

“What is glue gonna do against the strength of the ultimate aku—” Lila’s taunt cut off in a screech. “ACK! You bitch!”

She stumbled back, clawing at her face, but her elongated fingers only scratched and smeared the adhesive further. “It’s in my eyes! It’s in my fucking eyes!”

Alya, momentarily stunned by her success, burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that actually worked!” She cracked her knuckles. “Time to kick her can back to the trash bin!”

“No! Stop!” Marinette cried.

Alya deflated mid-pose. “Huh?”

“That glue is only going to last a minute tops,” Marinette explained. “We need to really disable her. Look for something permanent.”

“Girl, you’re killing me.” Alya rubbed her temples. “What am I supposed to do? Tie her up with a yoyo?”

“Reflections,” Marinette said, her tone sharp. “That’s her power—she’s traveling through reflections. If we want to stop her, we need to get rid of every shiny surface. Or…”

Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Or what?”

“Or we do what Hawkmoth said; get her stuck in the mud,” Marinette said, cackling with a mischievous glee that Alya found slightly unnerving. “See that sewage tanker over there?”

Alya turned, spotting the truck Hawkmoth had been launched into earlier. It sat precariously on a curb, its tank dented but intact.

The realization hit Alya like a brick to the face. She turned back to the fight with wide eyes. “…Oh no. Marinette, no. You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“The superhero life isn’t always glamorous,” Marinette said, not even pretending to sound sorry. “Or clean.”

Alya clenched her fists and took a deep breath, trying to swallow the rising scream of frustration. “The things I do for my friends,” she muttered.

A minute later, as Marinette said, Mirror Mistress managed to rip the glue off her person, leaving behind ugly smudges on her glass skin.

“Alright, I’ve had enough of this shit." She growled, swinging her body around furiously searching for her prey. "They’re gonna be able to fit what’s left of you in a sardine can when I’m through with you.”

And find her prey she did. Ladybug had moved, now perched atop a sewage truck, staring down at her through fearful eyes.

“What are you doing up…”

The truck let out a loud metallic groan and began to shake, as if something inside it... Was trying to... Force its way out...

“Oh no.”

No. She wouldn't? She wouldn't, would she?

Alya gave her a sympathetic shrug. “Trust me, I don’t like this either.”

The mechanics of it were not very clear, Alya had pressed some button or broken some vital component; the important part was that the sewage truck exploded, and it's disgusting contents flushed through the streets like the tide coming to shore.

“BOOYAH!” Alya shouted, leaping out of the way as the wave surged forward.

All across the battlefield, heads turned to watch in stunned silence. Fu, Hawkmoth, and Chat Noir stood frozen as the wall of filth approached.

Hawkmoth snapped into action, grabbing Chat by the arm. “Son. Pole. NOW.”

Chat slammed his baton into the ground, extending it rapidly. “I was not ready for today,” he muttered as they shot skyward, barely avoiding the oncoming flood.

Mirror Mistress wasn’t so lucky. The wave crashed into her with full force, knocking her off her feet and sending her tumbling helplessly through the muck.

From above, Hawkmoth stared down at the chaos, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “This is a new low. Even for them.”

Alya trudged through the foul aftermath of the sewage flood, each squelching step making her cringe. She kept her eyes forward, desperately avoiding the sight of whatever horrors lay beneath her feet.

“I’ll be showering for the rest of my life,” she muttered, half-grumbling, half-sobbing. “And it still won’t be enough…”

Not far away, she spotted Hawkmoth and Chat Noir landing back on the ground. Both wore expressions of pure misery, their faces tinged with a sickly green hue as they were forced to stand in the filth. Fu, now back to his normal form, leaned weakly against a fire hydrant, his earlier strength completely spent.

For a brief, hopeful moment, Alya thought this nightmare might actually be over—that maybe everyone would cut their losses and head home. But that glimmer of hope vanished the second all their gazes locked onto a single object in the muck.

“The Miracle Box!” the cry came from all sides at once. Hawkmoth, Chat, and Fu moved as one, sprinting toward the box.

Alya cursed under her breath. She was fast, but Hawkmoth and Chat had her beat in sheer speed. They were closing the distance rapidly, and Fu, already struggling to stand, didn’t stand a chance of keeping up.

“Damn it, I’ll never get there fast enough.” She grumbled to herself, “And even if we do get there, I don’t think Fu has enough left in the chamber to fight off against three other people.”

But Marinette was undeterred. “Alya, I have an idea…” She began softly, “But… Uh… It’s gonna take some precision.”

Alya groaned, “You’ve seen my skills with the yoyo.”

Marinette cheered, “I know you can do this, Alya. You just have to have faith.”

Marinette outlined her plan in secret. It was audacious—borderline insane—but Alya knew it was their best shot. Without hesitation, she broke into a sprint, scooping up a jagged piece of metal as she went. Along the way, she slammed her foot into the head of Mirror Mistress, who had just begun to rise from the muck. Lila yelped and collapsed face-first back into the filth.

“For good measure,” Alya muttered, stepping onto Lila’s head and using it as a springboard to launch herself into the air. She raised the metal shard like a javelin, taking aim.

“Hey, Hawkmoth!” she yelled, hurling the shard with all her strength. “Catch this!”

Chat Noir reacted immediately, his reflexes honed. “Dad, look out!” he shouted, leaping to intercept the projectile. His fist glowed with destructive energy. “Cataclysm!”

Exactly as planned.

Before Chat could obliterate the shard, Alya whipped her yoyo, knocking it off course. In the same motion, she lashed her yoyo around his wrist and yanked hard, jerking him toward her.

“What are you—?!” Chat yelped, his glowing hand sparking dangerously close to Alya.

“You’re my new weapon, kitty boy!” Alya declared, swinging him in a wide arc like a flail. Chat howled in protest, but he couldn’t break free.

Hawkmoth, watching in horror, shouted, “You reckless fool! You’ll destroy everything!”

“That’s the idea,” Alya snarled, gritting her teeth as she swung Chat with all her strength.

At the apex of her swing she angled her thrown to turn Chat into a jack hammer, slamming him down on the head of the nail,

Or, in this instance, the head of the Miracle Box.

It didn't matter how hard he hit it or what precise part it hit, all that mattered was that his cataclysm hand met the surface of the miracle box. And meet it, it did.

Hawkmoth gasped, backing away slowly. “What?!”

“No!” Chat screamed out as his eyes fell on his traitorous hand and he realized what he'd just done.

It was too late to stop it, the cataclysm spread quickly, an infection leaving vein-like cracks across the entire surface of the box.

Hawkmoth turned to Alya, roaring with rage. “What have you done?”

Slowly, but surely, the box broke into pieces, each crack unleashing a different coloured beam of light. The different miraculous, and their kwamis, came into view, sending pulses of energy out across Paris.

Immediately, Alya could feel a sort of gravity well pulling at her – more specifically, pulling at her earrings. It was only by her, and the others', instant reaction of grabbing their own miraculous that stopped them from losing their miraculous to it. However, one of them wasn't fast enough. Before Fu could react, the band of the turtle miraculous was ripped from his wrist and moved to join the rest of the miraculous.

The broken remains of the box were thrown aside as the kwami all ascended up to the sky, their miraculous dragged along with them.

Fu, looking up at the display, breathless. “She’s saved the miraculous.”

The kwami all took one last mournful look at Fu before, in an explosion of energy, they were all propelled in different directions, rocketing through, around and over buildings and out of sight. The light show ended with Fu collapsing against Alya's side, desperately clinging to her hand.

“The miraculous are in fate’s hand now.” He said, unsure of himself, but confident that Alya did the right thing.

Hawkmoth grumbled, watching his prize slip through his grasp. “Damn it, my plan was perfect.”

“What do we do now, Dad?” Chat asked, turning to him and gesturing his baton at Ladybug. “We can still take Ladybug down.”

“We’re retreating.” Hawkmoth said firmly, “You’re going to detransform soon, and… I desperately need a bath.”

Alya didn't bother to give chase, instead rushing over to the dizzy and semi-listless Mirror Mistress and grabbing the akumatized earrings. In a matter of seconds the object was crushed, a little purple butterfly was fluttering over her nose and her yoyo opened up to swallow it whole.

“No more evil doing for you, Little Akuma.” She finally breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it was all finally over.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” She called out as she cast the lucky charm into the air, letting it disperse into the miraculous cure that swept over all the damages and put everything back together.

And to Alya's greatest relief, it cleaned up all the sewage too.

“Oh, thank god.” She muttered.

Marinette was loudly whooping in her ear, “Alya, you did it! You saved the city and the Guardian!”

“Yeah, barely.” Alya huffed.

Marinette chuckled. “Better than me.”

“Girl, you kiddin’? I ain’t even half as good as you at this.” Alya grinned, helping Fu find a spot to sit down. “I have a whole new level of respect for you.”

Before Marinette could reply, another voice called out. “L-Ladybug?”

Alya took a deep breath before facing Lila Rossi again, thankful to see her friends ordinary, if fearful, face instead of those monstrous diamond eyes. She made her way over to Lila and crouched down, trying to reassure her. “It’s okay, Mam. You were akumatized-”

“Oh god. What did I do?” Lila threw herself against Alya, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t wanna hurt anybody.” She cried out desperately, fearfully. “You have to believe me.”

“It’s alright, Miss. It’s all over.” Alya stroked the woman's back.

“I-It’s never over… I can… I can still hear his voice… All the terrible, perverse things in his mind…” Lila curled up into a ball, shivering in Alya's embrace. “I… I never wanted to hurt anybody.”

Softly, Marinette spoke up. “Leave her to the police, Alya.”

“Right. Just…” Alya sighed leading the shivering Lila over to the police squad that had now been completely healed of their injuries. “Hard to remember that there’s a person under the akuma is all.”

Before she could go ahead and bug out, she found Fu at her back again, speaking to her in a hushed whisper as he shuffled past. “Tell Marinette that I’ll find her when she’s recovered.” He said, “Right now, I need to go into hiding.”

---

Hours later, Marinette was sitting back at her desk chair, watching Alya flop down on her bed, a towel slung over her head from several attempts at a shower. They’d settled into a silence, not a tense one, but not a relaxed one either. There was the buzz of questions not spoken, just waiting for somebody’s lips to bring them to life and reignite the conversation.

Neither seemed in a rush to break the limbo. Marinette fidgeted with her pen, occasionally glancing at her phone as the news report on the day’s chaos droned softly in the background. Alya occasionally peeked out from under her towel, her brow furrowed as if replaying the day’s events in her mind.

Marinette was happy to find no hint of anybody suspecting Alya’s Ladybug of being anything other than the real deal, though that might have been because people were too focused on Ladybug’s disgusting method of victory.

Rampant speculation had broken out over Fu’s interference and the miraculous light show, only a few linking Fu’s look back to a myth about a ‘Jade Turtle’ superhero who was around during World War 2. The majority, however, were far less flattering. Theories ranged from Fu being a secret supervillain attempting to usurp Hawkmoth to fears that Ladybug had accidentally unleashed a dangerous superweapon. Some even suggested—ridiculously—that Ladybug was manufacturing akumas herself as part of some elaborate scheme to boost her popularity.

It was Alya who finally decided to bite the bullet, just blurting out at the tail end of a sigh. “So… Ladybug?”

Marinette clicked her tongue, shrugging. “Yep.”

Alya let out a laugh, shaking her head. “I fought beside a green turtle kaiju and drowned an akuma in sewer water today, and I still can’t believe it.”

Marinette found herself snorting, I literally am Ladybug, and I still can’t believe it. She found herself idly spinning in her chair, the one movement her broken leg offered her, while occasionally stopping to pet Tikki on the head. Tikki had taken to using a plate of macaroons as a make-shift bed, gorging herself on a job well done.

“Is it always this crazy?” Alya asked.

Marinette shot her a sceptical look. “Alya, you’ve reported on every one of my battles.”

Alya blew a respectful and mature raspberry, sitting up from the bed and sweeping her hand over her hair. “Yeah, but do they always feel this crazy?”

Marinette shrugged, “Pretty much.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Alya said with a groan, dropping back down into the bed covers.

Marinette couldn’t say how herself, though an important part of it was sitting back an accepting that many, many people, especially her enemies, were just much more ridiculous than she ever thought possible. It bred a bit of a smug superiority for her, maybe, but it wasn’t untrue.

“Funny you should say that…” Marinette continued hesitantly, “You were almost Ladybug too.”

Alya rolled over to her side, “Really?”

“I was so freaked out after the first time; I tried to leave Tikki in your bag.” Marinette found her fingers grazing the earrings now returned to her ear lobes, watching over Tikki fondly. “If you hadn’t left it behind, we’d probably be standing in each other’s shoes today.”

“I doubt it.” Alya scoffed.

And before Marinette could interrupt with a rehearsed ‘but you’re so much better than meeee’ speech that Alya had heard a million times, Alya held her hand up and gestured for silence.

“Look, Mari, you’re Ladybug, plain and simple.” There was so much quiet, but intense confidence in her eyes, never for a second looking away from Marinette. “I did okay out there, and that was mostly because you were playing backseat driver.”

She limply gestured around the room, fingers passing over the visage of various sketches that had been left in hectic piles around the room. “Ladybug, her powers, her ingenuity, her creativity; well, that’s more your thing, you know? When you’re not stuck in your own head, that is.”

Alya slipped out from the bed, making her way over to Marinette and throwing her arm around Marinette’s shoulder, pulling the girl against her chest. “As for me… Well, now there’s a bunch of miraculous hiding in Paris. Maybe there’s one with my name on it.”

Tikki pulled up over Marinette’s cheek, lightly tapping her paw at the macaroon remains dotting her lips. “She’s right, you know.” She said, “I wouldn’t want anyone else as my holder.”

There a pause for Tikki’s face to devolve into panic that easily matched Marinette’s own as she turned on Alya, letting out an awkward, wheezy laugh. “…No offence, Alya.”

Alya rolled her eyes, “None taken.”

The news report continued in the background, their tone growing more fevered as the anchors dove headfirst into the realms of speculative fiction.

“Some theorists suggest the light show may have been an attempt by Ladybug to summon reinforcements from another dimension,” one anchor said, their expression too serious for the words coming out of their mouth. “Others posit that it marked the awakening of an ancient being sealed within the miraculous themselves—possibly the Jade Turtle mentioned in scattered folklore.”

“Still others are convinced that this is evidence of Ladybug and Hawkmoth working together all along,” the other anchor added dramatically. “Could this be the start of a larger conspiracy?”

“Ugh,” Alya groaned, reaching for the remote and muting the TV. “It’s like watching a conspiracy podcast gain sentience. Do people really buy this stuff?”

Marinette shrugged helplessly. “At this point, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Alya shook her head, but her curiosity was quick to resurface. She turned to Marinette, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, so that thing with the Cataclysm—did you know the miracle box would do that?”

“Nope.” Marinette stated the truth quite bluntly, before glancing to Tikki for clarification. “How did that happen?”

Tikki floated up, brushing off a stray macaron crumb. “The destructive force of the Cataclysm clashed with the Miracle Box’s internal magical security. It caused an overload, triggering its last-resort contingency: scattering the miraculous near and far to hide them from any threats. That includes the possibility of a compromised Guardian.”

Marinette let out a nervous sigh, scratching the back of her neck—a gesture that felt too familiar. She froze mid-motion, realizing with an odd mix of horror and amusement that it was exactly how Chat Noir fidgeted when embarrassed. “Honestly, I was just trying to destroy the miraculous before Hawkmoth could get them.”

Alya gave her a wide-eyed look. “Destroy them? Isn’t that, like, their homes or something?”

Tikki shook her head calmly. “Not quite. The miraculous themselves are merely vessels that allow us kwamis to manifest in forms mortals can comprehend. Destroying one has no ill effects on us.”

“Really?” Alya asked, her interest piqued. “So, if a miraculous breaks, you’re just fine?”

“Completely unharmed,” Tikki confirmed with a firm nod. “We’re beings of pure magic, Alya. Our existence isn’t tied to the miraculous themselves—they’re more like tools. If they’re destroyed, we simply lose the ability to interact with the mortal world in certain ways.”

Alya let out a low whistle, leaning back against the bed. “Huh. That’s… kind of mind-blowing, actually.”

Marinette, meanwhile, buried her face in her hands. “So, not only did I not destroy them, but now they’re scattered across Paris—and possibly beyond. Great. That’s just perfect.”

“Hey, it’s not the worst thing,” Alya said with a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “At least they’re not in Hawkmoth’s hands, right?”

“That’s… fair,” Marinette admitted reluctantly.

Marinette’s smile faltered as Alya turned her attention back to the muted news report, her mind racing with thoughts she wished she could shove into a locked drawer.

How much of this could have been prevented? The more she thought about it, the worse it got. She should’ve realized the Guardian was in danger when her lucky charm tried to warn her. She’d seen the signs but dismissed them, too caught up in the moment. And as much as she wanted to pin her broken leg on Chat Noir, deep down, she knew her own clumsiness was the real culprit.

If she hadn’t tripped and fallen, maybe she wouldn’t have been forced to betray Fu’s trust and reveal her identity to someone else. And now, with the miraculous scattered across who-knew-where, the idea of them falling into villainous hands weighed on her like a boulder pressing down on her chest.

Great job, Mari, she thought bitterly, her lips curling into a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I just hope Fu isn’t too mad at me,” she sighed, voice barely audible. “God, if I’d only caught onto the lucky charm earlier—”

“No.” Alya’s sharp tone cut through the air like a whip. She reached out, pinching Marinette’s lips together with a mock glare. “I’m putting a hard limit on the self-pity. None of that.”

Marinette blinked at her, wide-eyed.

“Fu didn’t sound angry,” Alya continued, releasing her hold with a small smile. “At worst, he sounded bemused when I talked to him. Old guy seems pretty chill.”

Marinette frowned, her fingers brushing over her injured leg. The worry that had settled deep in her chest refused to let up. Her thoughts turned to a partner who still hadn’t checked in.

“Do you think Volpina’s alright?” she asked hesitantly. “We didn’t see her after the battle.”

“If Mirror Mistress got to her, I’m sure you healed her,” Alya assured her with a pat on the shoulder. “We won today, Mari. You gotta take the victories sometimes.”

“I guess you’re right,” Marinette admitted, though the uneasiness gnawed at her all the same. It wouldn’t go away until she saw Volpina safe and sound. Still, there was a strange comfort in finally being able to talk about all this. She turned to Alya, her lips curving into a grin. “You don’t know how happy I am to be able to talk to you about this.”

Alya poked her nose, her grin mirroring Marinette’s. “I bet.”

Her expression shifted, a humorous thought lighting up her face. “Let’s just hope Fu doesn’t pull some funky Men in Black shit on me.”

This time, Marinette couldn’t hold back a snigger.

Alya blinked, confused. “What?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Marinette giggled, waving her off. “Just… you reminded me of this dumb joke Chat kept making when we rewatched the first movie the other night.”

A stunned silence filled the room.

Marinette froze, the weight of her words crashing down on her as Alya’s expression shifted into full, toothy mischief.

“I’m sorry—” Marinette tried, but Alya was already leaning in, grinning like a cat with cream. “Chat?!”

“No, wait—” Marinette squeaked, her face burning as she flailed in protest. “It’s not what it sounds like!”

Alya’s grin widened. “Oh, it sounds like I need some details.”

Marinette shoved at her, groaning. “No, you don’t! Really, it’s none of your business!”

Alya tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “I think your ‘dates’ with the sworn enemy of Paris should be public knowledge for concerned citizens like myself.”

“There are no dates!” Marinette wailed. “He just came to visit because he felt bad about my leg!”

Alya gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “So that’s what ‘breaking into your bakery’ means, you naughty, naughty girl.”

“Alya, nooooo!” Marinette buried her face in her hands.

“I didn’t realize you were a lesbian, Mari.” Her friend wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Was the ‘pussy’ that good?”

The only proper response was a pillow. Marinette grabbed one and slammed it straight into Alya’s face, shoving her laughing friend back onto the bed until her snickers dissolved into outright cackling.

---

It was somewhat ironic that, as Hawkmoth, facing down titan that could level buildings with a single blow, there was relief and comfort. And yet, within the safety of his own home, all Gabriel could feel was tension weighing down upon his shoulders. Perhaps on some level, his heart craved the near certainty of blood and failure. Whether that was something that should scare him, he did not know.

He did not allow his stern features to betray any of this apprehension as he turned from his desk to Nathalie. “You’re sure that this Ladybug was a different one?”

Nathalie nodded, taking his question as permission to enter his personal space, ipad turned around to display several images of his previous fights with the spotted menace. “Adrien was certain, and if we compare footage of different fights there are small details that are off.”

Gabriel would take her word for it, partly because he trusted Nathalie’s judgment than he trusted his own, and because he found the idea of scrutinizing a young girl’s figure for ‘discrepancy’ more than a little skeevy. He was a villain, but he wasn’t that kind of villain.

Isn’t that what you do at your day joy? Hawkmoth quired.

To adult woman on my payroll with express consent, Gabriel barely stopped himself from grumbling, And even then, that’s more general aesthetic and shape, not squinting at every tiny curvature.

He could hear Hawkmoth chortle, My apologies, I just never expected you to have standards.

I swear I didn’t have this much self-loathing before I put on the mask…

He glared at Hawkmoth. Which meant he seemingly glared at Nathalie, causing the woman to back away slightly with a confused, but apologetic, expression; obviously thinking that she had earned his ire somehow.

Quickly, Gabriel gestured her to come back, feeling some measure of warmth returning at her approach as he swept away his scowl. A thoughtful expression took its place. “So, the real Ladybug was incapacitated.” He mused, drawing his finger and thumb down his chin.

“It’s not much to go on, Sir.” Nathalie was quick to correctly, placing the ipad down and returning her hands to behind her back. “She could have been held up at an event, left town to visit relatives, broke her leg-”

They were all perfectly functioning excuses, but Gabriel couldn’t deny the tasty little possibility that wiggled in the back of his mind, that seemed so damn convenient, but so damn fitting.

“Or…” He breathed, a twisted grin curling his lips into a spiral. “She was akumatized.”

“Lila Rossi?” He’d never heard Nathalie scoff so freely before, which just went to show how ridiculous an idea it was. “She wasn’t even in Paris until a month or so after Ladybug’s debut.”

Still, Gabriel’s pride couldn’t let go of it. He’d always felt something slightly off about Miss Rossi… All of the one time he actually remembered who she was. The girl at the fashion contest, there was something there, a mask she had careful crafted and wore well when not faced with someone looking for it. Someone like that, that was someone with something to hide, some experienced in keeping their true self hidden, another mask perhaps.

That must have been why he was so quick to ‘assist’ miss Dupain-Cheng in letting the girl have her comeuppance, because part of him suspected that it was really his most hated enemy this whole time.

“Not officially.” Gabriel held his hand up. “For all we know she could have been slinking around months in advance as to not arouse suspicion about convenient timing.”

Nathalie still looked unconvinced, “She looks nothing like Ladybug.”

Gabriel felt more than a little disappointed that his Nathalie missed such an obvious detail, pulling back the collar of his jacket to showcase the butterfly broach to her. “The miraculous made a replacement look just like the real deal, it gives Adrien wild, long hair and me extra inches.” They’d been through the grimoire, they’d seen other miraculous holders with extra appendages and alien skin colours. “The holder’s look is nothing but a reflection of a visualization them and their kwami’s created.”

For a moment, Nathalie just stood there in silence. Obviously, she was taken aback by how foolish her protest had been and overwhelmed by the strength of his logic.

Though, for the life of him, Gabriel couldn’t understand why, though difficult to tell under the lighting, her cheeks seemed to redden and she gasped out, “…E-Extra inches?”

Gabriel raised a brow at Nathalie's reaction, perplexed by her sudden flustered state. He leaned back slightly in his chair. “Well… yes? Haven’t you noticed?”

Nathalie blinked, her cheeks now a deeper shade of pink. “I haven’t exactly been looking, sir!” she blurted, her voice unusually high-pitched, as if he’d said something indecent.

Gabriel tilted his head, still oblivious. “Really?” he asked, crossing his arms in thought. “I would’ve thought it was fairly obvious.”

Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding his gaze. Clearing her throat, she added softly, “H-how many are we talking about here? For… um… scientific purposes.”

Gabriel stroked his chin thoughtfully, clearly taking the question at face value. “Well, I was about six foot five before. I think the transformation brings me up to seven feet? I’m not entirely sure how feet translate into inches, though.”

Nathalie’s sharp intake of breath startled him. “S-six!?” she squeaked, her voice laced with a breathless edge.

Gabriel blinked, puzzled. Was she that impressed by his height? “Yes, I suppose I’m moderately tall,” he said, brushing off the compliment as if it were nothing. “Though I wouldn’t call it extraordinary.”

Nathalie coughed violently, trying to suppress whatever wild thoughts were rampaging through her mind. “O-of course, sir,” she managed, her tone strangled. “Y-You were talking about your height. Of course…”

“Obviously. What did you think I was talking about?”

Desperate to move on from this conversation before her composure completely unraveled, Nathalie blurted out, “I—I thought you were talking about your hair!”

Gabriel frowned, clearly confused. “Well, obviously my hair changes,” he replied matter-of-factly. “How else would I fit it under the mask?”

Nathalie nearly collapsed from a mixture of relief and embarrassment, while Gabriel continued obliviously, now gesturing at his head. “The miraculous must compress it somehow. I imagine it’s a fascinating process.”

“Oh, fascinating,” Nathalie echoed faintly, nodding as she tried to suppress a groan. If she survived this conversation, she’d consider it a miracle in itself.

Before Gabriel could say anything else, Adrien pushed through the door to his office with Plagg (and a tray of rancid cheese) floating behind him. Strangely enough, Nathalie looked at Adrien with relief and awe, like he’d just saved her life.

Gabriel couldn’t help note, quite childishly at that, that she never looked at him like that.

“Father, you wanted to see me?” Adrien asked through a stifled yawn, giving a charitable nod to Nathalie as he slinked further into the room.

Gabriel nodded firmly, pushing himself to his feet and resuming his stature at the tower wall of the room. “Yes, we need to discuss the aftermath of our mission.”

“We almost had all the miraculous.” Adrien looked down at his feet, ashamed and frustrated. “And now we have none.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. Had Adrien always been this hard on himself? He shook his head, striding forward to catch Adrien by the shoulder, he simply needed to illuminate the silver lining of this little experiment. They might not have won, but they didn’t lose either.

“Ah, but now the enemy don’t have them either, and the Guardian is on the run.” Gabriel couldn’t deny a small flutter in his chest when Adrien’s eyes returned to him, a hopeful energy blossoming within them.

Gabriel tightened his grip on Adrien’s shoulder, pulling the boy to his side and turning them both around to watch the sunset through the window. “Worry not, Boy. The key to a good scheme is not the guarantee of success, but a wide margin of error.” He was sure he read that somewhere in Villain Weekly Magazine.

He caught Nathalie’s gaze, whose eyes narrowed in restrained scepticism. “You’re… Strangely optimistic today, Sir.”

“Of course I am.” Gabriel Agreste didn’t smile, whatever he attempted in that moment looked more akin a starving hyena setting their sights on a wounded victim. He untangled himself from his son and made his way back to his desk, retrieving a dusty old journal that had been weathered, ripped and stained. “After all, we didn’t leave totally empty handed.”

Adrien did not look as dazzled as Gabriel wanted him to be, “When did you swipe that?”

Gabriel nodded to Nathalie, striding past the two to continue his journey to the other side of the room “I had Nathalie ransack the Guardian’s home while everyone was distracted by the fight.”

He stopped before her. And in that moment, it was hard to stop his knees from buckling as he looked up at the visage of his wife.

“What is it?” Nathalie asked.

“Translation notes.” Gabriel answered, breathing in air like it was the first time he’d ever felt such relief filling his lungs. “It seems that the Guardian was as in the dark about his sacred texts as we were.”

“How does it help us?”

The two watched as Gabriel’s fingers trailed over the painting, eventually find the grooves and indents he’d installed so long ago and hooking his fingers in them. Eventually, the painting was wretched off the wall to reveal the safe secured behind it.

The safe wasn’t as pleasant as the painting it hid behind. It was an altar, a tribute to a past lived, to the series of failures that brought them to this moment, to Gabriel’s many mistakes as a man, as a husband, as a father, that he hoped to rectify. It all came back to the peacock miraculous, which he barely had the courage to touch, feeling a dark, foreboding sensation sink in his stomach just from dropping the miraculous into his palm.

The wounds upon it still looked as fresh as the day he dug it up, the day he made the mistake of not leaving it in the damned temple. It was so easy to see those cracks reflected in Emilie, to imagine them bursting with energy that her body wasn’t made to handle and snapping her in two. It was so easy, every day, every time he closed his eyes, to see her crumpled, mangled body – to see what he did to her.

Gabriel’s shoulders shook under the pressure of it all as his fingers curled to hide that wretched miraculous from his view for a few more precious seconds. He turned and headed back to his desk, though he no more strode than he did hobble with this new weigh in his hand.

“Because, my dear boy…”

He hissed in a harsh whisper, dropping the miraculous and the journal down on the desk under their eyes, right beside the grimoire. The grimoire held so many secrets that could have avoided all this, and would give Gabriel the edge he needed with the miraculous; so many secrets hidden in a language he didn’t understand – until now.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was fate reassuring him of his path, but the force of him dropping everything was enough to make pages turn. And the open grimoire opened directly to a very relevant page – the one that spoke of how to repair a broken miraculous.

“It enables us to right some wrongs.”

Notes:

Who's ready for some Mayura?

Gabriel would rather convince himself that Lila is Ladybug than admit he helped Marinette out of the goodness of his heart.

All the miraculous are up for grabs now, and Fu's in hiding.

Chapter 21: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Protective Instincts

Summary:

Lila discovers friendship while Nathalie discovers hubris.

Nathalie hated this room. A temple of crumpled flowers and sparse metal platforms that wreaked of death, all in tribute to the tomb of Emilie Agreste. Emilie resided soundly in her gilded coffin, a corpse so peaceful you’d think she was simply sleeping. And according to her biology, she was sleeping. She didn’t breathe, her heart made no motion and her brain offered nothing but blank pages, but her body persevered, unburdened by the rot of time and decomposition. She was not yet dead, nor alive; she was stuck as an eternal dream.

Every time Nathalie was down here all she could see from the face of the woman she once called friend was judgement. Judgment for letting Gabriel obsess over her, for allowing this miraculous conflict to escalate to this point, for daring to look at him with such tender eyes and longing glances.

Most of all, she hated what this room did to Gabriel. In his day-to-day, the man was a fortress, who no matter how stubborn or arrogant he acted still came off as the unbreakable wall that she couldn’t help but marvel at. As Hawkmoth, the man transformed into something else entirely. Goofy and dramatic – Nathalie would admit it enchantingly so – but most of all comfortable. He was a glimpse of a man unchained by banal blight of his cold, detached regular life. An echo of the man she’d nervously watched in that diner years ago, who she couldn’t work up the courage to approach until her friend (though her and Emilie wouldn’t officially consider themselves friends until a couple of months later) decided to ask him out first.

Sometimes Nathalie would wonder how much Gabriel knew about the context behind the start of their relationship. Did he know that Emilie was still in her teenage snob phase back then? Did Emilie ever tell him that she initially dated him as a ‘charity case’ before she fell in love with him? For Emilie, it would be an embarrassing titbit about her past that she grew out of into the wonderful woman everyone knew her to be. For Gabriel, Nathalie worried it would ruin the fairytale glee he had of his relationship.

Now, he stood before Emilie, as he always did, as neither Gabriel the designer, nor Hawkmoth the villain. He stared at his wife with no warmth, lost to the coldness of the hole in his heart, his body sporting a frail build just about ready to collapse under the weight of it all. Nathalie was in love with all three sides of Gabriel; the mind, the heart and the soul. Despite how much she respected the man’s strength, that respect didn’t diminish from seeing him at his weakest.

What made it such a wretched sight for her was two-fold. Gabriel was a prideful person, he was a man who she knew well believed it was his duty to project strength at all times. She knew that, even in her company, exposing himself like this killed him inside, made him feel pathetic and a failure that he has no choice but to reveal to Nathalie.

And being such a prideful person, he would dare not allow Nathalie to comfort him. No matter how desperately she wished to tell him to fall apart in her arms and let her hold him together, how she yearned to be able to sooth his heart and give him the love he needs, she knows that he would see it as only humiliating.

He was the love of her life, and she was powerless to ease his pain.

“Sir?” She breathed out eventually, knowing that the least she could do was pull him back to reality before he fell too deep.

“It was foolish, but… Part of me hoped that in repairing the damage to the Peacock.” He reached out to Emilie, brushing his hand over the glass. “It would repair the damage to her.”

Nathalie lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on Emilie’s serene face, Gabriel’s hand framing her eyes between his thumb and forefinger.

“I often wonder if she feels pain” He murmured, resting his head on the glass. “Or if it’s simply being lost, adrift in an endless sleep. Is she aware that we’re here? Does she still dream?”

Nathalie’s chest tightened. She wanted to answer, to soothe his mind, but what could she possibly say? She didn’t know the answers to his questions, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Gabriel’s voice dropped even lower, tinged with a vulnerability she rarely saw. “Does she feel as cold as I do inside without her to light my flame?”

Nathalie felt a pang of guilt so sharp it stole her breath. She hated how much those words affected her. How deeply they resonated. How much she wished, selfishly, to be the one to warm him again. But she knew that wasn’t what he wanted—what he needed.

“And,” Gabriel continued, his brow furrowing, “would she approve of what I’ve dragged my son into?”

Nathalie’s lips parted before she could stop herself. “I think she’d prefer it to your relationship with Adrien before, Sir.”

Gabriel turned his head slightly, enough for her to catch the faintest flicker of surprise on his face.

“Though,” she added, regaining her composure, “other people’s approval has never stood in your way before.”

A faint smile ghosted Gabriel’s lips, humourless but appreciative of her candour. “True,” he admitted. “But on this unsteady path I walk, I still feel a yearning for a sign from her that I’m going the right way.”

Nathalie studied him carefully, noting the rare cracks in his armour. Gabriel Agreste, the unshakable man she admired, was as human and fragile as anyone else. And yet, it was this same unyielding obsession—this all-consuming dedication to Emilie—that had drawn her to him in the first place.

She hated herself for loving him. She hated how it made her feel like a petty, callous schoolgirl.

She loved his brilliance, his determination, the way his mind worked tirelessly to solve the impossible. But those traits wouldn’t exist without the fuel of Emilie’s memory.

She loved his vulnerability, the fleeting moments when he let her see past the walls he built around himself. But those moments wouldn’t happen if not for the weight of his grief for Emilie.

She loved his passion, his drive to protect his family and to make things right. But that passion was a double-edged sword, forged in the fires of a love she could never replace.

Her feelings were tangled in contradictions, in ironies that made her chest ache every time she thought of them. She wanted to be angry at Emilie, to blame her for the hold she had over him even in her eternal slumber. But how could she resent a woman who had brought Gabriel to life in the first place?

And yet, Nathalie couldn’t stop the jealousy. She couldn’t stop the yearning. She could feel as sick and guilty about it as she wanted, but her heart would always instinctively bring her to grasp at any hope of return.

Nathalie broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. “I can’t speak for her, I’m sorry.” She hesitated, searching for the right words as Gabriel’s gaze lingered on Emilie’s coffin. “All I can do is assure you that wherever this madness may take us, we’ll face it together.”

Gabriel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he kept his hand pressed against the glass, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. His head tilted slightly, just enough for Nathalie to catch the faint glimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

“One day, Nathalie,” he said, his voice quieter than before, “I’ll think of a reward worthy of your devotion.”

She blinked, startled by the unexpected sentiment. It wasn’t the kind of thing Gabriel said often, if at all. For a moment, her carefully maintained composure wavered, and she found herself at a loss for words.

“There’s no need for that, Sir,” she said eventually, but her voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion she tried to hide.

“There is,” Gabriel insisted, turning to face her fully. His expression softened, but his eyes held that familiar intensity. “You’ve stood by my side through everything—more than anyone could ever ask for. More than I deserve.”

Nathalie shook her head, though her heart ached at the weight of his words. “It’s not about what you deserve. I chose this.”

She wanted to say more, to tell him how much he meant to her, how every decision she’d made was out of love. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not here, in the shadow of Emilie’s presence.

Gabriel nodded, his expression unreadable. “Still, I owe you more than words.” He glanced back at Emilie’s coffin, his hand falling to his side. “One day, when this is over, I’ll make things right. For everyone.”

Nathalie didn’t know whether to feel hope or despair at his declaration. Gabriel’s idea of ‘making things right’ was as unpredictable as the man himself. But she couldn’t bring herself to doubt him, not when he looked at her like that—with gratitude, respect, and something that almost felt like trust.

“I’ll hold you to that, Sir,” she said softly, offering him a small smile.

---

There was a time where starting the day was by far the highlight of Lila’s routine, where all the hyping up for the work ahead and glorious self-indulgent monologues about her own fake life swept her up in the throws of passion, like an artist visualizing their masterpiece. But today, Lila just felt lousy.

People past her by, they shot her those pitiful looks and traded whispers about the poor innocent girl Hawkmoth violated that were supposed to be music to her ears, but now sounded like a hollow note. In her mind, they were pitying her failed plan, looking down upon the girl who was set to get all the miraculous leave with nothing but crap on her face.

She had been dominating, she was shredding all the competition, not even the giant titan could stand against her. And then it all fell apart because Buggy got her second wind. Because Chat Noir couldn’t do his damn job.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the sharp poke of Trixx’s snout digging into her chest, the kwami slumbering in the confines of her shirt. “Are you okay, Doll?”

It was amazing how little need she felt to go out of her way to hide Trixx these days. People were so occupied with themselves that she could hold full on conversations, and no one would notice a thing.

Lila trudged along the bustling streets, her usual flair and swagger replaced by a dull shuffle. The vibrant façade she donned daily felt like an ill-fitting mask she was too tired to adjust.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with irritation. “I’m fine.”

Trixx didn’t buy it, of course. “You’ve been sulking all day. That’s not like you. Where’s my cunning, devious partner who always has a plan?”

Lila rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched, almost betraying a smile. “It’s hard to be cunning and devious when you’re surrounded by idiots,” She snapped, but her tone lacked its usual venom.

Trixx poked his head out slightly, his beady eyes glinting with curiosity. “Is this about Chat Noir again? You’ve been muttering about him all morning.”

Lila groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Of course it’s about him. He had one job, Trixx. One job. And he blew it. I had the upper hand, the perfect setup—and he let Ladybug slip through his fingers.”

Lila adjusted her bag on her shoulder, trying to shake off the phantom sensation of something slimy and cold trickling down her spine. The memory of that moment—the wave of sewage and gunk swallowing her whole and spitting her out into Ladybug’s bootheel—refused to leave her.

“I still feel that… Urk, sludge dripping down my back,” she muttered, shivering involuntarily. “I’m never going to feel clean again, am I?”

Trixx yawned, poking his head further out from her shirt. “Hey, you still got a sob story to tell everyone,” he offered with a shrug. “And we didn’t get caught. That’s a win, isn’t it?”

Lila snorted, kicking a stray pebble on the sidewalk. “I’d have liked to at least gotten one of the miraculous. Now every tom, dick, and harry has a shot at getting our powers. They don’t even need to be chosen!”

The fox kwami’s grin was sly, his tail swishing slightly. “Sounds like a whole lot of chumps that no one would mind you pinching miraculous from, to me.”

Lila’s lips curved into a smirk. “I do like the way you think, Trixx.”

“Where are we headed?” Trixx asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Ladybug and the Guardian want to meet,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Discuss where we go from here and all that.”

“Are you worried about the Guardian knowing your identity?”

“As long as he has no reason to suspect I got akumatized willingly, I can just blame everything on Hawkmoth,” Lila said with a shrug, her confidence returning. She stopped in front of a reflective shop window, studying her expression critically. “Which do you think is a better heroically guilty look? This?” She widened her eyes and tilted her head slightly, an expression of faux vulnerability. “Or this?” She switched to a more downcast look, as if weighed down by unspeakable guilt.

Trixx tapped his tiny paw against his chin. “Scrunch your nose on the second one, it’ll make you look more fragile.”

“Like this?” Lila wrinkled her nose ever so slightly, adding a faint quiver to her lips.

“Perfect.” The kwami gave her an approving nod. “Knock ‘em dead, Kid.”

A distorted beep sounded from her pocket, prompting Lila to pull out her phone and immediately wear a weighty frown at being greeted by Chloe’s number.

Now why in the world would that brat be call- Oh.

“Oh. Crap. Chloe. I forgot.” Lila groaned, “The damn bet.”

Chloe peered at Lila over the edge of her nails, sneering. “And I’m just supposed to stake my reputation on a plan that leaves you squeaky clean no matter the outcome?”

“Okay, if you want to raise my stake in this, how about a wager?”

“Go on.”

“If I manage to win you the competition, you get me a good room at your daddy’s hotel.”

“Heh, that’s so easy it’s barely a cost to me.” She threw her head back, laughing. “But sure, I’ll take it. But if you fail, I want you… Oh yes, I want you to serve me, hand and foot, for a week.”

Lila dug her fingers into her cheeks, pulling her face apart in a bitter, simmering frustration. “Damn it, I can’t afford to miss this meeting, but if I don’t make an appearance, she’ll be bitching up a storm back at school.” Her fingers slip down far enough to be caught on her teeth, biting into them with reckless abandon. “And if Ladybug is one of my classmates, she might notice the timing.”

After a moment of gentle prodding from Trixx, Lila calmed herself down enough and patted down her face to bring her focus back. “Alright, calm down Lila. This is nothing.” Lila huffed, straightening her back and stuffing the phone back in her pocket.  Her mind already racing with possibilities. “All you need is a sucker…”

“Hey, Lila! You busy?”

The familiar voice startled her, but she quickly masked her surprise with a wide, almost predatory grin. Her gaze landed on Nino, walking toward her with his usual easy-going energy.

“Bingo.”

“What was that?”

“I said ‘Nino!’.” She launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders in a clumsy hug. “Oh, how have you been? I was just thinking about you, you know?”

Nino stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but patted her back awkwardly. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? How are you holding up after Mirror Mistress and all?”

Lila stepped back, clutching her hands together as if steeling herself, her lips trembling with faux vulnerability. “It’s… It’s tough, I’ll admit.” She sniffled dramatically, her voice wobbling. “They say that akumas usually forget their time as a villain, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget all the damage I caused.”

Nino’s expression softened immediately. He stepped forward, gripping her shoulders with both hands. “Hey, that wasn’t you. That was Hawkmoth. You’re not to blame for any of that.”

“I almost killed you, Nino,” Lila whispered, her voice laden with crocodile tears. “And all the terrible things I said to you…”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Nino said earnestly, gesturing to himself. “And look, I’m a-okay!”

His gaze flicked briefly to her shoulder, the one he’d injured during the fight. “Does your shoulder still hurt?”

Lila forced a smile, shaking her head. “Not really.” She balled her fist and gave him a light, playful punch on his own shoulder. “But I can’t believe you shot me. That took some guts!”

Nino chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, that wasn’t anything special. I kinda blacked out in panic and woke up with you on my ass.”

Lila giggled, giving him a look of admiration that she knew would bolster his ego. “Still, you’re braver than most people give you credit for, Nino.”

“Uh… T-thanks,” he stammered, his cheeks tinting pink.

“So,” Lila said, tilting her head curiously. “What did you want to talk to me about again?”

“Oh! Right.” Nino shuffled awkwardly. “Well, uh… I wanted some advice… about asking a girl out.”

Lila raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking in an amused smirk. “Oh my,” she teased, placing a hand over her heart. “It’s not me, is it?”

Don’t make me vomit, Nino.

“No, no, no! Don’t worry!” Nino waved his hands defensively, his face heating further.

“Let me guess…” Lila’s smirk widened knowingly. “Alya?”

Nino froze, his wide eyes betraying him. “That obvious, huh?” He sighed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “She’s just, like, super cool and super brave and everything. Guess you gotta be to run into a supervillain fight like that.”

He glanced down, his nervous energy palpable. “So… Um… D-do you think I have a shot?”

Lila’s face softened into a mask of pity. “Oh, Nino…”

“What?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

She hesitated, biting her lip as if debating whether to speak. “I… I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” She lowered her gaze, feigning reluctance. “I don’t think Alya likes you like that. In fact, I don’t think she likes you that much at all.”

Nino blinked, his expression crumbling slightly. “Oh.”

“I-It doesn’t mean there’s a problem with you,” Lila rushed to add, placing a hand on his arm in mock reassurance. “You two just… don’t click.”

Nino’s eyes searched hers. “Did she say something about me?”

Lila sighed, looking away as if torn. “I can’t say…” She fidgeted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But, well… she might’ve mentioned that you can be a bit… immature. And needy. And… maybe a little greedy.”

Nino’s brows furrowed, and he stumbled over his words, his voice shaking slightly. “I-I… immature?”

Lila nodded slowly, tilting her head in a way that mimicked compassion. “She’s a serious reporter with more refined tastes, Nino. She doesn’t exactly look too fond of you talking her ear off about comic books and music setups.”

“Greedy?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly in disbelief.

“You could stand to stop stealing food off her plate when you eat together,” Lila pointed out, her tone light but firm, as if she were trying to ease him into a harsh truth.

“I’m not… needy,” Nino murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Lila sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his arm again. “You do have a tendency to demand everyone’s attention. I know you don’t mean to, but…” She let the words hang in the air, her expression carefully crafted to seem reluctant and kind.

Nino shook his head slowly. “I never… I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, Nino, I know you didn’t.” Lila’s voice was soft, soothing. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not that bad. We all have things that put other people off. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with us.”

He looked up at her with a sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah… It’s probably better that I find this out before I go and embarrass myself, huh?”

Lila gave him a dazzling smile, placing her hands on his shoulders. “See? That’s what I love about you, Nino—you’re so optimistic.”

“Yeah,” He said quietly. “I’m feeling real optimistic.”

Lila reached for her phone and pretended to check it, her face twisting into an exaggerated expression of frustration. She sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong?” Nino asked, his concern immediate.

Lila bit her lip, hesitating just long enough to seem reluctant. “Oh, that was just Chloe.” She rolled her eyes, letting out a dramatic groan. “We had a dumb bet about her losing to Marinette in the fashion contest, and technically she won, even if Gabriel rescinded her victory.”

She let her shoulders slump, her voice dropping to a defeated tone. “And now I have to be her servant for a week. I usually never go back on a deal, no matter how inconvenient, but…”

Her voice hitched, and she sniffled, summoning more crocodile tears. “I-I’m running late… for a meeting with my mom.” She choked out the words, her eyes glistening. “S-She’s sick, and I just don’t want to leave her alone right now. And after Mirror Mistress… I just find it so hard to function.”

Nino’s face immediately softened. “It’s okay, Lila,” he said hurriedly. “H-how… How about I go in your place?”

Lila blinked, her expression of surprise perfect, though inwardly, she smirked. Oh, you are just too easy, Nino. I almost feel bad.

“N-Nino?” she stammered, her voice wavering with faux disbelief.

“Chloe’s just gonna be happy to have someone to boss around, right?” he said with a reassuring smile. “This way, you don’t welch on the deal, and you get to see your mom.”

“I can’t ask you to do that for me,” Lila said, her voice trembling with emotion.

“You don’t need to,” Nino said confidently. “What are friends for?”

Lila’s eyes shimmered as she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, Nino. When you find that special someone, I just know she’s going to be the luckiest girl on Earth.”

Nino blushed furiously, clutching his cheek as he turned to leave. He glanced back at her with a small, sheepish grin before heading off, his steps light despite his earlier heartbreak.

Trixx materialized just enough to speak softly. “You know, some people might say that was the cruellest thing you’ve ever done.”

“What? Breaking his heart?” Lila asked, her lips quirking into a smirk.

“No,” Trixx replied. “Leaving him with Chloe.”

Lila snickered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll hit it off…” She paused, letting out a low laugh.

“But I doubt it!”

For all her theatrics, Lila wasn’t one to wallow. She thrived on adapting, on spinning setbacks into opportunities. This wasn’t the first time she’d been knocked down, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“People may be talking about what I lost today,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing as her old fire began to rekindle, “but they won’t be able to stop talking about what I’ll take tomorrow.”

Trixx grinned, his sharp little teeth flashing. “That’s the spirit, Doll. You’re always at your best when you’re plotting.”

---

Entering the living room felt the lead up to the big game. Nathalie had been preparing for this moment, in her head, ever since Hawkmoth debut. Now it was here, and still had to hype herself up in the mirror before she pushed her way through.

Gabriel stood by the fireplace, his back to her. The flickering firelight cast long, jagged shadows across the room, but none reached him. Instead, the flames only highlighted his silhouette, painting him in an eerie mix of warmth and detachment. His hand hovered just above his chest, the Peacock Miraculous pinched delicately between his thumb and forefinger.

The glow of the fire bounced off the Peacock’s shimmering surface and into the clouded lens of his glass. His expression was unreadable, yet the fire’s light suited him so well, splashing him with passionate light that failed to illuminate him, just as the Peacock sat as an answer that escaped him.

Nathalie paused just inside the doorway, watching him. She didn’t speak, didn’t dare to break whatever spell the moment seemed to have cast over him. She had expected to walk in and see determination, the same ruthless focus that had driven him to pursue his goals at all costs. She had expected him to turn to her, to place the miraculous in her hands without hesitation, trusting her as his partner, his confidante, his ever-loyal shadow.

But Gabriel didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply stared down at the miraculous, as though waiting for it to speak to him, to tell him what to do.

Nathalie’s hands tightened at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to say something, to tell him she was ready, that she could handle this, that she wanted this. She had proven herself time and time again. She had stood by him, supported him, sacrificed for him. Didn’t that mean she deserved his trust?

But the words caught in her throat.

“It’ll be nice to catch up with Duusu.” Nooroo hummed, pulling Nathalie’s attention over to where he and Plagg floated above Adrien, seated by the window.

Adrien looked up from a book he was idly flicking through, thoughtful. “Do you think she’ll be happy to see us?”

Plagg shrugged, “Well, considering the last time she was active was when-”

Nooroo dived into Plagg, pelting the kwami aside with a nervous laugh. “She’ll be ecstatic no matter what.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourselves.” Gabriel finally spoke, his voice rough and unrefined; rare for the man. “We have to decide how we’ll use the peacock first.”

Nathalie fought the urge to shuffle in place, tightening her hands behind her back like they were the knot keeping her together. Gabriel was unsure. She had been sure for months. If she needed to reassure him, so be it. She was ready. She had to be ready.

She cleared her throat, moving closer to the fire. “I don’t understand what you mean, Sir.”

“Well, she needs a holder first.”

Her heart swelled, catching her throat breathless as she dared to inch closer, allowing the fire’s light to lash out at her feet. She stopped at Gabriel’s shoulder, where the light stretched forward in one sharp beam, highlighting her body, the only right choice. She was the only answer he’d ever need.

“And I am ready to take on that responsibility.” She assured him.

It only made sense that she should wield the Peacock Miraculous. She had been by Gabriel's side through everything—his triumphs, his defeats, his most desperate moments. As a mere human, she was powerless to truly aid his pursuit of Ladybug. Powerless to protect Adrien, no matter how fiercely she wanted to. But with a miraculous, she could finally be more.

She could finally shine.

“No.”

Nathalie froze, blinking up at him. “…I beg your pardon, Sir?”

Gabriel turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not burdening you with the Peacock, Nathalie.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “I-It’s of no burden!” she insisted, her voice sharper than she intended. “And it makes logical sense. Three Miraculous, three members of our little conspiracy—who else would you choose?”

Gabriel shook his head, his gaze steady. “The Grimoire has mentioned the possibility of unifying Miraculous. I thought maybe it was time to upgrade to Shadow Moth.”

Nathalie stepped back, her composure cracking. “W-What!?” she stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I mean no disrespect, Sir, but… I must protest. That sounds like way too much strain on your body.”

“Nathalie—”

“Do you not trust my abilities? Is that it?” she cut him off, her voice rising.

“That is not what this is,” Gabriel said firmly, his brows furrowing.

“D-Do you doubt my loyalties?” she demanded, her chest tightening.

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud, leaving her momentarily speechless. She glanced toward the Peacock Miraculous, still shimmering on the mantle, its beauty a stark contrast to the pain it represented.

Nathalie bit the inside of her cheek, nodding stiffly as her pride wrestled with her devotion. “Am I not enough?” She whispered to herself.

Of course, she knew by now that she was never enough.

He kept his tone so even, so formal, as if this was just a simple debriefing, as if he wasn’t slapping her in the face. He would throw himself into this, he would allow Adrien into this, yet she was cast aside? A bitter thought pricked at her mind before she could reason it. She wasn’t apart of their little team, their little club; of course she wasn’t, because it was a family matter, and she was just…

Just an assistant.

Adrien was hesitant to speak up, but his voice eventually managed to make itself heard, soft and nervous. “We just don’t want to put you at risk, Nathalie.”

Her head snapped toward him, her frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “You’re taking his side?”

His brows furrowed, concerned. “He’s not the only one who cares about you.”

Nathalie’s breath hitched, her emotions spilling over in a way she hadn’t allowed herself before. “What, so you two get to go out there and face danger head-on, and that’s fine,” She said, her voice rising, “but I’m expected to stay on the sidelines?”

Gabriel’s response came swift and blunt. “Yes.”

The word landed like a hammer, shattering the tenuous control Nathalie had been clinging to. She stepped closer, the firelight dancing in her eyes as her frustration burned brighter. “You want to know a reward worthy of my devotion?” she challenged, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “Trust. Trust that I can handle a Miraculous.”

Gabriel didn’t flinch, but his voice hardened. “This isn’t just any Miraculous.”

Her gaze flickered down to the ring on his finger. Her fists clenched at her sides as she shot back, “I would never threaten Adrien!”

“It’s not about that,” Gabriel snapped, his tone sharp but unsteady.

“Then what is it about?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Gabriel’s mask of calm cracked, his voice cracking with it. “The Peacock has already taken enough from me!” He barked, the weight of his grief bleeding into every word. “Even if repaired, I will not risk it. Not on you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Nathalie’s chest tightened, her anger warring with something softer, something more painful.

Gabriel’s voice softened but remained resolute. “You are more than just my assistant, Nathalie. But I am still the head of this household, and my word is final. Drop the subject. Now.”

For a long moment, she stared at him, her lips pressed into a tight line as she fought the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. Finally, she forced her posture straight, her tone clipped and cold. “Of course, Sir.”

She turned on her heel, her steps precise and deliberate as she exited the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with thoughts she dared not voice. Of course, you’ll risk yourself. Of course, Adrien can wade into danger. But me? No, I’m too fragile, too replaceable.

Her earlier jealousy toward Emilie spiked again, searing and unrelenting. She would have been trusted. She would have been enough.

The thought made Nathalie clench her teeth, her frustration simmering just below the surface. She had been willing to give everything—her loyalty, her life, her very soul—and still, it wasn’t enough. Not for Gabriel.

And yet, as she stormed away, another bitter truth twisted in her gut. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it enraged her, she would still stay. Still fight. Still hope, futile as it was, that one day Gabriel would see her for who she truly was: not just an assistant, but a partner.

And in order to do that, she needed to stop playing as an assistant, as someone who only acted in the face of orders. She needed ambition, and initiative.

Tonight, Gabriel Agreste’s assistant was going to break a few rules.

---

Volpina had a tiny, paranoid voice in the back of her head that expected her to be ambushed at the meeting. That somehow Buggy and the Guardian had caught onto her con and went on the offensive.

Technically, that voice was right.

It’s just nothing could mentally prepare Volpina for Ladybug ambushing her… With a hug.

Lila had been in many hugs, it was practically impossible to play the role of a social darling without people wanting to show physical affection, but those had always been apart of the con, and she’d never seen them as genuine. Those hugs were like when you greet people on the street – you don’t know those people, and you don’t really care about their day and probably wouldn’t notice if they didn’t greet you back, but you do it because it’s just something ingrained into you as the polite and proper way to act, something that you’re expected to do.

Ladybug’s hug was awkward and clumsy. Volpina got the sense that Buggy didn’t plan on it, nor hugged people a lot casually. She was happy to see Volpina, overtly so, before Volpina had managed to get out a single false plea for sympathy. It was enough to catch the trickster off guard, which was dangerous for someone who had to constantly be aware of the delicate dance she was performing.

It reminded her of when Trixx would curl up against her, which felt natural for the sole creature in the world she confided her true self in, but felt almost wrong with one of the people she was lying to.

“Whoa there, Buggy.” Volpina barely found it in her to awkwardly laugh it off, slightly pushing Ladybug back. “Is this a special occasion?”

“Sorry, I was just-” Ladybug slipped away, sweeping her hands over her face to smooth out her embarrassment. “I didn’t see you after the battle, and then you stopped posting on your socials. I thought Mirror Mistress might have left some lasting damage. I was so worried.”

“Oh.”

She was worried. About her. Volpina didn’t like how that tasted on her tongue, something bitter and uncomfortable that settled in the bottom of her stomach.

Volpina cleared her throat. “W-Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Great even.”

Oddly enough, she found herself mimicking Nino’s earlier gesture. Briefly, she wondered if this is how he felt when she was pretending to worry about him. “Mirror Mistress just caught me off guard and dumped me in a bin, nothing that’s gonna stick with me.” She managed to find her crooked grin again. “Outside of the smell.”

Ladybug smiled, “Good. I’m not ready to lose my partner just yet.”

An awkward silence reigned until the old man standing off to the side of them cleared his throat. Ladybug jumped up with an awkward laugh, slamming her fist into her palm.

“Oh, right! This is the Guardian.” She threw her arms out in a light bow, as if she were presenting the man. “You two haven’t met officially.”

It didn’t take long for Lila’s memory to click with the visage before her. Of course, she’d glanced at a picture of him when researching his home, but she never really took in his appearance, it wouldn’t be important after she took everything from him.

The last time they’d met, sans as Mirror Mistress, had been months ago when Alya was showing her around the school grounds. He’d set up shop outside of the school, selling jewellery to passers by, supposedly for charity. But Lila could spot a con artist a mile away. At least, she thought she had.

She held out her hand, lightly smirking. “You’re the old man who tried to con me with a bootleg necklace.”

The Guardian beams up at her, gently taking her hand and placing his other hand on top of it. “And you’re the girl who tricked me into giving you the necklace and your money back.”

“Which meant I passed the test, right?” Volpina let her smugness bloom, back in her comfort zone. “It’s good to finally meet without any of the trickery, Master.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Please, I am without the miraculous and without my secrets; I am a master no longer.”

Lila tilted her head, her smile widening. “Well, I guess that means you’re lucky to have someone like me around then, doesn’t it?”

Ladybug stared at her feet, her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “It’s all my fault.”

Fu stepped forward, his voice firm but kind. “Ladybug, you did nothing wrong.” He rested his hand on his chest, pressing down a weight of his own. “It is my foolishness that brought us to this point. Chat Noir left under my watch, I was not prepared to defend the Miracle Box, and I never suspected that Hawkmoth could manage to trick the Lucky Charm.”

He exhaled deeply, his regret palpable. “The only thing you’ve done is salvage my mistakes.”

Volpina crossed her arms, her voice uncharacteristically sincere. “He’s right, Bug. We couldn’t have stopped Hawkmoth from figuring the Guardian out, but you stopped him from being able to harm us with that information.” She tilted her head, flashing a lopsided grin. “And you kept the Miracle Box out of his hands.”

Ladybug bit her lip, glancing between them. “Should we be worried about the scattered Miraculous? Is it too much to hope they’re broken and unusable?”

Fu shook his head solemnly. “They are very much active,” he said gravely. “But now they are in a unique and vulnerable state.”

Volpina raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“The normal rules of the Miraculous might no longer apply,” Fu explained. “This could lead to some… unexpected side effects.”

Ladybug’s brow furrowed. “Side effects? Like what?”

Fu clasped his hands together, his expression heavy with concern. “The Miraculous have a function to fulfil, a purpose to have a holder. And in this state, no matter the kwami, they will be drawn to any avenue in which they can fulfil that function.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened. “Is that good or bad?”

Fu let out a sigh, his gaze distant. “It is entirely the luck of the draw. The Miraculous could end up activating and binding itself to anything—a hero, a villain, a human… and things beyond. They could be triggered by anything.”

Volpina groaned, rubbing her temples. “I can just tell already that this is gonna be the most annoying shit.”

Ladybug couldn’t help but snort, the tension breaking slightly at Volpina’s bluntness. Even Fu allowed himself a faint smile.

But the reality of Fu’s words lingered, heavy and unrelenting. The Miraculous were out there now, wild cards in an already chaotic game, and no one—not even the Guardian—could predict where they might end up.

---

As it turns out, it’s incredibly easy to steal a priceless item from it’s safe when you’re the person in charge of all the security measures. One button press was enough to trigger a convenient malfunction in the mansion’s camera that could be as easy to explain as mysterious third-party hacker, or just Gabriel accidentally stepping on one of the cables again.

Then it was just a simple matter of sauntering into his office, peeling back the safe and snatching up the peacock that mean old Gabriel had left just sitting there, in the cold and dark. After that, there was nothing stopping her from announcing to Gabriel that she was retiring for the night with her breast pocket slightly puffed with the shape of the peacock. Naturally, with how they had left things in the morning, Gabriel opted to not try and wrangle her into further conversation.

She couldn’t help but grin the moment she escaped his gaze, an exhilarated rush of adrenaline flooding her body with a nostalgic, heart-pounding sensation. She even dared to skip to the front door and shimmy her way to the front gate, the late night chill grasping her by the hair and keeping her wide awake. It reminded her of the rush of her spelunking exploits in her younger days, scaling mountains and delving into ancient ruins with the risk of death nipping at her heels.

And yet, this felt so much better. It wasn’t riskier, it wasn’t more complicates or even skilled; it was simply something she did for herself. No order, no job, nobody to follow.

Tonight, Nathalie Sancoeur was being a naughty girl. She broke into her boss’ office and stole a priceless artifact from him. And quite suddenly, she felt like she could take on anything.

Just an assistant her ass!

Her hand instinctively brushed against her pocket, feeling the Peacock Miraculous beneath the fabric. Tonight, this little beauty wasn’t going to sit in the dark. It wasn’t going to be forgotten or overlooked.

Neither was she.

She was no fool, she wasn’t going to unleash it out in the open, but she felt that such a grand moment deserved more than the cramped confines of her apartment. So, Nathalie waited until she’d trekked all the way to the waterfront, which had been left barren in the gloom of a cold night with the remnants of partygoers and drunkards littering the ground.

The moment felt monumental, like the universe itself was holding its breath. Nathalie glanced around, ensuring her solitude, and then carefully hooked the brooch onto her blazer.

That was when it hit her—she had crossed the threshold.

There was still technically time to run back to the mansion and slip the miraculous back into the safe before Gabriel noticed. Yet, as she felt the cool metal against her chest, she knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give it up willingly.

The world suddenly erupted in a burst of energy as a tiny, colourful blur shot out of the miraculous.

“Wa-HOO!” The energetic voice echoed through the empty waterfront as Duusu spun and looped around her like a firework of feathers and light. “Duusu is back in the game!”

Nathalie blinked at the sudden display, momentarily stunned by the vibrant kwami.

The kwami halted mid-spiral, staring at her with wide, excited eyes. “Hey, you’re Miss Nathalie!”

Nathalie straightened her blazer, her lips twitching into a small, rare smile. “Hello, Duusu. I’m glad you recognize me.”

Duusu gasped, clapping her tiny hands together in excitement. “Are you my new holder?!”

“Yes,” Nathalie said simply, her tone calm and resolute despite the exhilaration still pounding in her chest.

Duusu zoomed in close, her eyes sparkling. “What are we doing out here?”

Nathalie tilted her head toward the water, staring out over its dark, rippling surface. “Proving ourselves,” she declared. Her voice held a quiet defiance, every word sharpened by months of frustration. “Gabriel deems us unfit to aid in his crusade. As I am the only member of this team that isn’t an idiot, I aim to prove him wrong.”

The kwami tilted her head, curious. “So… this is a fight for love?”

She hasn’t changed a bit, Nathalie thought with a small smile. The kwami didn’t need any update on what had happened the last few years, she didn’t need to know the plan, she just needed to know that it was enough to get her romantic heart pumping.

Nathalie hesitated. “...Sure, if you want to frame it like that.” She straightened, her hand brushing the Peacock Miraculous. “Gabriel wants Ladybug’s miraculous more than anything, and I need to be the one to give it to him.”

“Ooooooh!” Duusu twirled in the air, her wings shimmering like stained glass. “It’s so romantic! A forbidden quest to prove yourself worthy of love!”

Nathalie chuckled softly, her lips quirking at the kwami’s enthusiasm. “Let’s call it that if it helps.”

Duusu punched a tiny fist in the air, her whole body vibrating with excitement. “I’m in! Let’s show Gabriel how awesome we really are!”

Nathalie’s hand hovered over the brooch, her heartbeat quickening. This was it. She wasn’t just Nathalie Sancoeur anymore—she was taking charge of her destiny.

Her confidence surged once again, feeling every bit the formidable force she had set out to become. She was powerful. She was in control. She was...

“Duusu,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her, “spread my fea-“

“Hi Nooroo!”

Nathalie froze mid-stride, her whole body going stiff as her brain tried to catch up with what she had just heard. She whipped around in a panic to find none other than Nooroo hovering a few inches above her, his antennae twitching with an almost smug expression on his little face.

“N-Nooroo!?” Nathalie stammered, her whole mood crashing in an instant. “What are you doing here?”

Nooroo fluttered nonchalantly in the air, looking completely unfazed by Nathalie's sudden shift in demeanour. “Following you. Master likes me keeping watch.” He said it with such pride that Nathalie felt a chill crawl up her spine.

Nathalie quickly tried to regain some semblance of control, smoothing her blazer, but it was a weak attempt. “Is that so?” she asked, forcing a calm tone into her voice, even though her pulse was already speeding up. “Um... and has Gabriel given you any command that would prevent you from forgetting what you saw?”

Nooroo tilted his head and gave her a quizzical look. “Oh, I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you, Nooroo, you don’t know how-”

“Just a few questions, though.”

Nathalie's stomach sank. “S-Sure, go ahead...” she managed, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she tried to act casual.

Nooroo seemed entirely too pleased with this. “So, Master had an argument with you about taking the Peacock, right?”

Nathalie blinked. “Yes.”

“And then you steal the Peacock the same day.”

Nathalie felt a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. “Uh… yes?” She said, her voice wavering slightly.

“And the Peacock is locked in a secure safe that only you and Master have access to.”

Nathalie's eyes widened as she froze. “Wait—” she began to protest, but Nooroo was already rolling right through her defences.

“And no one else knows about the Peacock being in the mansion, again, outside of you, Master, and Adrien,” Nooroo continued, his tone far too knowing for her comfort.

Nathalie’s breath hitched, and she suddenly realized she was holding her own breath. She was failing—utterly failing—and it was too late to stop.

Nooroo tilted his head, his expression oddly thoughtful. “Assuming that I have all the facts straight… Doesn’t that make you literally the only suspect?”

Nathalie’s jaw slowly dropped open as she tried to piece together any explanation, but it was as though her mind had turned to mush. Every excuse she had tried to formulate seemed to crumble into nothingness.

For a solid minute, she just stood there, gaping at Nooroo, her hands trembling in front of her as she searched for words that refused to come.

Nooroo’s antennae twitched, and he gave a tiny, almost mocking chuckle. “Looks like Master is calling me back. Good luck with your love quest, Miss Nathalie.”

As if that wasn’t enough, Nooroo suddenly zipped closer to her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, and Nathalie?”

Nathalie’s whole body stiffened, her heart pounding in her ears. “Y-Yes?”

Nooroo hovered just a few inches from her face, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How does it feel to be one of the idiots now?”

Notes:

It is scientifically proven that getting a miraculous decreases your brain cell count and increases your 'Fuck around' levels.

And here's the start of a new Love Squar- Triangl- Whatever shape fits the metaphor, as in this story, Gabriel doesn't know Nathalie is Mayura.

Also, brief honesty: In opposition to my World On Fire fic, this story is mostly by the seat of my pants with some vague ideas. I have different little prompts in mind, I know what the ending arc is gonna be, and I certainly have some solid ideas for who some of the miraculous' are gonna go to (currently got the Turtle, Mouse, Bee, Horse and Pig nailed down for some fun set-ups so far), but nothing solidly laid out.

Chapter 22: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Filibuster

Summary:

Nathalie spins lie after lie to explain why she isn't the sole suspect for stealing the Peacock. Elsewhere, an unstoppable force meets an immovable object - namely, Nino is chill, and Chloe finds this unacceptable.

Last night, Nathalie felt alive. Right now, Nathalie felt that she was soon to be dead. Nervously she watched Gabriel, breath held in baited tension as the man crouched down before the shattered glass littering his carpet with an unreadable expression. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he was suspecting, all she could read was the pure presence radiating from him and consuming the entire room.

“It happened so quickly, I couldn’t react.” She barely kept her voice her usual steeled tone, just waiting for the moment his eyes broke through her defences and unravelled her. “She transformed before I could get a look at her, launched herself out the window and disappeared into the dawn.”

He plucked a shard from the ground with no regard for how easily it could cut him, holding it up to the light as he examined a fraction of torn material that clung to the corner. For a moment, in the glint of the morning sun, Nathalie could catch a glimpse of her own reflection inside the glass.

“Did the cameras catch anything?” He asked, a rough, unrefined growl to his voice.

“No, Sir.” She stated plainly, flattening the wrinkles of her suit for the fifth time since entering the room. “The security system malfunctioned moments before her arrival, I assume we have her to thank for that.”

She wanted to mauver to a better position, one where there was more scenery to obscure the way her face twitched and threatened to betray her lies. The problem was Adrien Agreste, who had taken it upon himself to hold her hand the moment he’d heard the news and now refused to give it up, as if she’d sink into the floor if he wasn’t there to anchor her.

On any other day it would be sweet, but right now it was ruining her.

“I don’t get it, how could this ‘Mayura’ person have even known about the Peacock being in the safe?” Adrien’s grip tightened when he spat out the first name that had come to Nathalie’s mind when making up a hypothetical peacock thief, “Does she know our identities?”

Nathalie bit down on her lip, digging her free handing into her side just to stop her other hand from shaking. Desperately, her eyes fell on Nooroo, who hadn’t taken his gaze off her, silently pleading for his aid. Yet, all he did was turn his paw in a circle, a sadistic glint in his eye, urging her to get on with it. He really was the perfect fit for Gabriel after all.

She was on her own for this one, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner becoming progressively louder in her head as she mentally stumbled over every viable excuse she could make. How could the thief have known where the peacock was without being one of them?

Maybe they could reason that the thief didn’t know, she was just going for the safe hoping for some rolled up bills, only to find the magical artifact.

No, that would invite the next question of how she knew the activation phrase to use the peacock. A completely unrelated thief just happened to know enough about the subject to instantly use the miraculous? No, the thief would have to be someone who knew what they were coming for.

There was no way she’d make the excuse of blaming it on a friend of Ladybug or the Guardian, that would instantly be disproved the moment Hawkmoth raged about the intrusion on the group chat.

Think, Nathalie, think! It has to be an explanation that Gabriel can’t fact check, but sounds legit enough.

“She had a strange device in her hands.” Nathalie drew out her syllable, flinching as if the excuse was physically painful to process. “It looked like a compass that led her to the safe.” She rolled her wrist, slowly gaining steam as she thought about it more. “Some sort of… Miraculous tracker.”

Gabriel didn’t reply right away, he left enough silence for her heart to continue pounding and her head to pull her back into the sea of fresh panic. The true test of her staged theft wasn’t the stability of her excuse, it was a question of Gabriel’s willingness to believe that Nathalie would lie to him. It’s very easy for someone to accept another answer if they’ve already written off the obvious answer as implausible or offensive.

He studied her intently for a moment, which to Nathalie proved that there was suspicion behind his gaze fighting a battle against his respect for his assistant. She managed to keep it together long enough for his gaze to turn on his kwami, brows furrowed and fingers curled into a fist. “Is that possible, Nooroo?” He grumbled more than questioned.

Yet again, Nathalie and Nooroo’s eyes locked in a shameful display of begging meeting the unsympathetic. Nooroo could easily undo her entire operation with just a simple answer, he could end her own career if he wanted to. The only thing keeping him from destroying her here and now was a mixture of his lack of loyalty to Gabriel and his amusement at making her sweat.

Eventually, he nodded. “It has been done before, though I’m not sure how humans have managed it.” He moved past Gabriel’s shoulder, hovering over the open safe with a small hum. “It would make sense that someone would try tracking down miraculous just after so many were freed from the miracle box.”

Nathalie hadn’t even thought of that.

Thank God for Nooroo.

“Then she had to know that there were two other miraculous in the mansion, right?” Adrien pondered.

God damn it, Nooroo.

“Not exactly.” Nooroo sighed wearily, shooting Nathalie a bemused look, “The ‘signal’, for lack of a better word, a Miraculous gives off is somewhat muffled when the miraculous has an active holder. You two create a natural shield over us by simply wearing our miraculous.”

Gabriel reached up to straighten his tie yet again, treating it like a stress ball with how his fingers crushed it in his palm. He would not let this break his icy calm. “Still, we must proceed with the possibility that she’s gleamed our secrets.”

Nathalie felt Adrien tug on her hand again, urging her over to the nearest seat. “Nathalie, you should sit down.” She hated how fragile he sounded in that moment despite the minor incident, and that it was her lie that made him sound this way. “I-I’ll get you some water or whatever you want.”

She swept her thumb over the back of his hand, smiling softly down at him. “I told you, Adrien, I’m perfectly fine. The thief didn’t attack me, she simply fled.”

Her gaze turned back to Gabriel, shocked to find him a few steps closer with his clouded gaze bearing down on her. She cleared her throat. “We spared so much effort into fixing that damn miraculous, only for it to slip away under my watch.”

His hand found it’s way onto Adrien’s shoulder as he finally sighed, the full admittance of giving up reasoning this out; her lie had finally been accepted. “There was nothing you could have done, Nathalie.”

She’d done it. She’d lied to Gabriel Agreste—and lived to tell the tale.

“There’s always something I could have done.” She clenched her hands, as if to anchor herself to the moment. “I will do whatever I can to aid in the search for this woman and redeem myself, Sir.”

Gabriel’s icy gaze lingered on her for a beat longer before he nodded sharply. “Fine. Monitor the news feeds and keep an ear to the ground for any peculiar incidents or sightings. You know what the Peacock can do. You know what to look out for.” His voice dropped, sharp as a blade. “If this wretch so much as sneezes, I want to be notified of it.”

Nathalie swallowed thickly. “And… uh… what will you do if you find her, Sir?”

Gabriel straightened, adjusting his cuffs with a deliberate precision. “This creature has defiled my home, absconded with Duusu, and threatened my family.” His voice was low, brimming with controlled fury. “I want her name, I want her address, and I want her head mounted on my wall.”

“Sir,” Nathalie protested, forcing calm into her tone, “with all due respect, I don’t think there’s any need to waste your vitriol on her. She is a common thief, not worthy of your attention.”

Adrien’s hand tightened on hers, his voice breaking through the tension. “How can you say that, Nathalie?” His usual gentle tone was replaced by anger. “She could have hurt you! We can’t let someone attack our family and get away with it.”

“Adrien, please—” Nathalie began, but Adrien barreled on, his voice rising.

“An akuma fight with other users is one thing, but she attacked our home while we were sleeping.” His free hand curled into a fist. “Next time she comes at us, me and Plagg are gonna be ready.”

Gabriel’s command cut through the air like a whip. “Out of the question.”

Adrien gasped, recoiling as if physically struck. Gabriel and Nathalie exchanged a brief, knowing look—both keenly aware of the true reason for Adrien’s unique vulnerability to the Peacock Miraculous.

“Father—” Adrien started again, but Gabriel’s expression hardened.

“Adrien, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage with Mayura.”

“What!?” Adrien’s voice cracked. “Why can I fight Ladybug and Volpina but not her?”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, his words carefully measured. “Mayura is an adult, and the Peacock is a partner to the Butterfly. In the wrong—or untampered—hands, the havoc it can wreak is unmatched.” He stepped closer, his eyes boring into his son’s. “Promise me, Adrien.”

Adrien faltered, his earlier indignation giving way to uncertainty. “I-I promise… Father… I just want to—”

“I understand, son.” Gabriel’s tone softened slightly, though his fury still lingered beneath the surface. “I’m angry as well. But giving your enemy the rope in which to hang yourself will not serve you well.”

Adrien looked down, his expression conflicted. “I guess… I just don’t want to feel useless.”

“You are far from useless,” Gabriel said firmly, placing a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Your role in this family is vital. And your safety is non-negotiable.”

Satisfied, Gabriel turned back to Nathalie, his mask of authority slipping just enough to show a hint of genuine concern. “Nathalie, while I understand you’ve suffered no injuries, I still encourage you to rest. If only to keep my—” he caught himself, correcting quickly, “Adrien from worrying.”

“Yes, Sir,” Nathalie replied, nodding. She cast a quick glance at Adrien, whose grip on her hand had loosened slightly. The guilt churned in her stomach, but she pushed it down, bowing her head as she stepped toward the door.

As she exited the room, her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of relief and dread swirling together. Somehow, she’d managed to keep her lies intact. For now.

---

Chloe was an impatient person. She was innately talented in calculating the precise amount of time that a task was supposed to take, and how much the working party was screwing up. She’d perfected this when dining at the best restaurants, dividing the staff between the twenty-minute workers, the donkey-headed fuck ups who had probably ended up burning her food and the cocky over-eager morons who tried to cheat with a microwave. There was an almost prophetic ability to visualize the entire journey of what she wanted getting to her that she was quite proud of.

She knew Lila Rossi had pinged outside ‘Valentine’s Bare and Care’ salon twenty minutes ago when texting Chloe back about their bet. The distance between Valentine’s and the grand hotel was a ten-minute walk with a five-minute margin of error, barring Lila using transportation that Chloe knew she didn’t have and extreme foot traffic which Chloe knew was low today.

All in all, the conditions were optimal for the most efficient walk Lila could get today; and yet Lila was late by, at best, five minutes. Which was completely unacceptable when Chloe Bourgeois was concerned.

On an unrelated note, Chloe was still failing maths.

A minute later, adding the total to a whopping 6 minutes of failure, a knock finally came upon her door. She held her hand out limply for Sabrina to remain seated, agonizing over Chloe’s latest report, while Chloe strutted down to the door to meet the tardy woman herself.

At least, she thought she was meeting the woman herself.

It took Chloe a moment or two to realize that she was looking up at ‘Lila’, as apparently she’d grown an extra few inches. And she’d seemingly replaced her obvious wig with a red cap. And her face kind of looked like a turtle. And she was suddenly a man.

…

Oh.

“You’re not Lila.” Chloe concluded with narrowed eyes. Before the strange boy had a chance to subject her to whatever clusterfuck of a voice he had, Chloe promptly slammed the door in his face and called over to Sabrina. “Sabrina, there’s some lost little turtle guy outside. What do I do?”

Sabrina looked up from her papers thoughtfully, tapping the end of her pencil against he cheek. “I think that’s Nino, Chlo.”

Chloe pursed her lips and opened the door again, looking the boy up and down curiously before yet again slamming it shut. She was confused.

“…What the fuck is a ‘Nino’?” She asked.

“He’s Adrien’s best friend.”

Chloe’s face contorted with exaggerated disbelief. "But I’m Adrikins’ best friend."

Sabrina nodded patiently. "He’s one of Adrien’s… guy friends, Chloe. You know, like, a different category?"

Chloe considered this for a moment, her head tilting as she processed the concept. She gestured vaguely toward the door. "But what’s he doing here?"

Before Sabrina could respond, the knocking came again, followed by a voice from the other side. "Uh… I’m here bec—"

Chloe squealed, her hands flying up in mock panic as she kicked the door shut, cutting Nino off mid-sentence. She spun back to Sabrina, eyes wide. "I did not give him permission to speak to me!"

Chloe spun on her heel, pacing back toward the couch while gesturing animatedly to Sabrina. “Okay, first of all, Adrien has other friends?” She wrinkled her nose like she’d just sniffed bad perfume. “Since when does Adrikins hang out with… I don’t know, whatever that is?”

Sabrina, who had been diligently scribbling notes, paused to offer a gentle correction. “Well, Chloe, Nino’s been his best friend since school started? He’s in our class.”

Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “Ugh, like I pay attention to everyone in class. My brain doesn’t have room for trivia, Sabrina.” She leaned against the armrest dramatically. “Anyway, what does Adrien’s personal turtle-person want from me?”

A muffled knock came from the door again, followed by Nino’s exasperated voice. “Chloe, c’mon! I just need a second—”

“Silence!” Chloe barked, flinging a throw pillow in the door’s general direction. “I will address you when I’m good and ready, you uninvited interloper!” She turned back to Sabrina, her arms crossed. “See? This is why I hate dealing with… normal people. They have no concept of etiquette.”

Sabrina adjusted her glasses and looked apologetically toward the door. “Maybe he has something important to say, Chloe?”

Chloe scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “If it’s so important, why didn’t Adrien just call me himself? Or better yet, come here?” She frowned, suddenly suspicious. “Wait. Is Adrien okay? Did something happen?”

“Uh…” Sabrina hesitated, clearly unsure if she should encourage Chloe’s budding concern.

Chloe marched back to the door and yanked it open, glaring at Nino, who was mid-knock. “You!” she snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Explain yourself. And if this is some sort of prank, I will destroy you.”

"Lila sent you?" Chloe froze, her perfectly manicured finger still pointed at Nino as his words registered. “But I was supposed to enjoy humiliating her!”

Nino nodded, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Yeah, she said she couldn’t make it today. Something about, uh, having to deal with her sick mom."

Chloe’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was too stunned to respond. Then, with a dramatic scoff, she threw her head back and let out a loud, incredulous laugh. "Oh, please! Are you seriously telling me you bought that ridiculous excuse? Sabrina, do you hear this?"

Sabrina looked up from her notebook, a bit startled. "I… um, yes, Chloe. I heard."

"Her sick mom?" Chloe repeated, dragging the words out in mockery. She spun back to Nino, hands on her hips. "Do you even realize how stupid you sound right now? That is the oldest trick in the book. I’ve heard more convincing lies from kindergarteners."

 Nino replied earnestly, crossing his arms. "Lila’s going through a tough time, and she asked me to step in for her. I mean, yeah, being your, uh… ‘assistant’ for the week isn’t exactly my idea of fun, but a friend’s gotta do what a friend’s gotta do, right?"

Chloe looked him up and down, utterly baffled. "You… You actually volunteered to take her place? Volunteered. Like, on purpose."

"Yup," Nino said, grinning. "Anything for a friend."

Chloe opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but the words caught in her throat. She stared at Nino, her brain struggling to process the sheer audacity of his optimism.

Sabrina put her hands together. "Well, that’s… Very kind of you, Nino."

"Kind? No, no, no." Chloe waved her hands dramatically, as if physically rejecting the idea. "This isn’t kindness, Sabrina. This is idiocy. Utterly, ridiculous idiocy!"

Nino just shrugged, unbothered. "Call it what you want. I’m just here to help out."

Chloe squinted at him, searching for any sign of sarcasm or guile. Finding none, she let out a frustrated groan and flopped onto the couch, throwing an arm over her face. "I cannot deal with this level of stupid today."

"Hey, no need to be rude," Nino said, though his tone remained light. "I’m just trying to make this whole thing easier for everyone."

"Easier?" Chloe shot back, sitting up abruptly. "Do you have any idea what you’ve just signed up for? I was going to make Lila regret existing this week! And now—now I’m stuck with you! I don’t even know who you are, and despite my best efforts, humiliating a stranger isn’t as good as humiliating some know-it-all skank whose plan only got you chewed out by Paris’ finest fashion designer."

 Nino opened his arms with a cheerful smile. "Look, I get it. You’re probably upset Lila bailed on you, but hey, I’m here now. So… What do you want me to do first?"

Chloe stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Sabrina, meanwhile, was stifling a giggle behind her notebook.

After a long pause, Chloe let out a defeated sigh and flopped back onto the couch. "You know what? Fine. Whatever. Do… Do some spring cleaning or whatever, the balcony has paint all over it. I officially don’t care anymore."

"Cool," Nino said, grinning. "Thanks, Chloe! This’ll be fun."

Chloe let out a loud groan, burying her face in a pillow. "This is literally going to be my nightmare."

---

Chloe had no good will towards Lila before, but today was really what cemented that Lila had a place on her shit list, because this boy was insufferable. For the past two hours, she’d given him chore after chore, and he… Just did it. It wasn’t the best results, and she needed to personally coach him on the precise science of what to put in the washing machine because, by God, she would burn the world if he put the colours in with the whites again, but he still just did it. Almost happily so!

She’d practically had a coronary. And yet, he hadn’t even flinched when she tore into him about it, nodding along as if she were giving him a TED Talk instead of a tongue-lashing.

Even her petty revenge tactics had failed spectacularly. She spent nearly half an hour having him move the sofa back and forth by mere inches, demanding precision, expecting at least a sigh of frustration. But no. Nando had just done it, flashing her a goofy thumbs-up every time she approved or rejected the new placement.

No complaints, no talking back, no grumbling, he just kept helping her. He wasn’t paid to be here, he had nothing to prove, he wasn’t like the staff who were contractually obligated to tolerate her. Even ‘golden boy’ Adrien would roll his eyes and get little jabs in here and there.

How do you humiliate someone who doesn’t seem to have any shame?

Currently, she was troubleshooting insults, but even her most pointed barbs were falling on deaf ears. She called him a dummy, and somehow, he thought she was calling him a clothes mannequin and made some dumb joke about Adrien being the model. She learned what the word ‘illiterate’ meant just to throw it at him, only for him to reply that reading textbooks makes him feel sick sometimes too.

Chloe lounged on the sofa, her arms crossed as she glared at Nacho from across the room. He was currently wiping down the windows, humming to himself, seemingly impervious to her scorn. It was maddening.

Chloe threw a throw pillow across the room in frustration, narrowly missing Sabrina. "This is impossible!" she declared.

Sabrina, who had been quietly observing the chaos, tilted her head. "What is, Chloe?"

"This boy!" Chloe gestured dramatically toward Ned. "I have given him every chore I can think of. I have insulted his intelligence, his literacy, his entire existence! And yet…" She trailed off, glaring at Nate, who had just finished polishing the window and was now wiping his hands on a rag, still humming. "…He just takes it. He doesn’t even react!"

Nathan turned toward them, tossing the rag over his shoulder. "All done, Chloe. What’s next?" he asked cheerfully, his grin wide and genuine.

Chloe stared at him, her brain short-circuiting. "I… I don’t… You’re done when I say you’re done!" she snapped, flustered.

"Cool, cool," He replied easily. "Just let me know, then. I’m gonna grab a drink of water real quick. Don’t want me sweating all over your nice fancy stuff!"

As he sauntered off to the kitchen, Chloe turned back to Sabrina, utterly exasperated. “It’s like trying to make a brick wall cry.”

“Well, some people aren’t as smart as you, Chloe.” Sabrina shrugged, “Your insults are too smart for them.”

Chloe stroked her chin, humming. “So, I have to spell it out for him? How dare he make me spell!”

Neil emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water, glancing at Chloe as she fumed on the couch. He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Do you need a towel, Chloe? You’re looking a little red there."

Chloe shot upright, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "No, Nevil, what I need you to do is listen."

Nico blinked, taking a casual sip of water. "Listen to what?"

"Didn’t you just hear what I said?" Chloe snapped. "I’ve yet again not called you by your name."

"Yeah, so?" He replied with a shrug.

Chloe’s jaw dropped in disbelief. "So? So!? Doesn’t that piss you off?"

"Not really," He said, utterly unfazed. "I give people loving nicknames all the time."

“It’s not loving! There’s nothing loving about it!" She stood and gestured wildly for emphasis. "I’m not using your name because I think so little of you that I won’t even give you the basic respect of remembering one little word. Because I dislike you, because I don’t care about your feelings. It’s not a term of endearment—it’s an insult!"

Nick paused, tilting his head. "Oh."

"Oh!?" Chloe threw her hands up. "That’s all you have to say?"

"I mean…" Nigel rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. "It hurts a little, but I can’t fault someone for not liking me."

"Of course you can!" Chloe exploded. "I fault everyone who doesn’t like me because I’m fucking awesome!"

"Guess I just don’t have that self-confidence," He replied easily.

"Ego," Chloe corrected, her tone dripping with condescension. "It’s called ego." She began pacing again, her frustration mounting. "I’m belittling you here! I’m making you do stupid, tedious things and treating you like crap; why are you so chill about this?!"

"I don’t like doing this," He admitted. "But I like helping people out. Makes me feel useful. I’ve… Uh, been told that I’m too needy lately and don’t give much back."

Chloe froze mid-step, spinning around to face him. "How can you be too needy? What brain-dead moron told you that?"

"W-Well," He stammered, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "it started when I wanted to confess to Alya—"

Chloe cut him off with a delighted laugh. "Wait, wait, wait; you got rejected by Alya?" She burst into another fit of laughter, holding her stomach as she doubled over. "Ha! I didn’t even know that she had standards!"

Her laugh abruptly cut out to turn to Sabrina. "Sabrina, you’re supposed to laugh when I laugh."

Sabrina glanced up from her notebook, startled. "Oh. Sorry." She forced a laugh, but it was stilted and awkward.

Chloe scowled, waving her hand dismissively. "Ugh, it’s too late; now it’s just weird."

Nixon, still standing there, smiled sheepishly. "Glad my misery could bring some joy, I guess?"

Chloe glared at him. "Don’t make this about you, Noah." She paused, letting out an exaggerated groan as she slumped back in her chair. "This is just depressing," she muttered, shaking her head. "You should be furious."

"You think this makes you look noble and good?" Chloe continued, throwing her hands up to strangle an invisible neck. "That there’s something heroic about smiling while someone treats you like trash? Well, there isn't. You should be willing to fight for yourself."

Sabrina let out a thoughtful gasp. "You know, out of context, that actually sounds like half-decent advice."

Chloe’s eyes snapped toward her with a sharp glare. "Sabrina, don’t get mouthy just because he’s distracting me."

"Sorry, Chloe," Sabrina muttered, quickly looking down at her notebook.

Chloe turned back to Nino, her gaze hardening as she leaned in, scrutinizing him closely. Nino blinked innocently, offering her nothing more than an expression of blank confusion. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Chloe nodded to herself as her conclusion bloomed, her lips curling into a devious smile.

"Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles, her voice firm. "I’ve made up my mind."

"Huh?" Nino asked, still unsure of what was happening.

Chloe snapped her fingers before throwing her hand out, pointing down at him in the midst of striking a triumphant pose. “You’re my new project."

Nino’s eyes widened. "I’m your what now?"

Chloe reached out and grabbed his face, her fingers sinking into his cheeks as she squeezed, twisting his expression like she was moulding clay. Nino’s startled, innocent blink only seemed to fuel her madness.

"You," Chloe said slowly, her grin growing ever wider, "are an utter failure of a person. A walking rubber that’s too lame to even be offended." She leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with manic determination. "I have a week. If I’m gonna break you, I’m gonna have to build you up first."

Nino, still a bit dazed, tilted his head. "You want to help me get more self-confidence?" He grinned slightly. "Huh, Adrien’s right. You do have a nicer side in there somewhere."

Chloe’s expression faltered for a brief second. She shook her head, exasperated. "I feel like you’re completely missing the part where this is just so I can actually hurt you."

Nino blinked again, entirely oblivious. "Oh... Okay?"

"Urg," Chloe muttered under her breath, throwing his head back down and slinking away. "Get back to work. You’re exhausting."

Nino, however, didn’t seem too bothered. “Oh wait, one more thing. What did you want me to do with this?”

He pulled something from his pocket, holding it up between them. It was a bracelet with green accents and white insides, made to resemble a turtle shell. A strange, almost electric energy seemed to pulse from it, as if it contained a power far greater than its simple appearance suggested.

"Uh, I fished this out of the pool earlier," Nino said, holding it out with a sheepish grin. "Thought you might like it. Looks all fancy and everything."

Chloe blinked at it, her expression one of utter disdain. "What are you, mad?" she scoffed. "What would I want this green, made-in-China-looking turtle shit for when my colour scheme is obviously yellow? You know, ‘cus I’m a queen bee?"

Nino looked down at the bracelet, his smile still unwavering. "Uh, I guess... I mean, it's still a pretty cool bracelet. And you can always change the color."

Chloe glared at him, the annoyance on her face growing. "No," she snapped, brushing it away as though it were beneath her. "It’s ugly and completely useless."

And just like that, the powerful, priceless miraculous of protection was casually lobbed off the roof of the grand hotel by Chloe Bourgeois, landing in the back of a garbage truck.

Notes:

Our first wild miraculous and it's immediately thrown in the trash. Wyzz is not having a good time. Just where is he gonna end up?

Chapter 23: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Summary:

Nathalie schemes, Chloe tries to teach Nino insults, and Adrien and Gabriel stumble into Paris' very own vigilante group.
Alya, Adrien and Marinette:

The moon hung low over the Foggy City, casting its ghostly glow on the wet cobblestones below. A sea of trench coats and fedoras moved like a restless tide through the mist, the clicking of polished boots and the hum of cheap cigars cutting through the quiet.

In the middle of it all stood Miss Darling, perched daintily on the edge of a grand clocktower’s ledge, her saphire scarf fluttering dramatically in the cold night air. She cocked a hip and adjusted her silver gloves, a mischievous grin curling on her lips. The police floodlights bathed her in harsh white light, but instead of looking cornered, she looked like a starlet taking her final bow.

Below, the officers barked orders, bravado and grit spat out like harsh rainfall.

“Alright, boys, let’s wrap this up,” growled Detective Doyle, puffing on his last cigar stub. “Miss Darling’s run out of shadows to slink through.”

“Careful, Doyle,” quipped his partner, Officer Jenny, cocking her revolver. “This one’s slippery. Like butter on a skillet.”

“And twice as deadly,” muttered Doyle. “Don’t let her fool ya with that smile.”

From her perch, Miss Darling let out a melodious laugh, the kind that made you question your better judgment.

“I don’t suppose any of you fellas are interested in giving a gal a ride?” she called down, her voice a smooth purr.

Doyle scowled. “Yeah, we’ll give you a ride; straight to the slammer.”

“Guess your momma never taught you that crime doesn’t pay.”

Before anyone could react, Miss Darling sprang into action. With a fluid motion, she unfurled her scarf—a comically long cascade of blue silk that stretched farther than physics should allow. It whipped through the air with a snap, like a viper striking its prey, wrapping around the barrel of Jenny’s revolver and yanking it free.

“The only crime I’ve ever committed is stealing the show.” Darling quipped, winking.

Nathalie peered over the corner of her laptop, bemused at the sight of her kwami’s head peeking through a box of popcorn, utterly transfixed by the television screen where ‘Miss Darling’ was somehow sending bull-chested men flying with a thin scarf.

She leaned back in her own seat, eyes glancing back at the multiple tiring tabs opened on her screen. For once in her life, she’d called in for an indeterminate amount of sick days – and since it wasn’t actually days off and just a smokescreen for her activities as Mayura, she still had actual work to do.

Her hours had been spent going over the basics with Dusuu about the Peacock’s capabilities, scanning through the Ladyblog and the Akuma Corner for any reports of strange, possibly miraculous related, activity, writing up a multi-page essay on how to ensure that Gabriel doesn’t end up murdering her – and a couple of stickmen drawings of annoying stick people having their limbs torn apart because she was at her wits ends.

With a sigh, she shut her laptop and took her third cup of coffee over to Dusuu by the sofa, where Miss Darling had just finished throwing a knife into the barrel of a gun just as it was firing, causing it to explode in Doyle’s hand.

Nathalie plopped down next to Dusuu, groaning “I can’t believe you’re watching this junk, Dusuu.”

“Aren’t you a fan too, Miss Nathalie?” Dusuu’s muffled voice asked through a mountain of popcorn. “I found all the DvDs in your cupboard.”

Nathalie scoffed, “Yeah, when I was a young, desperate, brooding teenager.”

“What are you now, exactly?”

Nathalie grumbled, “…A middle-aged, desperate, brooding adult.”

Back on the screen, Miss Darling was now grappling with a group of officers, her scarf coiling around their legs in an almost comical fashion. One by one, they toppled like dominoes. Doyle cursed under his breath, leveling a glare up at her as she ascended a fire escape with the scarf's help, her laughter ringing out in the fog.

“Wow, Miss Darling is so cool!” Dusuu chirped, hopping up and down. “And I love her hat! Can Mayura get a hat?”

Nathalie groaned, rubbing her temples. “No, we both know I’m terrible with hats. They get in the way.”

Dusuu wasn’t deterred. Sbe leapt onto the coffee table, striking as dramatic a pose as she could muster with such tiny limbs and pointing at the television with both wings. “Can she have a scarf, then? Then you can do the whip thing! Wapoosh!”

Nathalie arched an eyebrow at her, unimpressed.

“Look!” Dusuu insisted, gesturing toward the screen. “She even has a feather! That’s, like, our whole thing!”

Nathalie sipped her coffee and gave a firm shake of her head. “We’re not changing Mayura’s costume. We’re using the Peacock to be efficient, not to show off.”

Dusuu tilted her head, blinking innocently. “…But I thought you stole the Peacock so you could show off to Gabriel?”

“Prove myself,” Nathalie corrected sharply. “I said prooooove myself.”

Dusuu fluttered closer, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

Nathalie narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“Oh. Okay,” Dusuu said, with a small shrug of acceptance before her tone turned playful again. “So, how are we gonna prooooove anything? Gabriel’s gonna be pretty mad if you tell him that you stole the miraculous.”

Nathalie sighed deeply, setting her mug down on the table. “Which is why the truth is going to wait,” she said, folding her arms. “First, we claim one of the wild Miraculous that escaped the Miracle Box—preferably while making Ladybug and Volpina look like fools. That’ll showcase how competent an asset we are.”

Dusuu buzzed in place, her excitement mounting. “Ooooh, I like it! And then?”

“And then,” Nathalie said with a small, wry smile, “we reveal our true nature to him. Once he sees how effective we can be, he’ll have no choice but to acknowledge our worth.”

Dusuu squealed with glee, zipping through the air in a spiral of excitement. She clasped her wings together, spinning around as if she were in the middle of the drama herself. “And then he’ll see you in a new light, music will start playing, he’ll sweep you up into his arms and tell you how blind he’s been all this time!”

She pressed her paw to her forehead, falling back and fainting into the coffee table with a  dramatic gasp. “And you’ll both hesitate, wondering if it’s right, but then Adrien will yell at him to kiss you already, and then, and then—”

“Dusuu!” Nathalie’s sharp tone cut through the kwami’s fantasy, and Dusuu froze mid-flight, her cheeks glowing faintly blue with embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Nathalie,” Dusuu said sheepishly, fiddling with her tiny talons. “But I can’t help but daydream—I’m so excited for you!”

Nathalie pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Don’t get caught up in the love story in your head, Dusuu. Gabriel only has eyes for one woman, and we’re bringing her back to him.”

Dusuu’s wings drooped slightly, and she hovered just above the couch cushion, her usual energy subdued. “Yeah, but she was gonna du—”

The kwami caught herself, snapping her beak shut with a guilty expression and offering Nathalie an awkward smile.

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. “What was that, Dusuu? Finish your thought.”

Dusuu hesitated, her gaze darting away before she reluctantly met Nathalie’s expectant stare. “I was just gonna say that… love can always change, you know? There’s always a chance… for you…”

Nathalie sat back, folding her arms as her expression turned unreadable. “Okay?” she said after a beat, her voice calm but firm. “That’s beside the point. We’re doing this to help Gabriel and Adrien, not ourselves.”

“Right, right. Helping them. Got it.” Dusuu nodded quickly, her wings buzzing again, though there was a thoughtful look in her eyes. “But, uh, how are we gonna get to a wild miraculous first? They could pop up anywhere.”

Nathalie reached for the remote, shutting off the television, much to Dusuu’s disappointment, before rising to her feet with a curt nod. “Which is why we’ll need eyes everywhere.”

She snapped her fingers, motioning for Dusuu to rise up with her. And the kwami answered the call, popcorn exploding in every direction as the kwami emerged at tip speed and looped around Nathalie’s shoulders.

“Dusuu,” Even just saying the name felt powerful on Nathalie’s lips, rising like a booming echo. “Spread my feathers!”

Gabriel had always described the transformation as a relief, like dropping into your bed after a long work out and knowing you’d not have to work yourself so hard for at least another day or two. The miraculous magic worked over her muscles, smoothing out every imperfection, stripping that idealized version of herself that she kept buried in the back of her mind and giving it a form.

Mayura was brought to life in one dazzling exhale, her pristine blue skin practically lighting up the bare-bones apartment with it’s glow in the absence of Nathalie’s cynicism and exhaustion to darken it. Gabriel was right to say that there was a distinct difference in assuming the mask, often talking about Gabriel Agreste and Hawkmoth like they were two separate people.

Now, Nathalie didn’t have as much separation between the two identities, she’d like to say she was comfortable with her sense of self, but there was certainly that feeling of something taking the driver’s seat; a gaggle of now unbound desires she would never dare let show in her regular life.

Smoothly, she withdrew her fan from the depths of her dress, a spread of feathers unfurling before her eyes with one simple flick of the wrist. One feather was plucked from the fan and, quite gently, she pressed her lips to it like she was kissing a child’s forehead. Under her lips, the amok burst to life with dark, emotional energy poured from her desire to reach out and see all she needed to see.

With one gentle breath, the amok took flight, landing on the tv remote propped up on the sofa arm.

“Fly away, little amok, and give me sight unrivalled.” Mayura called out, her hands taking the role of a conductor as she spread them wide and guided the newfound sentimonster to it’s full potential. Out of the either, a form materialized, that of a purple butterfly with stretched out eyes embedded into its wings.

“Optigami, I am Mayura. And you are the key to my victory.”

---

Alya wasn't ready for today. Which was a feat considering that she'd made it her mission to be ready for anything since the magical butterfly man started waging a war against teenagers in the streets of Paris, but that was nothing compared to... This.

“Everyone else is seeing this, right?”

Alya couldn't help but do another double take at the sight before her, convinced that it was merely a deception of the sun's glare hurting her sight, or Marinette and Adrien's heads hiding some important detail as they sat on top step of Dupont's entrance.

“Yup.” Marinette said simply, unphased. How was she so casual about this?

Adrien just shrugged. Shrugged! Like he just accepted it all.

She'd ask Nino his opinion, but he was missing from their little group today. Because he was right in front of them, with Chloe. Nino was socializing with Chloe. In what universe did this make sense?

“Why is Nino with Chloe?” Alya burst out with a wheezy edge, grasping both of her friends by the shoulders.

“He’s taking the punishment for some bet Chloe had with Lila.” Adrien popped a macaroon in his mouth, chewing on the thought for a moment before simply replying with another shrug. “And apparently he did too good a job that she needs to give him enough pride so that she can hurt him for real.”

Alya could do nothing but stare down at the boy as he so casually chowed down on baked goods while knowingly announcing that his best friend was being set up to be bullied. “Should…” She leaned closer, feeling like a the only sane person here. “Should we be worried?”

“I don’t know?” Marinette leaned back, stretching out her hand to snatch one of Adrien’s treats. On any other day, Alya would find it cute. “She’s trying to teach him how to insult people.”

A deadpan stare was all that Alya could muster. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”

Adrien chuckled. “She’s not doing too good.”

“I don’t really understand it, but it is surprisingly entertaining.” Marinette leaned forward with a thoughtful hum, locking in like she was watching a football match. “If I’d had known that Nino’s patience would be Chloe kryptonite, I’d have unleashed him on her years ago.”

The odd trio drew closer to the stairs, Chloe tugging Nino along by his collar while Sabrina made notes. “Ugh! No, no, no! You can’t just say, ‘Your shoes are a little scuffed.’ You have to own it!” Chloe badgered on to Nino’s invested, but confused, stare. “Try, ‘Your shoes are so scuffed, they look like you fought a bear and lost!’”

Nino stroke his chin curiously, making no effort to put away her grabbing hands. “But… what if they did fight a bear? That’d be kind of cool, wouldn’t it?”

Chloe groaned. “They’re not cool!”

“They can’t be cool, otherwise they’re better than you.” She mimed pushing non-existant glasses further up her nose, continuing her lecture. “You have to put them down and remind them of their place because you’re better than them.”

Nino scratched his head, “You think I’m better than a guy who could fight a bear?” He let out a soft whistle. “Geez, that’s a lot of pressure…”

“…Am I dreaming?” Alya’s fingers naturally pinched at her skin, “This has to be a dream.”

 Marinette triumphantly grinned, “If it is, it’s my favourite one.”

“Honestly, I think this is the most productive I’ve ever seen Chloe.” Adrien mused.

Chloe’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and commanding. “Alright, forget the shoes! Let’s try something simpler. Say, ‘Your jacket looks like it came from a discount bin.’”

Nino furrowed his brow, genuinely contemplating. “But what if they’re proud of saving money? Bargains are kind of awesome.”

Chloe rubbed her temples. “I am surrounded by idiots! How does anyone tolerate this?!”

Adrien snickered under his breath. “She’s cracking.”

Alya raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I don’t get it. Why’s she even trying to ‘teach’ him? Isn’t this just humiliating for her?”

Marinette leaned back against the steps with a laugh. “Oh, it totally is. But Chloe doesn’t know how to quit. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion—you know it’s a mess, but you just can’t look away.”

Chloe stabbed a finger into his chest. “Listen here, Nando, if you don’t stop overthinking and start insulting, I’m going to—”

“Apologize?” Nino interrupted with an easy grin.

Chloe froze, visibly horrified at the suggestion. “What?! No! Why would I ever apologize?”

Nino shrugged. “I mean, you’ve been calling me an idiot for like an hour. It’s almost hurtful.”

Chloe’s mouth flapped open and closed like a goldfish as she struggled to come up with a retort. Alya bit back a laugh, leaning over to whisper to Marinette. “How much do you think he’s doing this on purpose?”

Marinette snorted. “Oh, at least 30 percent.”

Adrien grinned, adding, “And the other 70 percent is just Nino being Nino.”

As Chloe and Nino reached the trio, Chloe’s frustration was practically radiating off her in waves. Her perfectly polished nails drummed impatiently against her hip as she huffed dramatically, standing just a few steps away. Sabrina scurried to her side, producing a small pointing stick from her ever-ready bag of Chloe-support supplies.

Chloe gestured to the group lounging on the stairs with an air of disdain. “Alright, peasants, move it! You’re in the way of my protégé’s royal procession.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “There’s plenty of room to go around us, Chloe.”

“Plenty of room?” Chloe scoffed, whipping around to face Nino with exaggerated disbelief. “Do you hear this? Kings do not move for peasants, Nando. They stay firm, like an island, and the ocean moves around them!”

Adrien smirked, biting into another macaroon. “Pretty sure islands don’t have legs.”

“Quiet, Adrien!” Chloe snapped, turning her attention back to Nino. She snatched the pointing stick from Sabrina and thrust it toward Marinette’s face like she was a teacher demonstrating a critical lesson. “Now, repeat after me: ‘Step aside, peasants, and make way for your king!’”

Marinette crossed her arms, barely leaning back as the stick tapped against the tip of her nose. Alya, meanwhile, was visibly restraining herself from grabbing the stick and snapping it in half.

Nino scratched his head, clearly unbothered by the whole ordeal. “So… what you’re saying is, I’m a king?” he asked cheerfully.

Chloe threw her hands up in exasperation. “Yes! You’re a king! The best king! Now act like it!”

Nino turned back to his friends with a wide grin. “You hear that? I’m a king.”

Alya blinked. “A king of what, exactly?”

“Uh, patience, probably?” Marinette quipped with a snort.

Adrien laughed, raising his macaron in a mock toast. “Long live King Nino!”

Chloe groaned, her face scrunching up like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Ugh, you’re all hopeless! This is why you’ll never rise above being commoners.” She jabbed the stick back at Sabrina. “Take notes, Sabrina: Everyone needs to learn how to bow to my protégés properly.”

Sabrina scribbled furiously in her notebook while Nino leaned down to his friends, whispering loud enough for Chloe to hear. “I think I’m the most chill king there’s ever been.”

Adrien smirked. “You’re definitely setting a precedent.”

Marinette leaned forward, her grin conspiratorial. “How about a royal decree that Chloe gets off our backs?”

Chloe’s sharp gasp could have shattered glass. “Excuse me?!”

Nino turned to her with an easy shrug. “Hey, it’s what the people want.”

The trio burst into laughter as Chloe sputtered in indignation, pointing stick clutched tightly in her hand like it might somehow restore her dignity. Sabrina, sensing the tides turning, quietly tucked the stick back into her bag.

Chloe’s frustration was palpable. Her fingers tightened around the pointing stick, her eyes narrowing in exasperation. “Nino, you’re supposed to act like a king. Insult the peasants you hate!”

Nino, however, remained completely unfazed, casually leaning against the stairs with a grin. “I mean, I don’t see why insults are only for people who hate each other. My mom insults her boyfriends all the time. So…” He shrugged nonchalantly.

His words hung in the air like an awkward fog nobody wanted to bring attention to, leaving the gang all trading awkward glances while Nino remained oblivious. No one seemed willing to dive deeper into the topic, and the conversation came to an uncomfortable halt. Chloe’s jaw tightened, and even Sabrina’s scribbling stopped for a second as they all processed the strange comment.

Alya leaned over to Marinette to whisper “Are Nino’s parents divorced? I didn’t know that.”

Marinette, with a sudden chipped tone, shot back. “Not everything is your business, Alya.”

“Anyway, Adrien,” Chloe said sweetly, sweeping away the awkwardness to round on Adrien. She fluttered her eyelashes and leaned in slightly. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. A lot. I mean, like, all the time.”

Adrien blinked, his mouth half full with another bite of his macaroon, his eyes wide with surprise. “Huh. I don’t think about you much at all.”

The words came out so nonchalantly, so innocently, that it took a beat for everyone to realize exactly what had just happened.

The silence that followed was broken first by a burst of laughter from Marinette. “See? Adrien’s getting a hang of the emotional damage thing, and he’s not even your student, Chloe.”

Chloe’s face turned crimson, the words sinking in like a thousand daggers. She blinked, her mouth working as if searching for the right response, but none came. Instead, her frustration festered as she let out an exaggerated scoff.

“No one asked you, Marinette,” she muttered, though the sting of Adrien’s offhand remark had clearly landed.

Nino, still not picking up on the social nuances, leaned over to Adrien with a grin. “You know, it’s pretty impressive how much emotional damage you can do without even trying. I should take notes.”

Adrien chuckled. “Yeah, it’s all about timing, man.”

Marinette grinned, patting Adrien on the back. “Well, it’s nice to know someone’s finally teaching Adrien the ropes.”

Chloe shot a glare at them all, but instead of pressing the issue, she sighed dramatically. “You know, this is why I don’t hang out with you guys. You’re all so... Toxic.”

Alya sniggered. “I thought it was because we were peasants.”

“Chloe, if you want someone to adore you, why don’t you go find Kim?” Marinette asked.

Nino snorted, “We already bumped into Kim. Chloe said she’d consider a date if he could do three hundred laps around the Eiffel Tower.” He scratched his cheeks, brows furrowing. “Though I don’t get how he’s gonna do that when the tower’s closed to visitors for the Mayor’s big charity event.”

“No, no… That’s the point.” Chloe added, “He can’t.”

“I dunno,” Adrien squinted into the horizon, probably envisioning Kim rushing through the streets at this very moment. “I don’t think the law has ever stopped Kim from doing insane crap.”

“It doesn’t matter, it got him off my back.” Chloe shrugged, “His little girlfriend was getting jealous.”

Alya rolled her eyes, “Pretty sure Alix would break your kneecaps if she caught you calling her that.”

Nino threw his arms around Alya and Chloe, bring both of the girls uncomfortably close together. “You know, I think you guys should all come and play some Mech Stike matches some time. You’d see how real insults work.”

---

Adrien had always assumed that his father’s combat prowess came from the miraculous as, prior to the Hawkmoth reveal, Adrien had never considered his father a man of violence. Gabriel Agreste was a man with too much pride in his appearance to believe anyone was worth getting ‘down’ on the level of for a personal confrontation, he’d disarm you with words and dismiss you with spite.

Today, Adrien found out that he was wrong, as his father yet again poised the end of a foil against Adrien’s chest, claiming a point.

The two pulled apart and returned to their starting positions, Adrien watching his father pull into a readied stance with renewed curiosity. “I didn’t know you were a fencer, Father.”

Gabriel peered down at his blade, examining it down to the hilt. “I would never send you into a sport that I myself hadn’t studied for safety hazards.”

He called for engagement and the two lunged for each other, the screams of scraping metal bellowing throughout the empty hall. Gabriel had convinced D'Argencourt to lend them the fencing hall for an hour, a private space out of the mansion where they could spar without having to worry about wondering ears. Adrien had been anxious of the idea at first, but by the time the third round rolled around, and Gabriel had him sweating like a pig, Adrien could only find himself beaming behind the mask.

Gabriel’s movements were methodical and deliberate, a calculated elegance that mirrored his approach to life. Adrien lunged, hoping to catch his father off guard, but Gabriel parried with ease, his counterattack swift and decisive. Adrien barely managed to deflect the strike, retreating a step to reassess.

Adrien’s strikes were fast and forceful, but Gabriel countered with an almost unnerving calm, his blade moving as if he’d already read Adrien’s intentions.

Adrien gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow beneath the mask. His father’s form was impeccable—straight-backed, composed, and relentless. Where Adrien relied on instinct and improvisation, Gabriel’s style was a masterclass in strategy.

“Your movements are too erratic,” Gabriel remarked as he sidestepped a thrust, his blade once again finding its mark against Adrien’s chest.

Adrien groaned, stepping back to reset. “I guess that’s the difference between us.”

Gabriel lowered his foil, tilting his head in mild curiosity. “Oh?”

Adrien removed his mask, his face flushed from exertion but lit with a thoughtful smile. “You’re all about control. Every step, every strike—it’s like you’ve planned it ten moves ahead.”

“And you?” Gabriel asked, his tone more indulgent than Adrien expected.

Adrien chuckled, shaking out his arms. “I just… Go. I think on my feet, trust my gut, and hope for the best.”

Gabriel allowed a faint smile to grace his lips, though it was more a shadow of amusement than anything outright. “Perhaps that’s why you lose.”

Adrien laughed, but there was no malice in the exchange—only a rare sense of camaraderie between father and son. “Or maybe it’s why I win when it really counts.”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered with something—pride, perhaps, or maybe curiosity. “Shall we test that theory?”

With a nod, Adrien replaced his mask, gripping his foil tightly. The two returned to their starting positions, the tension in the air now laced with mutual respect.

The round quick pushed Adrien onto the backfoot, fully falling back on his Chat Noir muscle memory to dodge the precise stabs of Gabriel's foil. It was good reminder that he was without his enhanced reflexes and senses in this form, feeling so sluggish in comparison even if he did do just enough to dance around Gabriel's advance and prolong the match.

“I wonder if that’s why you’re fighting so aggressively.” Adrien commented as one swipe came close to his stomach before being batted away. “Because my instinct shakes your control.”

Gabriel scoffed at the notion, adding a small shake to his form that Adrien used as an opening to press upon, which only made Adrien grin more at managing to get under the man's skin. “I figured that you could afford a more advanced opponent.” He growled, the blades locking together under the declaration of their holders. “I won’t have Miss Tsugi catch you lacking when she returns from her trip.”

His usual sparring partner, and rival, was Kagami, but a few months back she’d been suddenly pulled out. Apparently her mother had some business overseas. It had surprised even Gabriel, especially when this meant that Miss Tsugi had to trust someone else to oversee her company in the meantime.

Adrien leaned close into his grip, face leering over Gabriel's as he pushed back. “Is that all?”

With one sudden, and probably illegal, shove Adrien sent his father stumbling back. It was against the rule, but when did villains play fair? “Are you sure it’s not about Nathalie?” He concluded and, somehow, he knew his father could just imagine the ungentlemanly grin on his face.

“She’s been on sick leave since Mayura’s attack.” He continued, watching his father pull himself back together. “Are you worried about her? I know I am.”

“It’s a mild fever and nothing more. She probably just wanted to have a break after all I’ve pushed her too.” Gabriel shook his head, assuming his stance, but Adrien could see how it shook, weighed down by uncertainty. “I won’t spit on her trust by assuming anything further.”

“It’s not wrong to worry, you know.” He let Gabriel make the first move this time, jumping off the mat to dodge around Gabriel's own disregard for the rules. It was a street duel now. “It’s like you said, she’s more than an assistant. She’s family.”

Around the gym, Gabriel pursued his son, unphased by the boy deciding to leap over chairs and run along the tops of tables in the middle of a fencing match. His eyes were only on the prize, on winning. “And what would you suggest I do? I’m not a doctor.”

Eventually, Adrien dropped low, kicking over a chair that Gabriel narrowly avoided stumbling into “You could check up on her – get her some chicken soup or something.”

“Ah yes, what every employee wants on their days off, a visit from their boss.”

Gabriel leaped over the fallen chair, but that only put him in the perfect position for Adrien to charge in and swipe. “You wouldn’t be going as her boss, but as her…” Gabriel barely managed to block in time as Adrien paused, the two staring each other down. “Friend.”

Another lock.

“Why aren’t you going?” Gabriel demanded in a voice that was more than a little childish.

“I already have.” Adrien deflected smoothly, both the accusation and Gabriel's attempt to break the lock, allowing him to easily push Gabriel back and put the man on the defensive. “And I think it’d mean more to her that you made the effort.”

For a straight minute, Adrien's strikes were perfect, precise yet unpredictable, easily batting away Gabriel's every attempt to scamper to a safe place. “I mean, she does a lot for us, but when’s the last time you did something for her?”

“What about-” Gabriel tried to raise his sword only to have it aggressively smacked out of his hand.

“The pancakes weren’t a favour; they were a health hazard.”

Gabriel was knocked back on his ass, disarmed and defenceless. “If you’re wrong, I’ll just look like a fool”

Adrien pressed the foil against his chest, heaving and lightly laughing at his victory. “Nathalie’s worth looking like a fool for, isn’t she?”

Gabriel looked away, unable to directly admit that Adrien was right, but Adrien knew that his true victory was in the scarlet blush tinging Gabriel's cheeks when he pulled off his mask.

“Cheeky little bastard…" The man who rarely swore muttered.

Adrien offered a hand and pulled Gabriel back to his feet, breathing a sigh of relief. "I have to admit, Kagami's never that intense..."

"Kagami also tends to stick to the rules of combat."

Adrien grinned as he leaned on his foil, watching Gabriel dust himself off with the kind of rigid dignity only his father could maintain after being bested. "Rules are overrated. Creativity wins the day."

Gabriel raised an unimpressed brow, retrieving his fallen foil with a measured grace. "That attitude may serve you well in your... extracurricular activities, but discipline is the foundation of true mastery."

Adrien chuckled, spinning his blade idly. "And yet, here you are, learning from me."

Gabriel gave a scoff that sounded more like a begrudging laugh, though he quickly covered it by clearing his throat. "One victory doesn’t make you a teacher, Adrien. I was merely... distracted."

"Oh, sure," Adrien teased, rolling his shoulders as he set his foil down. "I guess I shouldn’t mention that blush either, huh? I didn’t realize fencing was that strenuous for you, Father."

Gabriel shot him a sharp look, but there was no real malice in it—just the thin veneer of a man trying to maintain his composure. "Don’t push your luck."

Adrien grinned wider, enjoying the rare opportunity to see his father caught off guard. It wasn’t often Gabriel let his guard down enough for moments like this, and Adrien wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

"Seriously, though," Adrien said, his tone softening as he walked alongside his father toward the equipment rack. "You should check on her. Nathalie’s been there for us through everything, even when she didn’t have to be. She deserves to know we care."

Gabriel placed his foil back on the rack with a sigh, his expression unreadable. "I’ll consider it." He said at last, his voice quieter now, almost introspective.

Adrien smiled to himself, sensing the small victory. "That’s all I ask."

Gabriel glanced at his son, and for a moment, the stern lines of his face softened. "You’ve grown into quite the strategist, Adrien. Both on and off the mat."

Adrien tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, you know what they say—like father, like son."

Gabriel chuckled lightly, surprising even himself. "Perhaps. But don’t let it go to your head."

Adrien smirked as he grabbed his water bottle and slung his towel over his shoulder. "Too late."

Gabriel shook his head, but the faintest smile lingered on his lips as they exited the fencing hall together. For a fleeting moment, the distance between them didn’t feel so insurmountable.

As Gabriel and Adrien stepped into the crisp Parisian evening, the sound of raised voices and the scuffle of hurried feet filled the air. Just down the steps, they were met with a strange sight; two groups, one comprised entirely of adults in scuffed suits and the other a mix of men and teenagers in patched up biker jackets over plain clothes.

“What’s going on there?” Adrien asked.

Immediately, he felt Gabriel's hand gripping his shoulder and pushing him down in place, the man already catching that Chat Noir eagerness in the boy's eye.

“Gangs.” He spat out the word like a vile curse, “Adrien, stay back, this doesn’t concern us.”

A teenage girl, roughly around Adrien's age, was on the ground being held in the back by one of the younger members. At the head of the more colourful side stood a boy with wild hair and dirt smudged across his eyes. On his shoulder, Adrien could just glimpse 'F.F' emblazoned upon a depiction of broken chains.

"It's those 'Freedom Fighter' yuppies." Gabriel grumbled.

Adrien vaguely recalled the name from news reports and offhand comments from Alya, supposedly a group of vigilantes who rose in numbers after Ladybug's first appearance. The mentions were always sandwiched between reports on his and his father's exploits, so his attention was always divided, but he never thought he'd see them up close, nor that they'd be so young.

The head boy spat on the shoes of the more traditional looking gangster in front of him, shakily pointing to a strange-looking inhaler in the man's hands. “We told you to stop selling that crap around here.”

The girl cradling the injured member called over as well. “And to stop harassing our people!”

The injured one mumbled out “You tell ‘em Louie…”

The suited gangster sneered, holding up the inhaler mockingly. "You little punks think you run this block? You don’t own anything."

The man moved closer, but Louie, despite being half the man’s size, didn’t budge. Yet despite his defiance, Adrien could see the boy’s hand trembling.

"You’ve got five seconds to turn around and leave," The man warned, his voice steady despite the tension, pulling a baseball bat over his shoulder. "Or we make you leave."

Adrien’s body acted without thought, launching itself forward and down the steps.

“Adrien, stop!” Gabriel hissed behind him.

But his words were lost on a boy guided by instinct, hopping over the railing of the stairwell, landing into a roll that perfectly ended with him the rubbish bin. Without hesitation, or much of a plan in mind, Adrien ripped the lid off of the bin and threw it forward like a frisbee, watching it sail through the air before violently colliding with the gangster’s head.

The man stumbled back with a grunt of pain, clutching his temple, while his companions froze in shock.

Adrien stood tall, ignoring the slight twinge in his shoulder from the throw. His heart raced, adrenaline flooding his senses as he stepped between the two groups.

“Enough,” Adrien declared, his tone firm but steady, his Chat Noir confidence leaking into his civilian persona. He looked at the suited man, his green eyes blazing. “You’re done here. Go.”

Instead of taking the threat seriously, the man took one look at the teenage, non-superpowered, uptown brat and laughed. With one hand he fixed his bruised jaw, while with the other he readied his bat. “You’re gonna regret that…”

Adrien didn’t feel as confident anymore, but he didn’t back down. He tried to take a step forward, only to be forcefully yanked back by Gabriel who, with a sharp glare in tow, dragged Adrien behind him and set his eyes on the approaching thug.

“This is Velenci turf, punks,” the gangster snarled, his voice dripping with venom. He adjusted his suit and spat at Adrien’s feet, his bravado quickly returning. “Get out of the way, or get put in the ground.”

A sharp whistle cut through the tension.

“And until he cleans up his manners,” a rugged male voice called out from somewhere behind the Freedom Fighters, “Velenci can kiss my ass.”

Every head turned toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows was a tall, broad-shouldered man with long dark hair and a scruffy beard. A lit cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, the glow highlighting his weathered face. A flat cap sat low over his brow, and his bomber jacket bore a single word stitched on the chest: Dutch.

The Freedom Fighters parted like the Red Sea as Dutch swaggered through, offering them a slight nod of acknowledgment. The rugged man exuded authority, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached the suited thug.

Dutch grinned as he spoke, the cigar bouncing between his teeth. “Got a call that you guys started a party without us.”

Behind Dutch, more figures emerged from the shadows, their presence as commanding as his. They were older than the Freedom Fighters, their faces hardened by experience. One figure in particular caught Adrien’s eye—a tall, thin woman with wild, electric hair and drooping, half-lidded eyes. She moved with the grace of a ballerina but carried herself with an unmistakable edge, her sharp gaze sweeping over the scene like a predator sizing up its prey.

But what truly held Adrien’s attention was the faint glint of gold on her head, something that almost looked like-

The suited gangster’s confidence faltered as Dutch squared up to him. “Don’t want any trouble here, Dutch,” he said, his earlier bluster fading into nervousness.

Dutch leaned in, his grin widening into a half-scowl. “That so?” He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the stillness of the street. “’Cus I hear you’ve been roughing up my boys.”

He glanced over at the injured Freedom Fighter girl, then back to the thug. His jaw tightened, the struggle between diplomacy and revenge evident on his face. Finally, he sighed, as if the effort to hold himself back was exhausting.

“How about I make this easy?” Dutch drawled. He reached out, gripping the suited man’s collar with unsettling ease and yanking him close.

“I wanna meet your boss,” Dutch said, his tone calm but laced with menace. “You give him my message, I don’t shatter your kneecaps. Sound good?”

The thug’s eyes darted around, looking for support from his crew, but they were already stepping back. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah; whatever you say.”

Dutch released him with a shove, sending the man stumbling into his companions. The thug shot Dutch a hateful glare but said nothing more, retreating with his group into the darkness.

Adrien let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Despite his earlier intervention, it was clear the Freedom Fighters weren’t as vulnerable as they seemed.

Gabriel and Adrien walked briskly away from the scene, but Gabriel's fury simmered just below the surface. The silence between them was suffocating, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their shoes. Finally, Gabriel couldn’t hold back any longer.

“What in the hell were you thinking, Boy?!” he snapped, stopping abruptly and spinning on his heel to face Adrien.

Adrien stopped as well, his shoulders tense. “He was about to knock that kid’s block off. I had to help.”

Gabriel glared at him, his eyes narrowing. “Then he shouldn’t be jumping into gang warfare, should he? I told you not to get involved!” He threw his arms in the air. “It’s none of our concern.”

Adrien stood his ground, defiance flickering in his expression. “They weren’t a gang, they’re heroes! Didn’t you see? They were protecting that kid from a drug dealer.”

Gabriel let out a harsh laugh, his voice dripping with disdain. “It was two criminal groups vying for power. Don’t be naïve.”

“They were protecting their community,” Adrien argued. “That’s what heroes do!”

A low chuckle sounded from behind them. “I assure you,” a familiar voice drawled, “we just wanted that poison off the streets.”

Both Gabriel and Adrien jumped, turning to find Dutch standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a lamppost. He straightened and sauntered toward them, his wolfish grin firmly in place.

Gabriel’s expression twisted into a scowl, but Dutch ignored it, tapping his knuckles lightly against Adrien’s shoulder. “That’s a hell of an arm you got there, Kid. I know Louie appreciated the save.”

Adrien hesitated, caught between surprise and embarrassment. “I just wanted to help.”

Gabriel stepped forward, his posture rigid, his voice icy. “And now, instead of learning a lesson, sweet little Louie will continue acting as a convenient meat shield for his boss. How sweet.”

Adrien shot his father a pleading look. “Father, please…”

Dutch snorted, amused. “You’re a real optimist, ain’t ya?” He exhaled smoke from his cigar, the acrid scent filling the air.

Gabriel’s glare deepened. “I know scum when I see it. No matter what gallant disguise they use.”

Dutch pulled the cigar from his mouth, blowing a stream of smoke directly into Gabriel’s face. Adrien stiffened, expecting an explosion of anger, but Gabriel didn’t flinch, his expression remaining stone cold.

Dutch tilted his head, his grin fading into something sharper. “I guess all of us bums look like scum from your ivory tower.”

“Don’t start with me,” Gabriel warned, his voice low and menacing. “I’ll have you know I was raised and bled by these streets, and I’m all too familiar with your sort.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow, his amusement returning. “And then the moment you got out of the streets, you burned down the ladder behind you to make sure none of us could follow.”

Adrien’s gaze flicked between the two men; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Dutch dropped his cigar to the ground, crushing it under his heel. He winked at Adrien, clapping him on the shoulder again. “Sorry about your pops, Kid. Can’t imagine living with him.” He chuckled at Adrien’s flustered expression. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

Dutch started to walk away, but not before turning back over his shoulder. “No matter what the grinch here says, we’re here to help the community. And the Freedom Fighters always have room for more hard-working folk, no matter where they come from.”

Gabriel’s face darkened as Dutch disappeared around the street corner. He muttered under his breath, “The nerve of him. Grabbing you like that.” He held up his thumb and forefigner, squeezing them together. “I was this close to sicking Nooroo on him.”

Adrien stared at his father, the words sinking in. "You can't be serious..."

“The moment he felt he started losing power, that carefree façade started dropping, I’ll tell you that.”

"Not everything is about power," Adrien murmured softly.

Gabriel scoffed. "When you’ve lived long enough, you’ll see the world for what it is, not for what you wish it to be." Gabriel grumbled under his breath, pulling Adrien by the arm. “We’re going home. Now.”

There was no room for argument, and a silent command for Adrien not to bother his father any more about Dutch’s people. And Adrien complied, deciding that, for now, he’d be compliant and not talk about the Freedom Fighters anymore.

He most certainly wouldn’t tell his father that he thought he spotted that woman wearing the Bee Miraculous.

---

The following morning, the atmosphere in Nathalie Sancoeur’s modest apartment was quiet but tense. The soft hum of Paris outside her window did little to mask the sharp ticking of the wall clock, counting down each second like a metronome of anticipation.

Sitting on the edge of her neatly made bed, Nathalie flipped through her tablet, her sharp eyes scanning the screen without truly reading it. Beside her, perched delicately on the back of a chair, Dusuu fluttered her tiny wings, her mood a reflection of Nathalie's subdued impatience.

"How much longer do you think it'll take?" Dusuu asked, her voice sweet but tinged with worry.

Nathalie lowered the tablet to glance at the kwami. "Optigami was designed to be thorough. It won't return until it has collected every detail Gabriel requested."

Dusuu fidgeted with the hem of her wing-like dress. "I just don’t like it being out there alone. What if someone spots it? Or worse, Ladybug?”

Nathalie closed the dossier with a soft snap. "Optigami is small and discreet. If anything, it's Ladybug who should be worried about what it sees."

Dusuu wasn’t convinced, her brows knitting together as she hovered closer. "Still, it feels... Risky."

Nathalie leaned back against the headboard; her expression unreadable. “Risk is what will bring us our prize. Playing it safe will only give someone else the opportunity to snatch up the wild miraculous.”

Before Dusuu could respond, a faint shimmer appeared in the air near the window. Nathalie’s posture straightened immediately as Optigami materialized, its tiny form glowing faintly in the morning light.

“Optigami, you’ve returned.” Nathalie let the sentimonster land on her outstretched finger, Dusuu flying just overhead with a beaming smile. “What insight do you bring?”

Optigami hopped off it’s perch and landed on Nathalie’s tablet, melting into the device until its visage replaced the screen. The possessed tablet lit up with a flurry of information, showcasing hundred upon hundred of video files flying past the screen in a mass flood. Occasionally, one video would be picked out and forced into the corner.

Eventually, Nathalie was left with eight small boxed displayed prominently on the screen, each having a different overview of locations in Paris. Oon first glance, there was nothing special about them, just shots of Parisians walking by, minding their own business and the occasional bird traffic.

“…Are we sure Optigami didn’t just get a bird watching hobby?” Dusuu asked in a hushed whisper, pressing her face up against the screen before Natahlie dragged her back.

It took a moment, but soon enough the important information came through. Without warning, the image overlooking a dumpster was interrupted – by a portal opening under it. And then, in the video next to it, a dumpster fell out of the sky and laned on someone’s car. Over and over again, each video showcased the same chaos, a random portal opening in one video and delivering whatever it sucked up into another video’s frame, each portal different sizes and fitted with an erratic, unstable outline.

“Ah, I see.” Nathalie hummed, tapping her chin. “This must be the work of the horse miraculous. It has a user already?”

“I doubt it.” Dusuu chimed in, taping her paw against the screen. “This doesn’t look like the miraculous being used normally, it looks like the miraculous acting on its own.”

In hindsight, that made much more sense than a user just using their powers to randomly teleport litter across Paris.

“Gabriel and Nooroo weren’t kidding about these ‘wild’ miraculous.” Nathalie sank into her bed, putting the tablet aside and letting Optigami go free. “Optigami, you’ve done well so far, but we still need to find where the miraculous is hidden. Keep watching these events, we’ll see if we can find any clues.”

Dusuu followed Nathalie in getting off the bed and advancing into the living room. “What will we do in the meantime, Miss Nathalie?”

“Research and cross reference.” Nathalie said simply, “If we’re lucky, the wild miraculous might have a limited range, or a central location that all the portals are opening around; something that could give us an area to search.”

“What if Ladybug finds it first?”

“Ladybug doesn’t have Optigami.” Nathalie replied quickly, sliding onto her sofa and opening her laptop. “All these incidents went by too fast for anyone to realize something was being teleported, so spread via word of mouth is going to be slow. We just need to work fast, before Hawkmoth or Ladybug can catch wind of anything strange going on.”

“And then Mayura gets to fight?” Dusuu asked hopefully.

“No.” Nathalie smirked, “Mayura gets to win.”

Notes:

Can we pour out a drink for out boy Kim?

So, we have Nathalie going after the Horse Miraculous and Adrien going after the Bee; either way Gabriel is gonna be pissed at the audacity of these two.

Also, in case anyone needs more reason for Gabriel's instant hostility towards Dutch outside of just being a grump: Remember, even when detransformed, this version of Gabriel can still read emotions of people when he wants to.

Chapter 24: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Bad Kitty

Summary:

Marinette and Alya debate miraculous powers, Gabriel is scheming, and Adrien... Joins a gang.

When in doubt, Marinette made presentations. She was great at presentations, all her stuffed animals agreed. So, to ease her stressing over the outbreak of wild, unpredictable, active miraculous, she decided to make a presentation about it.

And Alya was the only one she could get to sit through it.

“Okay, so these are all the miraculous that aren’t accounted for.” Marinette explained, brandishing her laptop screen over Alya, one leg sinking into the bed while the other balanced her on the frame. Her finger wildly zipped aross the screen to circle the collection of miraculous symbols in the middle, with the Ladybug and the Fox off to one side, the Butterfly and the Cat on another and the Peacock in it’s own little corner.

Alya leaned back to stop the screen from slapping her in the face, adjusting her glassed. “Why’s the Peacock off to the side?”

The laptop fell limp as one hand left it’s grip, whipping out her forefinger to jab into the air and deliver knowledge. “The Peacock was never in the miracle box in the first place, Fu lost it and the butterfly long ago; so it won’t be one of the wild ones.”

“Right, right.” Alay scratched her head, trying to remember the timeline Marinette had already incessantly rambled to her about the morning prior. Don’t get her wrong, Alya appreciated the information, but Marinette being open about being Ladybug opened up a lot of floodgates of information and Alya needed room to process. “Wait, if it was lost with the butterfly, wouldn’t Hawkmoth have it?”

“Technically, yeah, but if he has it, why hasn’t he used it yet?”

Alya adjusted her glasses, taking in the chaotic presentation Marinette had thrown together. The screen on Marinette’s laptop now projected onto her bedroom wall, a colourful collage of miraculous symbols, lines connecting them, and hastily scribbled notes.

When Marinette got a projector, Alya did not know and did not dare question.

Alya tilted her head. "Why do we need this whole board again?"

Marinette, perched on her bed with a laser pointer in hand, gave her a look. "Because keeping track of data brings me joy." She spun dramatically and pointed at the cluster of symbols on the screen. "And we’ll find the wild miraculous quicker if we have some idea of what they could look like or do!"

Marinette cleared her throat. "So… Turtle!" Marinette clicked a button, and the screen zoomed in on the turtle symbol.

"Power of protection," Marinette began confidently. "Pretty simple—it makes shields."

"Or giant energy mech suits," Alya added, raising an eyebrow.

Marinette paused, her face briefly twitching as she remembered Master Fu’s colossal energy construct during the fight with Hawkmoth. She groaned, dropping onto the bed. "Okay, fine. Change that to… Energy constructs, maybe?" she muttered, typing furiously to edit her presentation.

With another click, the screen transitioned to the Bee Miraculous.

"Bee Miraculous," Marinette announced. "Power of Subjugation."

Alya gave her a side-eye. "Subjugation? Like… the power of slavery?"

"It just means it stuns people," Marinette huffed.

"So, basically, it’s a glorified stun gun?"

Marinette let out an exasperated sigh. "I’m sorry that the miraculous isn’t as impressive as all the magical relics you don’t have."

Alya stifled a laugh. "Okay, okay, keep going."

Marinette clicked to the next slide. "Mouse Miraculous. Power of Multiplication."

Alya nodded approvingly. "I get it. It makes clones! That’s useful."

"Yes, mini clones," Marinette clarified.

Alya furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"It splits you into multiple copies. Tiny, tiny copies," Marinette explained, emphasizing the word "tiny" with a pinch gesture.

Alya blinked. "That seems… Arbitrary."

Marinette shrugged. "It’s the power of the mouse. What did you expect?"

"Does the Bee shrink you when you try to sting people too?" Alya quipped.

Marinette threw her hands up. "I feel like you’re focusing on the wrong thing here!"

She swiftly clicked to the next symbol. "Ox. Power of Invincibility."

Alya whistled low. "Damn. That’s actually cool."

"To superpowers," Marinette added quickly.

Alya tilted her head. "What counts as a superpower?"

"Well—" Marinette paused, then sighed, sensing a headache inducing tangent coming along. "You know what, we’re just going to assume it’s miraculous powers in particular."

Marinette moved on to the next slide. "Tiger Miraculous. The uh…" She hesitated. "Power to punch really, really hard."

Alya deadpanned. "Don’t all the miraculous already do that?"

"This one does it even more!" Marinette snapped.

And they went like that for the next half an hour—Marinette presenting a miraculous, and Alya, quite rudely, scrutinizing the power and leading them down an endless rabbit hole of tangents, debates, and increasingly ridiculous analogies. Marinette’s original goal of organizing information soon devolved into defending the dignity of the miraculous themselves.

"Look," Marinette said, gesturing furiously with her laser pointer, "the Snake Miraculous gives you the power of second chances. That’s a fantastic ability!"

"Yeah, but doesn’t that mean you’re doomed to mess up the first time?" Alya countered. "Like, what’s the point if you know you’re just going to fail first anyway?"

Marinette gawked at her, clutching her pointer like it was a sword. "You don’t have to fail! It’s there in case you do! It’s called being prepared!"

Alya smirked. "Sounds like a magical cheat code to me."

"It’s strategic, not a cheat code!" Marinette threw her hands in the air, pacing back and forth on her bed. "I am literally presenting world-changing powers to you, and all you do is complain!"

"I’m not complaining; I’m critiquing," Alya said with mock seriousness. "I’m just saying, some of these could’ve been more thought out.”

Now, Marinette wasn’t saying her friend was wrong, but she was saying that Chat Noir wouldn’t talk back to her like this!

“Dragon Miraculous. The Power of Perfection.” She huffed, not even daring to look at Alya by this point. “Power over the elements, and the ability to transform into the elements.”

A strangled cry came from Alya’s throat. “What!?”

Marinette crossed her arms, turning to pout and glare at her friend. “What’s wrong?”

“I just think that a lot of these powers are kind of uneven.” Alya breathed out, her voice tinged with a high pitch wheeze. “We have shit like the magic taser, super DUPER strength, good vibes… And then go straight to becoming the god damn avatar. All things are not made equal here.”

“It-It’s not about the power, it’s about the holder, okay?” Marinette wildly fired her laser pointer across the room, unable to stop her tapping finger from repeatedly clicking it on and off in beat with her frustration. “There’s probably a ton of cool and creative things you can do with the powers, okay?” She continued to ramble, jumping all around the room while Alya admired the sudden burst of athleticism. “We won’t know until we have them. Right now, they’re a threat.”

“Bull. Shit.” Alya called out, snatching Marinette’s arm and bringing the girl crashing back down into the bed. “You look me dead in the eye and tell me how the pig miraculous is gonna threaten Paris.”

She bulged out her eyes as much as she could, slapping her hands on her cheeks and putting on a mockingly whiny voice. “What? Is it gonna show everybody all the dreams they haven’t accomplished yet and make them eat depression ice cream until they die?”

Marinette groaned, slamming a pillow over her face to smother her scream. “You are impossible!” she shrieked, muffled but still loud enough to make Alya cackle.

“I’m just saying,” Alya said between laughs, “it’s a little hard to take the Pig seriously as a potential doomsday weapon.”

Marinette yanked the pillow off her face, sat up, and jabbed the laser pointer at Alya. “You just wait. The Pig Miraculous is gonna make our worst villain yet, and when that happens, I’m never letting you live this down!”

---

Gabriel’s heart stopped the moment he heard the clutter of cutlery from the kitchen. His coat was still tight around his shoulders, the remnants of the outside air still seeping through the front door, and fog still clung to his glasses; he hadn’t even fully gotten through the front door before something put him on edge.

Immediately, he fell down the mental checklist of everybody in the house. Nathalie was off sick, Adrien was at his piano lesson, he’d gone through great lengths to ensure that Audrey couldn’t walk into the god damn mansion again, and the Gorilla was taking the car downtown for repairs. Either they were getting robbed, or even worse, someone other than Adrien was operating the kitchen.

His worst fears were confirmed when he kicked open the kitchen door only to find that the kitchen was, for lack of a better word, lost.

It was a warzone of devastated battlements, corpses strewn across a bloodied floor, a complete picture of despair and horror. The corpses in this instance being the soiled and torn remains of various fruits, cereal boxes and juice cartons that now made up 70% of his kitchen.

At the centre of it all, there was Nooroo, balancing a bag of sugar on his head as he awkwardly hovered over to the counter.

Gabriel had breathe very, very, very deeply before he could even utter a word without cracking. “Nooroo, dare I ask what you’re doing?”

The sugar was unceremoniously dumped on the counter, quickly falling over and spilling its contents into a cracked mug drenched in water. “I’m making tea.”

A shaky hand scraped through Gabriel’s scalp, watching the kwami massage the mug back and forth in what Gabriel assumed to be his attempt at stirring it. “We have rules against this.”

“Nu-Uh, you have rules against Plagg.” Nooroo said simply, wagging his little paw at Gabriel. “I think it’s coming along nicely. Just a little more sugar, and it’ll be perfect.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering prayers to any higher power that might grant him patience. “Do you realize what you’ve done here? My kitchen is ruined. The counters are sticky, there’s cereal on the ceiling, and—wait, is that mustard in the toaster!?”

Nooroo didn’t even flinch, floating back to the spilled sugar as though Gabriel hadn’t just had a miniature heart attack. “It’s part of the recipe.”

“I see.” Gabriel’s jaw set into a tight grimace, keeping back a tidal wave of insults Adrien would not appreciate him throwing at a kwami.  “And what part of this process entailed turning my kitchen into a warzone?”

“Well, Miss Nathalie makes this look really easy.” Nooroo hummed, waving his stubby paws about. “But she has long arms, you see. And I… Don’t.”

His gaze drifted over to a pile of porcelain shards that had once been a priceless vase—one that, notably, had no reason to be anywhere near the kitchen. “So, I dropped a lot of things.”

Gabriel reached over to the counter, snatching up a discarded box of Captain Crunch and holding it under his disapproving scowl. “Half of these items have nothing to do with making tea.”

“I tried experimenting!”

And really, in such a situation, was there anything worse your ears could hear?

“Good lord.” Gabriel half growled and half moaned.

“And now…” Nooroo headbutted the mug over to Gabriel’s fingers. “Ta-da! Your morning tea!”

“It’s the afternoon.” Gabriel stated dryly, “And I’m more of a coffee man…”

However, at this critical juncture, Gabriel made the legendary mistake of looking down at Nooroo directly. Somehow, the kwami’s eyes managed to be even bigger than usual, staring into Gabriel dark, cold heart with pure, insidious, pleading.

And, with a cough, Gabriel cracked just a little. “…But I’m sure your creation can turn my opinion around…” He murmured through gritted teeth.

He stared at the questionable beverage, mentally rehearsing the phone call to the mansion’s interior decorator to replace the kitchen tiles. One sip. That’s all he had to do. Just one sip, and then he could politely—no, sternly—dismiss Nooroo’s culinary ambitions for eternity.

Nooroo hovered in place, his wide-eyed expression expectant, practically vibrating with excitement.

Gabriel sighed, held his breath, and brought the mug to his lips.

He froze.

“Tell me what you think, Master!”

“Nooroo…” He asked slowly, “Did you put the milk in first?”

Nooroo nodded, “Why? Is that a bad thing?”

Now, under normal circumstances, Gabriel was a man of composure. But there were lines. And in some countries, this was officially considered a war crime.

Gabriel grimaced, “It’s certainly a… Unique method.” His laugh didn’t sound natural, but that worked in Gabriel’s favour because even his real laughs couldn’t sound natural.

Nooroo crossed his arms, “You do know that I can feel your restrained anger, right?”

Gabriel poured the vile concoction down the sink. “You do know that you can shut up and accept my attempt at being cordial, right?”

Nooroo gasped dramatically, pressing his stubby paws to his chest like he’d just been mortally wounded. “You didn’t even finish it!”

“I believe in mercy, Nooroo,” Gabriel deadpanned, rinsing out the mug with the kind of focus one usually reserved for hazardous waste cleanup.

“No, you don’t.” Nooroo glared, “And you didn’t even taste the sugar!”

“I tasted everything and somehow nothing, and I think that says enough.” Gabriel dried the mug with exaggerated precision, carefully placing it back on the shelf. “You’re banned from the kitchen.”

“Banned?” Nooroo gasped.

“Banned,” Gabriel repeated with finality. “Effective immediately.”

Nooroo’s pouting was interrupted when his eyes landed on the folder Gabriel had tucked under his arm since entering the kitchen.

“What’s that?” Nooroo asked, his curiosity piqued.

Gabriel glanced down at the folder and sighed, carefully balancing it away from any lingering splashes of Nooroo’s failed tea experiment. “A dossier I received from an old acquaintance,” he replied, tone clipped.

Nooroo tilted his head, heaving the sigh of a disappointed parent. “Was it too much to hope you went out to actually socialize with somebody?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said bluntly. “There’s too much at stake to waste time making small talk with non-essential dullards.”

“Whatever you say, Master,”

Gabriel ignored him, navigating the disaster zone that had once been his pristine kitchen. He finally found a relatively clean patch of countertop, brushed away some stray crumbs and what looked like… Cereal dust, and set the folder down with an air of triumph.

“Now,” Gabriel began, opening the folder to reveal several pages filled with typed notes, grainy surveillance photos, and reports. “I’ve been compiling information on the current players in Paris’ unscrupulous underbelly. I figure that opportunistic criminals are among the most likely to stumble upon or catch word of the wild miraculous. They may not understand the magic, but they’ll certainly recognize its value—and they won’t hesitate to try and turn a profit.”

Nooroo hovered closer, peering over Gabriel’s shoulder at the mess of information. “And how exactly do you know a guy that has this sort of information?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. “The less said about my unsavory past, the better, Nooroo.”

Nooroo raised a brow—or at least, mimicked the action with his tiny face. “Oh? So, you’re saying it’s shady?”

Gabriel shot him a sharp glare. “I’m saying it’s none of your business.”

“Which means it’s shady,” Nooroo quipped, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about why he didn’t have less talkative kwamis.

Nooroo, mercifully, moved on. “Did you find any miraculous?”

“Not yet, no.” Gabriel hummed, turning over a page. “But I have caught wind of a possible obstacle.”

The grainy security photos now showcased identical, but clearly separate, people. They all wore dark bodysuits fitted with metal accents that easily blended in with the darkness, even with the photo’s contrast enhanced, capped off with a chrome helmet that reminded Gabriel of samurai armour. Each photo showed these people in different environments, whipping out small gizmos and advanced-looking gadgets to slice through security measures. On their shoulders, the symbol of a hand with an eye in it’s palm was clear.

“Ooo, shiny helmets.” Nooroo coo’d.

“A gang of masked thieves, all bearing the same symbol, all wielding the same tech.” Gabriel crossed his arms, “Some people have been calling them demons.”

Nooroo attempted to mimic Gabriel’s thinking face, scrunching up his cheeks and tapping his paw against his chin. “And you wouldn’t be bringing them up in what they were stealing wasn’t related to us, right?”

“Correct.” Gabriel nodded, “They haven’t technically stolen anything.”

“Oh?”

He turned his back to the counter, allowing him to lean against it and stretch back his neck. “They’d break into museums, gang hide outs, collectors’ vaults – and yet leave with nothing.” His hand reached into his pocket and returned with another set of photos pinched between two fingers. These photos were close ups of relics on display. “The only thing they’d be caught picking up are these and then putting them back.”

“Which… Means they’re looking for something specific?”

“Exactly. But what relates this to us is that all the items they went after are a part of a collection.” He dropped the photos under Nooroo’s gaze, watching the kwami’s eyes follow every image. He was waiting for the kwami to realize something familiar about the items in question when put into perspective. “A series of pieces made by a Chinese artist long, long ago as a tribute to ancient heroes.”

Nooroo gasped, “I see! They look like miraculous.”

“Which means…” Gabriel held up two fingers to signify his two points, “Our mystery gang knows what the miraculous are, and know enough about them to be able to tell that these are just impassioned imitations of the real thing.”

“Ladybug, Mayura, and now these guys.” Nooroo whistled, “It looks like our list of enemies are only growing.”

Gabriel leaned down before the kwami, smirking as he presses his finger against Nooroo’s forehead. “And yet we will claim victory all the same.”

A light rumbling erupted between them, something vibrating from Gabriel’s pocket. A sound both of them knew. Nooroo bounced around excitedly, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Master, master!”

Gabriel held up his hand, a grin spreading across his face. He reached into his pocket, but instead of pulling out a phone, he retrieved a book. A journal, unmistakable in its design, with a large butterfly emblem on the cover. The akumatized object hummed softly in his hands, and as Gabriel held it up to his face, he could hear the distinct sound of scribbling.

“Ah, just in time,” Gabriel said, his voice low with satisfaction. “It seems that our other investment is paying off.”

He opened the journal with a deliberate motion, letting the pages fall open on their own. They seemed to flip with a life of their own, stopping on the most recent entry. Under his gaze, and with no input from him, words began to appear, scribbling themselves across the page—observations, notes, details. Gabriel’s lips curled into a dry chuckle.

Yes, everything is going according to plan.

Nooroo floated closer. “Should we call down Adrien to discuss our next move then?”

Gabriel glanced at the journal once more, waving Nooroo away. “Later, Nooroo. Adrien’s attending his piano lessons.”

Nooroo tilted his head. “I thought those were at 11?”

“They were. His teacher called in to reschedule and suggested holding the lesson elsewhere. I thought Adrien would appreciate a change in scenery.” He raised an eyebrow, humming. “Though I think his teacher might be coming down with something... The poor old woman sounded like she had something in her throat.”

Nooroo didn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure we shouldn’t check on him just in case?”

Gabriel’s gaze hardened with a pout. “I thought you and Nathalie wanted me to give the boy more freedom?” He leaned back, folding his arms. “Besides, what trouble could my perfect son be getting into at a piano lesson?”

---

All Adrien could think in this moment was how pissed his father would be if he found out.

Big ‘if’ he found out.

And he absolutely could not find out that Adrien not only wasn’t at his piano lessons, not only was Adrien standing on the edge of the seediest part of town looking into the exact people Gabriel expressly forbid him from interacting with; but Adrien was wearing some cheap material he bought from a clothes’ shop’s bargain bin.

Under the shelter of an alley, back pressed against the butt of a dumpster, Adrien rocked a long, ragged trench coat and faded blue beanie combo for his audience of one. Whether it be the pale shirt that hung loosely on his frame or the slacks that sagged at his ankles, everything was aged, ill-fitting and had holes in it. Which in his mind sold the look.

“How do I look, Plagg?”

His kwami hung in front of him, his face still waiting for the punchline to whatever joke started this wave of madness. “Like a flasher?”

Adrien pursed his lips, “Come on, be serious!”

“I am serious.” Plagg rolled his eyes, hovering closer to tap Adrien’s extra accessory. “And is the eyepatch really necessary?”

“The eyepatch completes the look!” Adrien moaned, shooing Plagg away. “It’ll show them that I’m a rough and tumble rebel guy.”

Plagg stared at him blankly for a moment, taking the time to really let that description sin in before he burst out laughing. “I love ya, Kid.” He howled, falling on his back in mid-air and holding his stomach. “But you don’t know anything about being a rebel. The moment you get in there those guys are gonna sniff you out as a poser.”

“Uh, excuse me, I can be pretty rebellious.” Adrien huffed, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah?” Plagg’s smirk was nothing short of smug. “Name one time.”

Adrien faltered. “Well… I’ve…” He fumbled for an answer, eyes darting around as if the graffiti-covered alley walls might help him out. “I skipped that photo shoot once!”

“Because you had a dentist appointment.” Plagg deadpanned.

Adrien tried again. “I-I ordered pineapple on my pizza!”

Plagg snorted. “Yeah, real edgy. I bet they’ll all quake in fear when you tell them about your bold topping choices.”

Adrien groaned, throwing his head back against the dumpster with a loud clang. “You’re not helping!”

“Hey, I’m just looking out for you.” Plagg smirked, though a hint of genuine concern flickered in his tiny green eyes. “Seriously, why are you doing this? Your dad’s going to kill you if he finds out.”

“Because they have the Bee Miraculous, and I’m gonna swipe it.”

Plagg rolled his eyes, “Yes, so why don’t you do that with your super powered dad?”

“What? You don’t think I can do anything on my own?!” Adrien snapped with a little more venom than he intended.

Plagg lurched back, caught off guard. “H-Hey, I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Everyone treats me like I’m just some dumb kid, Father won’t even trust me to go after some first-time Peacock holder-”

“This stunt ain’t exactly proving them wrong.”

“-But I’m not!” Adrien wrung his hands together. “If my father has taught me one thing, it’s that you don’t get respect or up the ladder by waiting around, you get it by taking initiative, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

He climbed on top of the dumpster, raising his clenched fist to the sky. “Chat Noir is his own cat; he’s not a sidekick.”

He grinned wolfishly down at Plagg. “And if you’re even half the black cat you claim to be, a little underhandedness shouldn’t scare you.”

“Hey!” Plagg hissed, shooting up to Adrien’s face. “I ain’t scared of nothing! I just want to make sure you’re not gonna bail on me the moment things get hot, you snot-nosed little punk.”

Adrien smirked, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “Aww, Plagg, is that your way of saying you’ll come along?”

Plagg groaned, turning away with a dramatic wave of his paw. “Yeah, yeah, don’t push it. I’m only sticking around so I can laugh when this blows up in your face.”

Adrien laughed, hopping off the dumpster with a newfound spring in his step. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see who’s laughing in the end. Let’s do this.”

Plagg sighed, shaking his head but following close behind. “Kid, you’re either gonna end up a legend or a meme, and I’m not sure which one’s worse.”

Adrien was feeling pretty pleased with himself. That was, of course, until he turned the corner and found the one thing you never wanted to come across when you were conspiring in an alleyway; a wild Alya Cesaire.

She looked far too pleased with herself, had her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed, and basically everything that exuded the aura of a girl who just caught Adrien in the middle of something shameful.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” She said, leaning against the wall with a smug grin. Her eyes darted past him, clearly scanning for evidence of someone else. “Were you… talking to yourself?”

Adrien’s heart jumped into his throat. “A-Alya!?” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “How long were you standing there?”

Alya’s grin widened as she stepped closer, her tone dripping with amusement. “I just got here. Why, did you say something embarrassing?”

Adrien’s brain scrambled for an excuse—any excuse—to explain why he was standing behind a dumpster in rags. He racked his brain, but the harder he thought, the more painfully obvious it became that there wasn’t a single good explanation that didn’t make him look like a total creep.

“No, I was just… Doing what all boys do behind dumpsters,” He said weakly, instantly regretting it.

Alya blinked, her grin faltering for a split second before returning twice as sharp. “Uh-huh,” she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Adrien could feel his face burning. “Wh-What are you doing here, huh?” He asked in a rushed, obviously deflective voice.

Alya’s grin didn’t budge. “Going after the Freedom Fighters. Just like you, I bet.”

“H-How’d you guess!?” Adrien blurted out.

“I heard about you helping them out yesterday,” Alya replied, her tone casual but her expression calculating. “And I can’t think of much other reason for celebrity model Adrien Agreste suddenly showing up outside their main hangout in rags, unless the Agreste brand really went downhill in the last few hours.”

Adrien sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay. Fine. You got me. But what do you want with the Freedom Fighters?”

“Same thing I’m guessing piqued your curiosity,” Alya said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “The leader’s girl, Darcy, and her miraculous choice in hair clip.”

Adrien caught himself before he talked out of his ass again. He had to take a second and ask himself what Adrien Agreste was supposed to know about the miraculous? He remembered that Ladybug had a press conference about the magic box and all the potential dangers that came out of it, but he couldn't remember if she ever directly explained the miraculous or what they looked like.

“Miraculous?” He said, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what that is.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “The bee-themed comb that gives you superpowers.”

“Oh. That,” Adrien said, pretending it just clicked. “Wait, how do you know what it is?”

“I was there on the scene when Ladybug broke that magic box, remember?” Alya said, her tone sharp. “You did read my Ladyblog post about it, right?”

Adrien hesitated. Honestly, he'd been swamped with too much homework after that fight to check the Ladyblog. But that excuse never worked on Alya before.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” He lied, forcing a smile. “Honestly, I didn’t notice the miraculous. I was just interested in helping the community.”

“Uh-huh,” Alya said, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Anyway, I figured someone needed to come down here, liberate that potentially dangerous piece of magic, and return it to Ladybug.”

“And you were gonna do this all alone?” Adrien asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I did ask Nino to come help me on this,” Alya admitted with a shrug. “But he’s too busy with Chloe this week.”

Adrien’s expression turned amused. “Someone sounds jealous.”

Alya scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Please. Jealousy implies that I think Chloe would ever have a chance… Or even be interested in that boy.”

“Hey…” Adrien started, mildly offended on Nino’s behalf.

Alya waved him off. “I don’t mean it like that. You know Chloe’s only interest comes with a price tag.”

Adrien considered this for a moment before sighing. “Fair.”

Alya smirked, her arms crossed again. “So, Sunshine, are we doing this together or not?”

Adrien hesitated. This was not part of his plan. But looking at Alya’s determined expression, he knew there was no way she was backing down.

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But you’re sticking to my plan.”

Adrien and Alya started walking toward the Freedom Fighters’ hideout, their steps crunching against the broken pavement of the alleyway. Adrien cleared his throat, knowing that if he let things stay quiet, he was gonna collapse from all his nerves. “Do you think they know that they have a miraculous?”

Alya shrugged, “Let’s hope not, otherwise it’s gonna be harder to convince them to part with it.” She squinted, throwing her arms out behind her back. “Hey, how’d you even manage to get down here without your old man breathing down you neck?”

Adrien gave a prideful grin, all too proud of himself. “He thinks I’m at piano lessons.”

“And he just bought it?”

“Well, I had Nino on standby to do an astonishing impression of my piano teacher over the phone.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But it worked!”

She glanced at Adrien, still clad in his oversized trench coat and sagging pants and snorted. “You know, I’m really starting to think you’ve never met a regular person in your life.”

Adrien frowned. “What? I totally know how regular people act!”

“Oh, really?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “Go on, then. Give me your best ‘regular guy’ impression.”

Adrien cleared his throat dramatically, squaring his shoulders and deepening his voice. “Hey, uh, what’s up, uh… ‘Homie’? I’m just out here, uh, vibin’, ya know, keeping stuff real. In this… Hood of mine.”

Alya stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “...If you keep talking like that, they’re gonna beat your ass.”

Plagg, peeking out from inside Adrien’s coat, nearly choked from laughing. “Oh, this is gold. Can I record this? Please tell me I can record this.”

Adrien shot a glare at the floating kwami before turning back to Alya. “That wasn’t that bad,” he muttered.

“Oh, Sunshine,” Alya said, shaking her head. “That wasn’t bad—it was atrocious. Seriously, what was that? ‘Vibin’? Do you think these people are hanging out on a beach sipping smoothies?”

“I was trying to sound relatable!” Adrien defended.

“Well, congrats,” Alya said, smirking again. “You sounded like a rich kid pretending to be relatable. Which, funnily enough, is exactly what you are.”

Plagg leaned closer to Adrien’s ear, grinning. “Don’t worry, kid. I think you nailed it. I’m sure nothing says ‘tough rebel’ like someone who still sounds like they’ve got a three-course meal waiting for them at home.”

Adrien huffed, crossing his arms. “Okay, fine. You give me some advice, then.”

Alya considered him for a moment, her expression softening just slightly. “Alright, first off, ditch the fancy words. Nobody says stuff like ‘vibin’ in these parts. Just keep it short and casual. Think ‘yeah,’ ‘nah,’ and ‘dunno.’ Got it?”

“Got it,” Adrien said, nodding earnestly.

“And for the love of all that is good, stop trying so hard. You don’t have to act like you’re auditioning for a movie. Just… Let me lead, okay? I actually know how to talk to people down here.”

Adrien hesitated but eventually sighed. “Fine. You can lead. But I still think I could pull this off if you let me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could,” Alya said with a wicked grin, stepping in front of him. “And by ‘pull this off,’ I mean ‘get your ass handed to you.’”

Adrien groaned, but before he could respond, Alya reached up and ripped the eyepatch off his face.

“Hey!” he yelped, stumbling back.

Alya held up the eyepatch, dangling it like it was something she’d just found in the garbage. “And this? Absolutely not. What were you even thinking? ‘Rough and tumble rebel guy’ doesn’t wear a dollar-store pirate costume.”

Adrien grabbed for the eyepatch, but Alya held it out of reach. “Come on, I need that!”

“No, you don’t,” Alya said, tossing it over her shoulder without a second thought. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Plagg cackled as Adrien watched the eyepatch flutter to the ground. “She’s got a point, kid. That thing was doing you zero favors.”

Adrien muttered under his breath, straightening his coat. “This is gonna be a long day.”

Alya patted him on the back, her grin downright smug. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. Stick with me, and you might just make it out of here alive.”

Adrien wasn’t so sure, but at this point, he didn’t have much choice.

Okay, Adrien, time to join a gang.

Notes:

Alya's really just jinxing everything at this point.

Nathalie and Adrien prove that they really are mother and son by going for the same quest to prove themselves by going behind Gabriel's back.

And yes, that's right, even Nathalie is banned from using the kitchen, as decreed by Emilie herself. The only one in this family who can actually cook is Adrien.

Chapter 25: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Trojan

Summary:

Chloe continues to abhor Nino, Adrien and Alya make introductions and Mayura's perfect plan has a perfect interruption

Everything about this boy irritated Chloe. His laid-back attitude, his skater-cliché dude-bro voice, his slouching pose, his clothes – and she swore to God that his left foot was slightly bigger than his right. And he didn’t care. Everything about him radiated this relaxed aura with no weight on his shoulders, no expectations nipping at his heel and no failure to hide from, like he just didn’t care about what was going on around him.

What a pretentious, privileged prick!

Everyone cared a little, they had to, it was basic human… Whatever. Everyone had some sort of chip on their shoulder making them nervous about doing certain things. Adrien always worried what his father would think, Alya wouldn’t dare forget the interest of her Ladyblog followers, even goody-two-shoes Marinette was a constant ball of stress because she cared so much about things that everything felt like a threat to her things.

To not care and just drift through life was, like, not human or something. It made Nico, Nate, Nu-whatever less than a dog.

Chloe huffed dramatically, folding her arms as she watched him fiddle with his phone. It had been nearly a week since she’d roped him into this "mentorship program" (her words, not his), and she had absolutely nothing to show for it. She’d spent hours trying to teach him proper posture, fashion sense, manners, but he remained stubbornly… Him. The only thing she’d learned was that about half the time, Nino was fully aware of how much he was annoying her—and leaned into it.

So, he was lacking in investment, and he was insulting her – that’s a double dick move.

She glared at him. “Do you even try to be this infuriating?”

Nino blinked up at her from his phone, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You’re still hung up on me not liking that scarf yesterday, aren’t you?”

“That scarf was Gucci, you heathen!” Chloe snapped. “It was a classic! Timeless! A statement piece!”

“It was itchy,” Nino said simply.

Chloe looked moments away from combusting. “You wouldn’t know style if it hit you in the face!”

“Hey, I’m stylish in my own way,” Nino said, gesturing to his hoodie and sneakers. “You just don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it,” Chloe said, eyeing his outfit with disdain. “You’re comfortable with mediocrity. That’s your whole… thing.” She gestured vaguely at him. “Mediocre clothes, mediocre hair, mediocre vibes.”

Nino snorted. “You really know how to boost a guy’s confidence, huh?”

She made the bold move of snatching his hat. Not because Nino would react, but because she risked dirtying her fingers just touching such tainted materials. "Ugh, Shell-Head, you seriously need better taste."

"My taste is fine, thanks.” He said through a pout, pausing his game of Super Pengo and pocketing his phone. “You just don’t like that it’s different from yours."

"Different? Ha! It’s non-existent.” She scoffed, making a show of twirling around his hand, each new perspective on it only revealing more disgusted horror on her face. Truly, the young lady had never faced such a devastating and demanding task. She really needed to pat herself on the back when she got back home. “Are you trying to look like a walking fashion faux pas, or is it just instinct?"

He offered a shrug. A fucking shrug. People walked past him and probably whispered terrible things about his clothes and what they said about him, and he just shrugged. It was obvious that long form lectures weren’t getting through to him, she needed to pivot to a shock treatment crash course, throw enough variables at him to throw him off kilter and force him to pull from the natural judgmental intrusive voice everybody had.

“Pay attention!” she barked, holding up his hat like it was a trophy she had wrestled from a bear. “I’m going to teach you how to have standards.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this should be good.”

“You want to look like a decent human being, don’t you?” Chloe pressed, dramatically waving the hat around. “At least enough so people don’t think you were raised in a barn.”

“I dunno. Maybe the barn look is in.”

She gasped, clutching the hat like it had personally offended her. “You are impossible!”

“Thanks,” Nino said, flashing a peace sign.

“Not a compliment, Shell-Head!” she snapped, thrusting the hat back at him.

Nino plopped it back onto his head without a second thought. “What can I say? I’m comfortable in my mediocrity.”

Chloe groaned and buried her face in her hands. “This is going to take a miracle,” she muttered.

“Or you could just let me be me,” Nino suggested, smirking.

She peeked at him through her fingers, scowling. “Not on my watch.”

Nino leaned back against the bench, folding his arms as he gave Chloe an amused look. “Alright, Queen Bee, enlighten me. What’s the first step to these so-called 'standards'?”

“It’s simple.” Chloe tossed her hair dramatically, somehow always finding the right time for it to be caught by the wind and flutter magnificently. “Judging people by their appearances!”

Nino blinked at her. “That’s… Not exactly a ‘chill’ thing to do.”

“Ugh, of course you’d think that,” Chloe groaned, rolling her eyes. “But it’s not mean, Nino—it’s practical. Fashion is how people communicate their worth without wasting time talking.”

“You do know you sound like a supervillain, right?”

“Oh, please.” Chloe waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not villainy—it’s dignity. Go to a job interview like that,” she said, gesturing at his hoodie and sneakers, “talk like a surfer dude, and they’ll throw you out because it tells them that you’re lazy and not taking this seriously.” She smirked. “Watch, I’ll show you.”

She scanned the park, her gaze landing on a man walking by in cargo shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt. “Okay, that guy over there in the cargo shorts. What do you think?”

Nino glanced over. “Uh… Comfy? He looks comfy.”

“Wrong!” Chloe barked, as if she were a game show buzzer. “He looks like a depressed disaster. Scruffy clothes, missed his morning shave, and he's been letting that hair grow out with no care at all. He’s in emotional trouble, probably lost a big promotion or something, and you’re sitting here assuming he’s loving life. Next!”

Nino stifled a laugh. “Okay, how about her?” He pointed to a woman sitting on a bench, a labrador resting it’s snout on her knee. The woman stroked her dog’s head gently while her lips moved in an animated one-sided conversation.

Chloe squinted at the woman like a detective examining a crime scene. “She’s having a good time talking to her dog because nobody else will talk to her. She’s lonely and afraid of social interaction. You see those stains on her sweater? That’s the remains of last night’s Ben and Jerry’s sad girl bucket.”

Nino chuckled and shook his head. “Man, you just see what you wanna see, huh? She’s probably having a great time with her dog, and that’s all that matters.”

Chloe scoffed. “This isn’t about feelings, Nino. It’s about facts. People broadcast who they are, and it’s up to you to listen.”

“Right, and by ‘listen,’ you mean ‘jump to conclusions,’” Nino teased, giving her an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Chloe narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re projecting,” he shot back with a grin.

Chloe crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her expression the perfect blend of condescension and mockery. "Fine. Let’s make this easier." She pointed at herself dramatically, as if presenting a grand concept. "Imagine, no matter how hard it is, that I was in the ugliest rags, second-hand shoes, and a complete makeup disaster. How bad would I look?"

Nino blinked, clearly trying to figure out if this was some sort of trap. "I don’t get the question," he said finally.

Chloe groaned. "What do you mean you don’t get the question?"

"I mean," Nino said, tilting his head, "you’re always pretty, aren’t you? Why would that change just because of your clothes?"

For once, Chloe had no immediate response. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. “…Huh.”

That was weird.

Why was it weird?

Nino frowned, a little concerned by her sudden silence. "What’s wrong?"

"My heart is making some weird noises." She said, pressing a hand to her chest, her voice calm but genuinely perplexed.

"Should we be worried?" Nino asked, leaning forward slightly.

A beat of silence ticked by and then Chloe shrugged.

"Eh, it passed," She dismissed it, flipping her hair back. For a second there, she was almost scared. "It probably wasn’t important."

Nino gave her an odd look but didn’t push it. Instead, he crumpled back into his slouched over sitting position. "What would you do if you had to wear something… I dunno, normal? Like regular jeans and a hoodie."

Chloe recoiled like he’d suggested she eat something off the floor. "Ugh, don’t even joke about that," She said, shivering at the mere thought of wearing clothes without a brand. "Adrien still wouldn’t notice me."

Nino snorted, leaning back casually. "I mean, Adrien wouldn’t notice a lamp post at night.” He admitted, throwing his hands up in the air. “He’s my best bro, but Alya’s right about him being oblivious as hell."

Chloe never held any particular feelings towards Alya, she was just Dupain-Loser’s little nerdy sidekick after all.

So why, all of the sudden, did Chloe feel annoyed at Alya being mentioned?

"Why do you care what Alya says?" She groaned for reasons that currently eluded her.

"Because she usually knows what she’s talking about?" Nino answered simply, a slight crease in his brows betraying that he too caught onto the sudden aggressive tone.

"Yeah, but didn’t she reject you?" Chloe asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Nino hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat and looking away before answering. "Well, not directly, but yeah."

Chloe imagined herself smirking at that, looking for an opening to push the knife in and twist it. Instead, she just leaned forward with the same frown on her face, genuinely confused. "So? Doesn’t that piss you off? Make you angry with her? Why’d you still be friends with her?"

"Angry? I can’t be angry with her," Nino said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sure, you can," Chloe shot back, sitting up straighter. "She made you feel like shit, made you look dumb, and that led to you getting stuck with me. Fuck her."

After a week of failed attempts, Chloe finally got a reaction out of Nino.

And yet, this time, she didn’t feel so accomplished about it.

"Hey," Nino said sharply, suddenly taking on the tone of a scolding teacher. "You can’t blame somebody for how they feel. That just isn’t fair." He leaned forward, his tone remaining firm enough that she didn’t even instinctively interrupt and insult him for being so close. "We can’t control what we’re attracted to, like we can’t control what we like eating. I can’t hate someone for something they can’t change. It’s not like Alya not being attracted to me is her deliberately trying to hurt me or something."

He glanced away, his gaze softening as if remembering something. "Some people won’t like you. Heck, a lot of people won’t like you, and they won’t even get to know you. If you only focus on who’ll never want you, you’ll end up missing the special person who does. It’s like… Getting rejected is just making way for the person you’re actually meant to be with."

Chloe frowned, processing his words for a moment. She thought seeing Nino like this would be the crowning achievement that made all this work worth it, but now that she was here, she was just frustrated with him, a frustration that went beyond simple annoyance at him foiling her plan. The logic just seemed so utterly- Oh, what was that word Sabrina explained to her the other day? De-Feet-Ist?

People don’t like you, just deal with it? What kind of shit was that? If she just accepted that people didn’t like her and moved on, she wouldn’t have anybody to boss around, she’d just be moping in her corner all alone. And what, he didn’t have a right to be upset at getting his heart broken? Alya gets to stab him in the chest and he has to bleed on the floor and accept the pain.

Fuck that. That was why she hated this bullshit ‘nice’ attitude. It wasn’t noble, it wasn’t good for it, it’s just people with no backbone trying to convince themselves that them letting people walk all over them is heroic instead of pathetic.

But hey, why should she get worked up over it? It’s his problem. It’s not any of her business that he’s a moron.

"That sounds like the talk of someone who’s fine with being a settlement," she said, rolling her eyes. "Gah, you’re hopeless."

Nino chuckled, leaning back again, his usual grin returning. "Also, being stuck with you isn’t that bad," he said, lightly elbowing her in the arm. "You can be kind of cool to hang out with when you want to."

Strange. There it was again. That weird fluttering in her chest. Chloe frowned, one hand drifting up toward her heart as her brain struggled to make sense of it.

She really needed to see a doctor. Or cut down on the coffee.

---

The Freedom Fighters built themselves around an old factory which apparently was exclusively used to create shoe buckles. Adrien did not see this information as that important, but Alya made sure to include it in her ramblings as they entered the compound, citing some story about how some big legal case ended up hinging on one of the workers making a buckle that was slightly the wrong shape.

That was Alya in a nutshell, information overload. No matter how much you wanted to pay attention, you were only going to catch 2/3rds of anything she said, and she would still expect to quiz you on it later.

Adrien let his gaze wander while Alya’s voice buzzed in the background. The factory loomed over them, its cracked smokestacks reaching skyward like crooked fingers. The rusted fences surrounding the compound seemed more decorative than functional, and the people milling about within were no less mismatched. It was a chaotic mix of the misfortunate and the militant—grizzled veterans of life’s harshest battles sharing space with those who hadn’t yet grown callouses against the world.

They didn’t get a warm welcome on their way inside. The outer layer of the encampment was a melting pot, sure, but Adrien and Alya didn’t exactly fit. Alya’s confident stride and Adrien’s neatly pressed clothes made them stand out like two puzzle pieces from entirely different boxes.

The camp’s guards—a wall of muscle with cigarettes dangling from their lips—eyed them suspiciously. One of them, a particularly large man with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek, spat at the ground as they passed.

“Friendly crowd,” Adrien muttered under his breath, forcing a polite smile as Alya strode ahead like she owned the place.

“They’re just cautious,” Alya said, waving a dismissive hand. “You ain’t exactly their typical visitor.”

Adrien hummed in agreement, though he couldn’t help but feel the weight of several pairs of eyes boring into his back.  Still, he shot Alya a grin over his shoulder, trying to pump up the optimism. “They’ll warm up to us once they realize we’re here to help.”

Alya wasn’t so sure, but kept it to herself. The scarred man’s glare followed them all the way to the factory doors, and as they stepped inside, the oppressive atmosphere of the encampment didn’t exactly lighten. If anything, the factory’s dimly lit interior made it worse.

The air smelled of oil and mildew, and the distant clanging of metal echoed through the cavernous space. Makeshift tents and lean-tos filled what was once the factory floor, creating a labyrinth of patched tarps and scavenged furniture. People shuffled through the narrow pathways, their faces marked by exhaustion and mistrust.

Adrien, of course, was undeterred. He greeted everyone they passed with a nod or a wave, her unrelenting optimism as bright as ever despite the weird looks everyone gave in response. Alya, meanwhile, kept her hands tucked firmly into her pockets and her gaze fixed ahead, trying not to trip over anything—or anyone.

They found Dutch just a bit deeper inside, perched atop a crate throwing down a deck of cards on the table in front of him. His fellow players laughed at his poor hand while he grumbled that they were gonna empty his wallet before sundown. One other person Adrien did recognise was Louie, the boy around their age that got smacked around by the thug earlier. Louie caught their approach and tugged on Dutch’s sleeve, pulling Dutch’s attention to them.

Immediately, Dutch lit up, waving off his men to slink away from the table. Alya found this odd, while Adrien found it reassuring. “I knew I’d see you around here sometime soon, Agreste.” Dutch called out, clapping Adrien around the shoulder and moving him over to the table. “I told Darcy I had a good feelin’ about you.”

Adrien practically preened at the praise, smiling up at the man who so easily swept him up and sat him down. “Well, you had a cool introduction, so…” He chuckled awkwardly, “Uh, Dutch, right?”

“That’s it, Buddy-Boy.” Dutch patted him on the back, eyes glowing with amusement as they passed over Adrien’s attempt at cheap clothes.

Behind him, the sound of Alya clearing her throat brought Dutch’s attention to her, his eyes narrowed and apprehensive. “And…” He snapped his fingers, pointing at her. “Let me guess, journalist?”

Adrien was quick to chirp. “The most honest one you can find.”

Dutch shook his head, chuckling, holding his hand out to Alya. “Ain’t exactly a high bar, but you look like a good kid, Miss…?”

“Alya.” Alya took hold of his hand in a grip far stronger than Dutch expected from a young girl like that. “I write for the Ladyblog, but I thought it was about time that Paris’ lesser-known heroes get some spotlight.”

Dutch offered a winning smile; full teeth, full cheek and his eyes half-serious – all the bells and whistles. “Who told you we were heroes?”

Alya shrugged. “Enough to get me curious.”

Dutch rested his other hand over hers, regarding her with some cautious encouragement. “I respect the fire, but word of warning, Kid.” He rubbed the back of her hand soothingly, as if testing how sturdy it was before returning it to her. “Unlike Ladybug and Hawkmoth’s little light shows, things street-side can get pretty dangerous for people who get nosey.”

Adrien leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dude, you're only gonna encourage her like that," he said, gesturing to Alya, who crossed her arms indignantly.

"Don't be silly, Adrien," she replied smoothly. "I'm very responsible and very careful."

Adrien snorted. "Says the girl who hung upside down off the Eiffel Tower just to get a better angle on one of Ladybug’s fights."

"I already told you I just fell down there! I didn’t throw myself off a tall structure for a photo!"

Adrien said nothing.

“Don’t give me that look, Agreste!” she snapped, but the corner of her mouth quirked up like she couldn’t quite help herself.

Adrien turned his attention back to Dutch, waving a hand as if brushing the whole thing aside. "So anyway, she’s here for the story, and I’m here because I’d like to… Well, help people. Like you guys do."

Dutch leaned back, propping one arm on the crate as he studied Adrien, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey, we’re taking all the help we can get out here, but I gotta be straight with you, kid: this ain’t easy street."

Adrien grinned, shrugging. "You thought smacking that guy with a bin lid was easy?"

Dutch chuckled, shaking his head. "Heh heh, you got the spirit down, even if you’re a little sheltered."

Alya shot Adrien a knowing look. "He's not wrong."

Ignoring her, Adrien pressed on. "Who were those guys anyway?"

"Velenci Thugs," Dutch said, his voice darkening slightly.

Alya’s brow furrowed as recognition lit her eyes. "I’ve heard about them. Old crime family, right? They were real big back in the ‘80s until their leader and his family got lynched."

Dutch nodded. "Yeah, they’ve been clawing their way back ever since. Got some new blood running things now. We’ve trodden on said feet a time or two, and they don’t like it."

“We’ve managed to keep them out of this neighbourhood so far," Dutch added, his tone growing graver, "but they’re getting bolder."

Adrien frowned. “What was the guy trying to sell? It looked like an inhaler.”

Dutch’s jaw tightened. "They call it ambrosia. Nectar of the gods or whatever." His voice dripped with disdain. "Real nasty new drug that hit the streets last year."

Alya’s brow furrowed. "Never heard of it."

Adrien shot her a quick glance, silently hoping she wasn’t too up-to-date on the latest drugs.

Dutch continued, his tone low and grim. "Police haven’t been public about it yet, but people on our level are seeing it infecting more and more of Paris’ less fortunate. Drug makes you forget bad memories; keeps you trapped in the good times until you run out of doses. The aftereffects are hell on the brain."

Adrien clenched his fists. "I can’t believe somebody would try to sell stuff like this to children."

Dutch sighed. "A lot of sick, twisted people in this world, Kid."

Alya tilted her head, studying Dutch carefully. "So, you guys really are a vigilante group fighting drug pushers?"

Dutch held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin returning. "Hey, we haven’t actively gone outside the law. Yet. Confronting the guy harassing your boys? That’s self-defence at that point."

His continued leaning back in his make-shift chair, "And we don’t spend all day pissing off mobsters. Mostly, we just go around getting people what they need, giving them a space when they need it, and keeping the neighbourhood on the up-and-up."

“And looking good while doing it.” A voice packed with sweet country twang entered the conversation, bringing with it another familiar face, perhaps the most important one; the woman with the miraculous.

Immediately, Adrien felt her eyes on him as she strutted over, cradling a tray of drinks that she dumped on the table. Her gaze didn’t so much as waver in either Dutch or Alya’s direction, remaining focused on him, looking over him in a way that made him feel like he was about to realize he had something embarrassing on his shirt or something. Just that type of look like she was seeing something she shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Dutch cleared his throat, wrapping his arm around the woman’s waist and pulling her closer to him. “This my oh-so humble gal, Darcy.”

She let out a gentle laugh, lightly smacking his shoulder and drawing her finger under Dutch’s beard. “I haven’t been your anything since you taped that dead squirrel over your mouth.”

Dutch scoffed. “My beard is glorious; you just have no taste.”

“And until you shave it, you ain’t tasting nothing.” Darcy fired back, her smile growing as Dutch rolled his eyes.

There was no time to reply before she broke free of Dutch’s grip and practically hopped over the table, lunging so close to Adrien that he almost found himself falling backwards before Alya came in to steady him.

“Oh my god, it really is Adrien Agreste.” She squealed, her voice almost dreamy as her hands caught his cheeks, smooshing his face together as she looked him over and examined him. Adrien was used to being hawked out, but this was a bit much. “You look even cuter than in the magazines.”

Through his flattened face between her fingers, all he could do was slur out muffled words. “Itsh nict two meesh u.”

There was part of him that wanted to tell her to stop, but he heard Dutch laughing in the background and just chalked it up to her having a big personality “Careful there, Kid, Darcy here is overly affectionate.”

“Don’t listen to him, I’m just cuddly.” To prove her obvious point, she saw fit to slip her arms around Adrien, squeezing him tightly against her in one swift yank that made Adrien feel like he just got wrapped up in a tornado. “You don’t mind, do you Adrien?”

When he was eventually pried free from her embrace, he just nodded along with an awkward, blushing smile. Alya didn’t announce her actions, but he did notice and appreciate her suddenly moving in between them, resting her arm on his shoulder. He vaguely recalled telling Alya how annoyingly touchy fans could be sometimes.

“I-It’s fine.” He chuckled.

She was just being friendly; it wasn’t a big deal.

Alya wonderfully steered the conversation away, peering up into the woman’s wild hair to spot the shining, golden accessory that clashed with everything else. “That’s some nice looking jewellery you got there.”

“This?” Darcy coo’d, reaching up to grasp the Bee Miraculous. “Oh, I know, it’s darling.”

Adrien was confident that Darcy didn’t know what she had in her hand, and for that to make sense, he also had to assume that the wild miraculous didn’t make their kwami appear like regular miraculous did.

“Where’d you get it?” Alya asked, that determined reporter fire taking over her gaze.

Darcy pressed two hands together with an enchanted smile, resting her cheek against them. “One of our sweet little helpers found it and offered it to me.” She squealed with delight. “We don’t really get a chance to dress up out here, so I haven’t taken it off since.”

Adrien grinned, “That’s so sweet.”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of stumbling footsteps, slow and uncertain. A man approached the group with an unsteady gait, his eyes unfocused as he leaned heavily on his legs, twitching with every uncoordinated movement. His words were drawn-out, slurred, as if he was struggling to process each thought.

"Hey... hey, uh, Dutch?" he called, his voice wavering like a fragile thread. "Duuutch..."

Dutch immediately tensed, his smile faltering for a split second before he recovered, but Adrien couldn’t miss the slight quiver in his voice.

"We’re in the middle of something here, Franky." Dutch said, his tone sharper than usual.

The man, Franky, looked at the group, his gaze drifting aimlessly as if he was trying to make sense of who they were. His shuffling steps seemed more aimless with each one. Adrien couldn't help but notice how frail he seemed, like he was struggling to hold himself together.

"I just... just wanted to know about... about more... you know," Franky mumbled, his voice cracking as he tried to focus on Dutch.

Dutch's smile tightened, his eyes narrowing with some unspoken warning. "This ain't the time, Franky. Go wait in my office."

"I need some more of the good stu-," Franky began, but Dutch cut him off with a short, almost forced laugh.

"Oh Franky, so impatient," Dutch said, his grip suddenly tightening as he threw an arm around Franky's shoulders. "Fine, fine, we’ll get you your medicine right away."

Dutch waved toward Darcy, who had been standing nearby, watching the exchange with a bemused expression.

"Darcy, can you take over for me? They just wanna know how they can help the cause," Dutch asked, his voice a little less steady now, though his outward demeanour remained calm.

Darcy responded with a mock salute. "You can count on me, Boss Man."

With that, Dutch and Franky turned, disappearing deeper into the compound. The tension seemed to follow them, hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

Darcy’s smile faded slightly, her eyes shifting as she let out a sigh. "Poor soul," she muttered, almost to herself, before focusing back on Adrien and Alya. "We get a lot of people who can’t get the care they need. We like to keep a stock of... Medicine on hand, just in case."

Alya raised an eyebrow, but Adrien felt a knot form in his stomach. "Wow, poor guy," Adrien said.

Darcy sighed. "It’s a rough world out there." She then brightened, her eyes flicking back to Adrien. "Now, you said you guys wanted to help?"

Adrien nodded eagerly, despite the unease gnawing at him. "Yeah, anything we can do."

Darcy’s eyes twinkled as she leaned in, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Well, it just so happens that I need a big, strong man to help stock up a truck."

Adrien’s stomach did a small flip, but his first instinct was to jump in. “I’m your guy!” he said without hesitation, the eagerness to help outweighing his lingering doubts.

Alya shot him a quick look, but he didn't notice. There was something about the way Darcy had said it that made him feel like he had to prove himself, even if he didn’t quite know why.

Darcy grinned. "That's what I like to hear." She gave him a playful pat on the shoulder. "Get your hands dirty, kid. You're gonna fit in just fine around here."

---

Finding the horse miraculous had been the hard part. Breaking into the police station in the dead of night, Mayura knew that would be the easy part. Mayura had grown quite confident in her abilities over the past few days, using all the extra time on her hand to get comfortable in her new skin and test the limits of her abilities.

The first order of business had been reminding herself to be less conspicuous with them. During Optigami’s scouting missions, she’d had the idea to divide the sentimonster’s interest to include following the heroes as well; if she could bag a miraculous and Ladybug’s identity all at once Gabriel would-… Be very pleased.

And for a time, the strategy was promising. Optigami was practically untraceable, the perfect spy, and while Ladybug and Volpina both had a routine post-patrol to ensure they weren’t followed, with every failed attempt Optigami got closer and closer to following them home. However, at some point, Mayura slipped up. She didn’t know how or when, but eventually, the heroes started getting paranoia, started looking over their shoulders, started looking for Optigami. It wasn’t simply their sixth sense acting up, Mayura swore that, in one of the recordings, Optigami caught Ladybug mouthing ‘sentimonster’ as she looked around.

Somehow, the heroes knew what she was doing. And immediately, Nathalie realized that, with that knowledge, they could easily turn her own plan back on her. After that incident, Mayura made sure to carry out all her work far away from her apartment, ensuring that no hero could track Optigami’s movements to her general area.

It was a set back and Mayura had to admit that it was a blow to her confidence, but the damage was negated by Optigami’s completion of it’s first mission. It had discovered that the horse miraculous had ended up being picked up by the police, considering it a ‘dangerous doo-hickey’ after multiple reports of portals popped up and chucked it in evidence lock up. For two days straight, Mayura had Optigami scouting out the police station for all routines, security and weakness, and by the end of the second night she knew that it would be easy pickings with her powerset.

And that brought her back to the here and now, standing atop the roof of the station, a laptop at her feet hacked into the local security system. A perk of Hawkmoth having akumatized Rogercop was a bountiful well of knowledge on how the police station operated that Gabriel and Nathalie pocketed from him before he was set loose on Ladybug.

Once more, she plucked a feather from her fan, pressed a loving kiss against the core of her new creation, pouring all of her nerves and doubts into a being that wanted nothing more than to help her avoid detection.

“Fly away, little amok, and give me dominion over the skies.”

With a flourish and a flash, a new sentimonster was born, taking the form of a crooked, snow-board shaped contraption that hovered off the ground. A glider of sorts with jagged ends and little pouched making up the edges.

Mayura's lips curled into a satisfied smile as the glider-like sentimonster hovered obediently before her. It was sleek, almost graceful in its motion, and Mayura had no doubt that it would serve its purpose perfectly. “Sentiboard, I am Mayura, and you will aid me in claiming the horse miraculous.”

With that she hopped up onto the sentient craft, small handles shooting up to hook her feet and keep her attached to the craft as it took off into the night. The special thing about the sentimonster is that it was almost entirely silent, even as it ripped across the sky and dipped down under the window she intended to use as her entrance. She could blow through the air at top speed and the most everyone else would hear would be a gentle breeze whipping at them.

The window was just big enough for her to slip through, and with the Sentiboard’s silent agility, she would be inside before anyone even noticed she was there.

She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. The security cameras that monitored the station’s perimeter flickered for a brief second—static. It was a quick glitch, but enough to serve her purpose. She had hacked into the system earlier, overriding the feed to display the same static image in a loop, ensuring that no one would be aware of her arrival. No eyes would catch her as she slipped inside.

Landing softly just outside the window, she forced the window open and slipped inside atop Sentiboard’s back. She figured she had no reason to go in on foot and leave more evidence, not when she could fly in on the walking armoury. Inside, she was faced with a locked door. For regular old Nathalie she might have had to swipe some keys or pick the lock. For Mayura, it was a simple matter of just ripping the lock off and walking through the door.

Mayura flew inside, her senses heightened, the adrenaline thrumming through her. She moved quickly, her every motion calculated and efficient, until she reached the hallway where the guards were stationed. They were close now—just a few more steps, and she would be in the heart of the station, right where the Horse Miraculous was kept.

With a swift motion, she raised her arm, and from the Sentiboard’s pouches, a small canister shot out, releasing a fine mist of sleeping gas. The guards didn’t even have time to react as they collapsed to the floor, their bodies limp and unconscious. She spent the next few minutes methodically going through the station, knocking out guards, securing her exit and making sure that no spotted hero was going to catch wind of her activities until she was long gone.

Just as planned, it all went off without a hitch and she was left in the evidence room with no guards to complicate matters. The perfect plan, with the perfect prize, made by the perfect woman.

“I can see why Hawkmoth gets so cocky.” She hummed as she stalked through the lockers, eyes sorting through the disorganized mess of an evidence locker. “The miraculous makes infiltration child’s play.”

It didn’t take long to track down her prize, a wild, pulsating miraculous sort of stood out amongst all the wallets and bloody murder weapons. It was pushed all the way to the back, tucked away and left on it’s lonesome with three meters of bullet-proof glass between it and the rest of the world.

Mayura softly mused to herself as she crept up to the case, almost made to look like a display dedicated to the miraculous. “To think, such carnage could come from a pair of shades.”

She let out a low whistle, triggering another compartment on Sentiboard to open up, shooting a glass cutter into her open palm. The Peacock really was the perfect power. Akumas were so messy, and so disobedient, but sentimonsters? They excelled in every category. “Better take it before the guards wake up, or worse, it activates again.”

Carefully, she cut into the glass case, counting down the seconds in her head until she’d have something to worry about. She was so focused on her task that when she finally managed to cut that perfect hole and her phone went off, she practically yelped in surprise.

Wait.

Mayura didn’t have a phone.

Mayura scrambled to retrieve her fan, unfurling it before her eyes to see that, yes, the jewel in it’s base was blinking. Because Mayura’s miraculous had just received a text message.

Cautiously, she opened her weapon’s built in phone, having completely forgotten about all the miraculous having a communication device with them. Which made the face that she was being contacted even more dread-inducing.

The notification was indeed a message addressed directly to her. It simply said:

Behind you.

She had the perfect plan.

With the perfect prize.

Made by the perfect woman.

And then there was Hawkmoth, standing right behind her, ready to ruin everything.

She was too stunned to speak, her voice stolen by a breathless gasp. All she could do was press herself back against the glass as Hawkmoth leaned on his cane, offering her a jaunty wave. “I must say, this was quite the bang-up job.”

He tapped the cane twice against the floor, almost a tick showing his impatience, struggling against the temptation to lunge before he finished his monologue. “I mean it, hacking the cameras, knocking out the guards, coming by air in order to leave no trace of you.” He lifted the cane up with gusto, tapping it against his forehead. “Efficient, but I’ll be taking that miraculous now.”

His grin dropped into something more thoughtful and solemn, his gaze shifting to stare into the head of his cane. “Oh, and the Peacock as well.”

In one swift motion he pulled the cane apart, revealing the blade hidden underneath. And underneath it’s gleam, he found his eyes, now narrowed and darkened by spite, reflected back at him alongside the shocked face of his soon-to-be victim.

“And your pretty little head.”

Chapter 26: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Like A Moth To The Flame

Summary:

Hawkmoth and Mayura throw down... And Nathalie gets a little too into character.

Gabriel's mood:

Gabriel had not been idling in the aftermath of Mayura’s break in. His home had been trespassed, his most valuable belongings violated, his family threatened, and his pride bruised; he would not let a second be wasted allowing this worm to slip through his fingers. So, as soon as Nathalie called in for her long overdue sick days, he sequestered himself in his office with Nooroo and began to scheme.

As the holder of the butterfly miraculous, Gabriel held an infinite number of solutions to any problem at his fingertips, if only he were intelligent enough to use them correctly. He started with his knowledge of the peacock miraculous, and the most immediate possibilities of what Mayura would do with such power. It was clear that you didn’t steal a miraculous without intent to use its power, so it was certain that sentimonsters would start popping up in Paris.

And if Gabriel were to assume that Mayura was a serial thief, and that she wouldn’t want to catch the attention of Hawkmoth or the heroes, then he’d imagine that the sentimonsters would be deployed for subtle functions.

All Gabriel had to do was think of a way to take advantage of that. And if there was one thing Gabriel’s little mind accelerated in, it was jumping on opportunity.

He and Nooroo came up with a plan, a plan that needed a specialized akuma, which meant hours of waiting around in the lair for a specific psychological profile tickled their akuma senses. It took a day, but eventually the waiting did pay off when the strong emotional feedback of a dissatisfied librarian swamped in a disorganized mess cried out to the back of his mind.

“Ah, Nooroo, do you feel it?” Gabriel had secluded himself to a dark corner, slumped down with his eyes downcast when the call came in. In a most ungentlemanly manner, he scrambled to his feet, the butterflies all instinctively falling in to surround him.

“Dark Wings Rise!” No matter how many times he bellowed the phrase, it still hit him with that impossibly satisfying thunder crack as Hawkmoth consumed Gabriel Agreste’s form, expanding it into a worthy vessel of Nooroo’s power.

It was very important to him to install a butterfly-shaped, retractable sunroof into his lair. There was nothing that pumped him up for an akuma more than feeling that ethereal spotlight hit him at full power in tune with the sharp crack of his cane beating against the floor, shaking his butterfly audience into disarray as they fluttered violently over his shoulder. “An unrestrained heart swallowed by ignorant chaos and yearning for their order to be heard; perfect prey for my akuma!”

He held out his hand to his swarm of potential akumas, gently beckoning one forward with his index finger. Eventually one braved the stage, inching towards him until it rested in his palm. Gabriel held the butterfly with a careful, almost reverent touch. It pulsed faintly in his palm, a tiny spark of malice waiting to be shaped.

"Fly, my little akuma," he intoned, his voice almost gentle amongst the sinister purpose. "And sow the seeds of order amidst this chaos."

The akuma took flight, a streak of violet against the dim, flickering light of his lair, as Gabriel aligned his mind with the akuma’s senses, witnessing its journey in his mind’s eye. He watched intently as the black speck vanished into the cityscape, already envisioning how the chaos of Mayura’s theft could be turned into his advantage.

The librarian—frustrated, overworked, and ignored—was perfect for his needs. She would be his scalpel, precise and methodical, to carve out Mayura from the shadows she thought herself safe in.

Moments later, the faint ripple of power washed over him, the connection established. He was sunken into the depths of the akuma once more, welcoming the tide of unfettered emotion that could be perfectly moulded into his design.

“Spectral Detective, I am Hawkmoth.” The mindscape parted way for Hawkmoth, glass pooling together at his fingertips to forge the librarian’s new form and cast it before her. “I hear your dissatisfaction with your life since you were rejected from the police force. No one respects your dedication to organization, and your talents in detail and observation are wasted on old books nobody reads.”

“I can grant you the stake-out of a lifetime! All I ask in return is that you use this power to help me uncover Mayura’s sentimonster scheme!”

That was all it took for the major piece to be put in play, all that followed was a few days of keeping his ear to the ground. The akuma worked in two ways, one was allowing Spectral Detective to increase their awareness of supernatural entities, in this case, sentimonsters. It was one of those magical technicalities where Gabriel couldn’t directly invent an ability that tracked sentimonsters, but painting in broad enough strokes acted as a loophole. The other critical part of the plan was the akuma’s ability report these sightings right to Gabriel, all while appearing as a normal citizen.

And yes, the akuma was rather disappointed that they did not get an outfit, but sometimes you needed to sacrifice style for substance.

That’s where the book came in. The akuma had one, and Gabriel had the other by his side at all times. It worked as a shared document, whatever the akuma wrote in their book appeared in Gabriel’s. Over the course of a few days, the plan in motion worked better than Gabriel could have hoped.

In his head, he imagined Mayura making some grand public attempt to swipe one of the heroes’ miraculous, at which point Spectral Detective would use her ability to follow Mayua to wherever the thief thought a safe haven and relay her movements back to Gabriel. Instead, he found that Mayura had been very generous, but quiet, with her sentimonster usage.

It told Gabriel that she wasn’t confident in her abilities yet, and was forward thinking enough to start off small, testing her abilities with small-time heists like sneaking out safes and busting into jewellery stores. It also told him that her interests weren’t as narrow focused as his own, so she may not be too predictable.

With every report, he’d been tempted to get up and go. So close to blowing off whatever he was in the middle of and transform. There’d been even one moment that had him scared, when he realized that the notes indicated that the sentimonster had been summoned near Nathalie’s apartment. He was ready to throw subtly aside and charge in to protect his Nathalie from some deranged villain looking to finish what she started in the initial heist, but he managed to talk himself down when the villain moved away from the apartment.

As much as he wanted Mayura dealt with swiftly, he knew it would be a fools errand to rush in against an unknown miraculous user in territory that could very well be hers; especially when Mayura’s appearance tended to be very brief. If he wanted the best chance of besting her, he would fight her in an environment he could control, somewhere he could cage her in, in a situation where she didn’t have an opportunity to prepare herself for him.

And he found that chance when Mayura’s latest sentimonster came into play.

The first thing notable about this monster was that it was the first one that Mayura used more than once, and the first one she used for more than a few minutes. It was an asset for long term data gathering, slipping through the city to spy on it’s residents. On one hand, it was a clever use of peacock, but on the other hand, it made the sentimonster easier to track.

Instead of something that Mayura snapped away before any useful data could be gleamed from it, this required that it returned to Mayura to give her it’s report. Which meant, if Mayura wasn’t careful, it would continually lead Spectral Detective to a consistent location, either Mayura’s home or a favoured hiding spot; something Hawkmoth could use to ambush her.

And when the notes started detailing that this sentimonster was following his nemesis and her partner every now and then, well… Gabriel had to confess that he wasn’t beyond sabotaging the competition.

---

Private Message – MothMan/QueenBug

MothMan: Heads up, the Peacock user has made an appearance.

QueenBug: You say that like I should already know that there was a Peacock user in the first place.

MothMan: Calls herself Mayura. She’s created a sentimonster to spy on us. Possesses inanimate objects.

MothMan: It’s a giant butterfly eye thing. Keep a look out.

QueenBug: And you’re just giving me this information for free?

MothMan: I’m giving you this information to deny her any advantages.

MothMan: And to ensure she doesn’t get the drop on you.

QueenBug: That’s… Considerate?

MothMan: The only person who gets to beat you is me, Bug.

QueenBug: Aww, you do care.

MothMan: Don’t get used to it.

QueenBug: Too late. I’ll be expecting flowers next time.

MothMan: You’re insufferable.

QueenBug: Admit it, you love our little chats. You’re always the one to message me first.

MothMan: That’s because I have useful intel.

QueenBug: Oh, sure, it’s all about the intel. Definitely not because you’re lonely up in your creepy villain tower.

MothMan: I’m not lonely! I’ll have you know that I’m surrounded by people who adore me.

QueenBug: Uhuh, sure.

MothMan: Must you make this an entire tangent? Mayura’s the focus here. She needs to go!

QueenBug: Wow, she’s got you heated, huh? What, is she your ex or something?

MothMan: No. She’s just a thief.

QueenBug: OMG, she is an ex, isn’t she?!

MothMan: What?! No! I don’t know her. I don’t even know if she’s an adult!

QueenBug: Don’t worry, Hawkmoth. We’re all here for you during this troubling time.

MothMan: I regret everything.

QueenBug: Sometimes things don’t work out, and that’s fine.

MothMan: I’m leaving this conversation. Do with my information as you will.

MothMan: Damn teenagers.

QueenBug: I love you too, Old Timer.

---

He had no choice really; he couldn’t have let some rube like Mayura be the one to unmask his nemesis and add the Ladybug earrings to her collection. Besides, if Ladybug managed to catch Mayura red handed, he could also make that work in his favour.

However, that act came with it’s own risk, and Gabriel was well aware of this one when he made his decision; one of the heroes ended up tipping Mayura off. She probably didn’t figure out that Gabriel was on to her, but logically she’d realize that someone, namely the heroes, could potentially expose her sentimonster’s travel route back to her lair.

As such, Mayura’s deployment point had become far more inconsistent, never appearing in the same spot twice, and making sure that each spot is far apart so he couldn’t even make a guess of a general area she could be operating from. As much as he hated this woman, he could appreciate that she was smart enough to be his opponent in the first place.

But that didn’t matter, because Gabriel’s still bore fruit in the end.

It wasn’t her home address and keys wrapped in a cute little bow, but it was the bare minimum of what he needed, where she was going to be. Her sentimonster had a new consistent target in the aftermath of failing to stalk the heroes, it had been scouting out the police station thoroughly. Which meant only one thing, that Mayura was planning to hit the station.

What she was planning to look for would remain a mystery to him until he caught her in the act, but what mattered was that he had a place he knew she would be, a place he could prepare in advance, and would know as soon as she made her move.

In the morning, the sentimonster had been recalled. Which meant, in the night, Mayura was ready to strike.

Gabriel almost missed Adrien as he passed through the living room, his gleeful determination blinding him in the midst of his purposeful strives out the door. Readjusting himself, Gabriel turned to look down at Adrien, realizing how rude it must have seemed to not even acknowledge the boy.

“I trust your piano lesson went well.” He said cooly, adjusting his tie just to give something for his eager fingers to do.

Adrien visibly stiffened in response. Hm, he must have been so surprised by Gabriel talking to him.

“Oh, yeah, the piano lesson…” He coughed the words into his hand oddly enough, and his eyes almost seemed like they were trying to avoid Gabriel’s gaze. “It was very illuminating, Father.”

If it were anyone other than his darling, honest little boy, Gabriel might have gone so far as to say that this was suspicious. But it was Adrien, so Gabriel knew that there was nothing to worry about – was Adrien even capable of lying?

Gabriel’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of movement on the television as he made his way toward the door. Pausing mid-stride, his brow furrowed as the anchor's somber voice filled the room. Adrien turned his head slightly, following his father’s gaze to the broadcast.

The screen displayed a chaotic scene: a graffiti-splattered street corner surrounded by yellow police tape. Officers bustled about, their faces grim, while medical personnel wheeled away a stretcher carrying the lifeless body of a teenager, barely older than Adrien himself. The accompanying report spoke of yet another outbreak of gang violence, claiming the lives of several young members who had been caught in the crossfire.

Gabriel crossed his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the footage with distaste. “Can you believe it?” he muttered, shaking his head in disdain. “So many promising young men throwing their lives away for drugs and thuggery.”

Adrien’s face went pale. He opened his mouth, perhaps to respond, but nothing came out. Gabriel didn’t notice; he was too absorbed in his own righteous frustration.

“They think they’re chasing power, freedom, or some kind of respect,” Gabriel continued, his voice laced with contempt. “But in reality, they’re just shackling themselves to the worst kind of existence. Temporary highs, fleeting rewards, and then... this.” He gestured toward the screen, where another stretcher was being wheeled away.

“I blame the parents,” Gabriel declared, turning to Adrien with an air of certainty. “They don’t equip their children with the skills needed to see past these shallow temptations. They don’t instill discipline, focus, or a sense of purpose.”

Gabriel’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at his son. “It’s a good thing I raised you to be better than that,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “You’re not the type to be led astray by cheap thrills or bad influences.”

Adrien gave a weak smile, though Gabriel didn’t notice the way his son’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He simply assumed the boy was pleased to receive such praise.

Adrien suddenly spoke up, his voice sharp and a little too loud. "Uh… Uh… A-Are you going out?"

Gabriel glanced at him, a faint crease forming between his brows. "Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention," He said, internally scolding himself for forgetting something so important. "I have pressing business to attend to tonight. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so I’ll be trusting you to take care of yourself for a little bit."

Adrien blinked. "Wait, really?"

Gabriel nodded, smoothing out the lapel of his jacket. "You’re a growing boy, Adrien," he said matter-of-factly. "It’s time I started trusting you with more responsibilities." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "I think a night or two on your own is a good start, don’t you?"

Before Gabriel could finish his thought, Adrien darted forward and wrapped his arms around his waist.

A hug.

Gabriel froze, his arms hovering awkwardly at his sides, not exactly sure where to put them. He stared down at Adrien, wide-eyed and utterly bewildered. What was happening?

Physical affection wasn’t something Gabriel was accustomed to. His own parents had rarely expressed it, and even with Emilie, his attempts had often been clumsy, more an act of duty than instinct, and Emilie always ended up with him hurting her in his attempts. And wasn’t Adrien at that age where boys thought hugging was for "sissies"?

"I won’t let you down, Father!" Adrien declared; his voice muffled slightly as he pressed his face into Gabriel’s side.

Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Um, well… Okay then," he said stiffly, his voice faltering. His hand awkwardly patted Adrien’s shoulder, as though that might conclude the interaction.

Stepping back, Adrien grinned, but there was something in his eyes Gabriel couldn’t quite read.

"Anyway," Gabriel began, adjusting his tie again as if to regain control of the moment, "ground rules. Just keep the house in order, keep everything locked, and go to bed at a reasonable time." He leveled a pointed look at Adrien. "Oh, and no inviting hooligans over."

Adrien’s lips drew into a pout. "Does that me—"

"Yes, that includes all of your friends," Gabriel grumbled.

"Hey! I thought you at least liked Marinette," Adrien protested.

Gabriel raised a brow. "I’m not insane, Adrien. I’m not leaving you alone in the company of the opposite sex."

"Father!" Adrien exclaimed, his cheeks turning pink.

"What? I know how you teenagers are," Gabriel replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Adrien sighed dramatically, pouting in silence for a moment, before a mischievous glint sparkled in his eye. "Have you visited Nathalie yet?"

Gabriel’s expression flickered, a faint tightening of his jaw. Nathalie’s name always brought with it an annoying twist in his stomach. She’d been gone from the house for over a week. Even though they’d exchanged a few words over the phone, it wasn’t the same as having her nearby, ready to offer her usual quiet competence.

He didn't doubt his plan, but nothing felt more secure, or satisfying, than a Nathalie-patented approval, and he wouldn't dare bother her with such nonsense on her break. It wasn't that he couldn't function without Nathalie.

It was more... Well...

He could say that he didn't want to function without Nathalie.

"No," Gabriel said, his tone more measured now. "This… business has weighed on my mind a lot. I don’t wish to visit her with my focus elsewhere."

He hesitated, a rare flicker of vulnerability slipping through. "I plan to head over to her apartment after I’ve dealt with it."

Adrien’s smirk returned, more mischievous this time. "Are you sure you can be trusted alone with her? I know how lonely adults are."

Gabriel spluttered, his composure faltering for the first time that evening. "W-W-What exactly are you implying?!" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "And what is it with you teenagers calling me lonely? I’m perfectly content!"

Adrien held up his hands in mock surrender, his smirk now an innocent smile. "Nothing, Father. Absolutely nothing."

---

And that brought Hawkmoth to the here and now, staring down a shocked Mayura with her hands in the proverbial cookie jar. It had been a simple matter getting into the station beforehand, while he saved his akuma this time, he decided to take his infiltration down a more old school route. With knowledge from Rogercop’s experience on the force, Gabriel put together a quick and easy disguise, slipping through security with just the lingo and a killer fake moustache.

He knew that anything of value in a police station was probably in evidence lock up and made a b-line for the room. Naturally, he instantly recognised the most valuable target the moment he closed the door; the damn horse miraculous ripe for the picking.

He was delayed in taking it when he heard Mayura’s approach, but it worked out better this way; it gave him time for a dramatic entrance after all.

There was no time given for her response, he didn’t need her to speak, the questions and shock were all written so profoundly over her beautiful face. Before her lips could so much as utter the first trembling syllable, his blade was cutting through the air, the metal singing the most wonderful symphony.

Mayura barely managed to escape the blow, dropping down a fraction of a second too fast. The edge of his blade met the wall instead, carving a deep, jagged gash into it with a sound like thunder. Plaster and dust rained down, the imprint of his swing standing as a testament to what would have happened if she’d been a second slower.

She scrambled to her feet, her movements as graceful as ever despite the chaos. But Hawkmoth was already advancing, his every step calculated, his every motion deliberate.

“You’ve overplayed your hand, Mayura,” He said, his voice cold and resonant. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you slithering around my territory?”

He lunged again, this time feinting to the left before bringing his blade around in a sharp, upward arc. Mayura parried with her fan, the clang of metal against metal ringing out through the room like an alarm. Sparks flew as their weapons met, their faces mere inches apart for a fleeting moment before she desperately pushed him back.

“Did you think I would let you act unopposed?” Hawkmoth looked none worse for wear when he recovered from the push back, his posture unbroken and he grin perfectly poised. He stalked around Mayura, blade lowered slightly, inviting her, challenging her to take her best shot. “Well? Do you have nothing to say? Has one blow so easily snuffed out your spirit?”

Mayura didn’t respond, though her grip on her fan tightened, and her stance shifted slightly. She was watching him, calculating, waiting for an opening. He could see it in the tilt of her head, in the way her weight shifted ever so subtly on her feet.

Good. Let her try.

Hawkmoth’s grin widened beneath his mask. He enjoyed this—enjoyed the dance of it, the sharp edge of danger. It was different than fighting Ladybug, it wasn’t personal with the bug, she was simply in his way. But Mayura was different, she offended him, she was an opponent who required less respect. He didn’t know who this woman was, didn’t care, not really, the only detail that mattered was that she was his enemy. She was Mayura, an opponent who had dared to challenge him, to step into his game without invitation.

“Do you even know what you’re after?” He taunted, chuckling to himself. “Or are you simply here to pick at scraps, scavenging what you can’t hope to understand?”

This time, Mayura did respond, though not with words. She lunged at him, her fan snapping shut and darting toward him like a blade. So quick, so precise, how close the sharp ends of her fan came to drawing blood got his heart pumping like mad. She was a killer ballerina pulling him into her dance.

Hawkmoth twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, and brought his sword around in a sweeping arc. Their weapons clashed again, the sound sharp and jarring, and for a moment, they were locked together, neither willing to give an inch.

Her strength was impressive, he had to admit, though he’d never voice it. The way she met his blows, the precision of her strikes—it all spoke of a combatant who had trained for this, who understood the language of battle.

And yet, she was faltering. He could see it in the slight delay between her movements, the way her breath was coming faster now, her form slipping ever so slightly.

“You can’t win,” Hawkmoth said, his voice low and cold as he forced her back with a powerful strike. “You know that, don’t you?”

Mayura didn’t answer. But the way her jaw tightened, the way her eyes flashed with defiance—it was enough.

Good. Let her fight. Let her struggle.

It would make her defeat all the sweeter.

---

Nathalie always said that Gabriel would be the death of her, but she never thought the cause would be this direct. He was relentless in his advance as Hawkmoth, navigating the room at such speeds that he was practically teleporting, bouncing off the walls just to deliver a blow, however small, on her person. Already he succeeded in nicking her shoulder. It should be a small cut, of no consequence, but Hawkmoth made it feel like an open wound.

In all her years by his side, Nathalie had played witness to the many efficient ways Gabriel took care of his enemies. She thought she understood his abilities both in and out of his mask, but only now did she realize the stark difference in witnessing his ire and being the target of it. She was a trained combatant even without the Peacock, and Hawkmoth’s skills with a blade were keeping her on the defence, never letting up, never letting her breathe, only letting her realize that the next strike would land no matter her defence.

His attacks carried a weight she couldn’t comprehend, as though every strike wasn’t just physical but laced with the sheer force of his will. Hawkmoth’s blade was a blur, his attacks coming with such speed and ferocity that she barely had time to react, let alone counter. She was forced entirely onto the defensive, her body moving on instinct as her mind raced to keep up.

She tried to find an opening, a single moment where she could regain control of the fight, but he gave her nothing. He was unrelenting, his blade a constant presence, pressing closer and closer. Every strike, every movement, was designed to trap her, to leave her nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe.

And with each clash of their weapons, the realization sank deeper: this wasn’t the same Gabriel she had stood beside all these years. This was Hawkmoth, unfettered and terrifyingly focused without Chat Noir to make him play nice.

The air between them crackled with tension, and she could feel the inevitability of it, the weight of his skill pressing down on her. She wasn’t just losing the fight—she was being dismantled, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the certainty that his next strike would land, no matter what she did.

Hawkmoth's knee connected with her stomach, driving the air from her lungs with brutal efficiency. The force of the blow sent her flying backward, crashing through a wall, the impact splintering wood and cracking drywall. Nathalie's body crumpled on the other side, hidden from his sight by the rubble.

“How disappointing.” his voice rang out, cold and mocking, echoing in her ears as she struggled to her knees. “With all the effort I spent on tracking you down, I expected… Well, more.”

The taunts grated against her pride, fuelling the fire inside her. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright despite the sharp pain in her ribs and the dull ache spreading through her limbs. She wasn’t done yet. Not even close.

She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, letting the chaos of Nathalie Sancoeur—the pain, the fear, the doubt—fade into the background. Nathalie couldn’t win this fight. But Mayura could.

This is why I did it, she reminded herself. This is why I stole the Peacock. This is why I became Mayura without him. To prove that I’m more than his assistant. To prove that I can stand beside him, not just behind him.

The memory of Gabriel’s cold indifference, his tunnel-visioned obsession with Emilie, burned in her mind. She wasn’t just a cog in his machine. She was his equal, whether he admitted it or not. And tonight, she would show him.

She rose fully to her feet, brushing dust and plaster from her suit, her movements deliberate, almost regal. A confident smirk curled at her lips as she reached up and adjusted her hair. If Hawkmoth wanted Mayura to fight like a true adversary, then she would give him exactly that.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, echoing in the damaged room. Hawkmoth stopped his pacing, his taunts faltering as his blade lowered slightly. His posture stiffened, sensing movement before he saw it.

The sentiboard streaked into view, a blur of sleek energy slicing through the room. It struck his legs with brutal precision, knocking him off balance and sending him to one knee before it looped gracefully back to Mayura. She caught it effortlessly, stepping onto the craft and settling herself side-saddle, the picture of composed elegance.

The smirk on her face widened as she leaned back, perched on the sentiboard like a witch on her broom. For the first time in the fight, she felt in control. Now, she just had to sound like it.

“My apologies there, Mr. Moth.” She purred her words in a smooth low octave, which she was sure was Duusuu’s attempt at imitating that alluring, confident drawl of Miss Darling’s. “I just find myself a little… Flustered. I can assure you, I’ll keep my eye on the prize from now on.”

Hawkmoth regained his footing but didn’t go in for the attack, even he was curious about this sudden shift in persona. Good, she had his attention.

Okay, Mayura, take it away.

“It’s only natural.” Hawkmoth snarled, balancing his blade over his shoulder, his free hand patting himself down. “My presence tends to be overwhelming.”

“Oh, I can tell.” Mayura unveiled her fan once more and, well, used it like a fan, shielding half of her face from view as she batted cool air down her neck.

Just keep my cool. Keep my cool. I am powerful. I am owning this.

Her blue fingers trailed down her side before grazing across the smooth surface of her sentimonster, caressing a fine jewel with such gentle revelry. Hawkmoth’s gaze followed her every movement, cautious but curious, from her hip, down her legs, to the point where her thighs hung loosely over the side. She was painfully aware of his eyes, yet instead of feeling embarrassed by it, she felt encouraged.

In fact, suddenly she wanted his eyes closer.

She didn’t give Sentiboard a command, it acted at just her impulse, suddenly lurching across the room, rocketing towards Hawkmoth’s now defensive stance and completely missing the target. The sentimonster drove her around him, circling Hawkmoth until his ability to keep track of her broke, prompting Sentiboard to leap over him, spinning upside side and letting Mayura hang there, nose-to-nose with Hawkmoth as her legs instinctively wrapped around the board.

Hawkmoth’s eyes widened; her hands now perfectly posed to strike at him. “How did you-”

“I must say,” Mayura murmured, her once dull eyes now shimmering amethysts reflecting a dreamy, hypnotic pull. “I’ve never been handled so roughly by such a handsome gentleman.”

Hawkmoth blinked.

Nathalie blinked.

Somewhere, something broke.

“…What?” Hawkmoth’s voice squeaked in utter confusion.

What!? Nathalie squealed inside her head. Why did I say that!?

But Mayura, it seemed, was taking on a mind of her own. She leaned in closer, her breath beating against Hawkmoth’s exposed skin, a low sultry tone – that Nathalie did not know she was capable of – escaping her. “I can appreciate a man who knows how to handle his cane is all. I would hate to think you couldn’t keep up with little old me.”

“My… My cane?” He leaned away from her, eyes crossing over to stare down at that big, predatory smile stretching her lips. “You’re talking nonsense. You’re distracting me with nonsense.”

“So, you think I’m distracting?” The Sentiboard naturally dragged her away for the sole purpose of giving Hawkmoth the full view, her arms crossed over her head, her body curving into his gaze. “Are you sure it’s only my words leading your focus astray?”

Hawkmoth’s patience snapped. His cane blade whistled through the air as he lunged toward Mayura with a speed that was almost too fast to follow. She barely flinched, effortlessly twisting and maneuvering with the fluid grace of a predator. The Sentiboard beneath her feet zipped with uncanny precision, dodging every strike, each swipe of his blade barely missing her.

"Enough!" Hawkmoth’s voice cracked with frustration as he barked, his gaze unwillingly drifting away from hers. "I’ll hear no more of your t-trickery!"

His eyes burned with fury, but even as he focused on her, he couldn't quite mask his disorientation. The magnetic pull of Mayura’s presence was like a steady current he couldn’t resist. "I came here for your head, and I intend to claim it. There is no more fitting a fate for the crimes you’ve committed against me."

Mayura’s smile was effortless, teasing. She let herself drop from the Sentiboard, falling through the air with a practiced ease, and, without a second thought, she gave the board one sharp command. It shot forward like a bullet, rocketing straight at Hawkmoth’s chest.

There was no time for him to react. The Sentiboard slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground with a thunderous crash.

"Handsome," she purred, brushing off her suit with a flourish, "the only crime I’ve committed is stealing the show."

Her heart raced, but not from fear. No, it was something else—a rush of excitement, a high she hadn’t felt in years. Not since the last time she'd taken on something, or someone, that threatened her. "And your heart," she added, pointing a finger at him with mock seriousness.

Hawkmoth’s face contorted in confusion as he staggered to his feet, his expression twitching between anger and disbelief. His eyes refused to meet hers for more than a second, shifting nervously. He was flustered—something Mayura could hardly believe.

Inside, Nathalie cringed at how cringeworthy the line was, but when she saw Hawkmoth’s frozen reaction, it felt worth it.

"What... what are you playing at, Mayura?" Hawkmoth growled, trying to compose himself. He raised his cane high, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "Cease this perverse chatter, or I’ll be inclined to be more forceful."

Mayura placed a delicate finger over her lips and mocked a gasp. "Mhm, promise a girl a good time, why don’t ya?"

Hawkmoth’s brow twitched. "You’re really getting on my nerves."

"Oh, of that I am sure, Sir." The word slipped from her lips like velvet, smooth and deliberate, carrying a sultry weight that seemed to crack his fragile composure.

Hawkmoth flinched, his face flushing a deep crimson. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his cane. Mayura gasped, a squeal almost escaping her at realizing how much he was reacting to her. “My, my, now that’s an interesting look. What? You haven’t had a beautiful woman call you ‘sir’ before?”

He stammered, his voice caught in a strange tangle of emotions. "My... My assistant calls me it all the time, but never... like that."

Mayura, sensing the moment was hers to control, leaned in close. She wasn’t afraid. In fact, she felt more powerful now than ever. She tilted her head slightly, just enough to be dangerously close to his ear.

"Would you like her to?" she whispered, her voice teasing but sharp.

Hawkmoth recoiled, flustered, trying to pull himself together. "W-What? No! I would never... Never... Never... She’s not that type of woman!"

Mayura took advantage of his confusion, shoving him aside with a soft cackle, spinning on her heels as she darted back. "You’re too cute when you’re pouting. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

She was making Gabriel Agreste lose control, and all she had to do was show an interest in him.

"This is a fight!" Hawkmoth snapped. "I’m trying to kill you! Why are you making this strange?"

"Because I see a jewel I like," Mayura replied smoothly, "and I just have to make sure I snatch it up before anyone else."

Before Hawkmoth could respond, the ground shook beneath them with an explosive crack. Both villains turned in unison toward the source of the noise—the very cage that had once held the Horse Miraculous.

Inside the cage, the magical artifact, a pair of glasses, began to vibrate violently. A burst of magical energy shot from it, crackling like a failing machine’s sparks.

"What the—" Hawkmoth gasped, his eyes widening in recognition. "The miraculous, it’s activating!"

Mayura’s eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "I don’t think it’s reacting well to two holders battling over it."

There was no time to plan an escape. The Horse Miraculous exploded in a flash of pure light, a roar of raw, uncontrollable energy erupting from the cage. The very room seemed to be consumed by the surge of magic, a shockwave that rattled their bones and sent them flying back.

Then—silence.

The light show passed, leaving an empty room in its wake. No evidence, no papers, and no super villains.

Notes:

You never realize how bad a flirt you are until you spend over an hour staring at a blank page trying to come up with flirty dialogue for Mayura. I'll just write it off as Gabriel and Nathalie being bad at it no matter how Duusuu tries to help...

Chapter 27: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Parentless Guidance Part 1

Summary:

Marinette finds out that Alya and Adrien are doing stupid shit.
Marinette:

It wasn’t unusual for the mansion to be silent, but Adrien couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of emptiness the moment he awoke. He quietly slipped out of bed high strung and on his guard, his thumb idly tracing over the ring of the black cat for comfort.

Everything felt colder and slower, when he pushed open his door it was followed by a howling creak that dragged out for several seconds, when he pattered down the steps he couldn’t help but feel like a small child before the towering displays. There was no Nathalie to wake him up and drag him down to breakfast, there was no Gorilla waiting for him at the bottom step, and none of the telltale sounds of shuffling paper and hastened scribbling from his father’s office.

He rummaged around for his phone, checking for any texts from his household companions, but all he found was Chloe hounding him about an upcoming party, Nino spamming ‘PARTY!’ and Alya blowing up his phone with articles he could not see the context for. Nothing from his father. And just one dated text from Nathalie asking if his father has burned down the mansion yet.

When the phone was stuffed back in his pocket his eyes were only left with the daunting view of the doors leading into the office. His father was very particular about his space, if he had not summoned Adrien in or Adrien had no emergency to inform him of, everyone but Nathalie was strictly forbidden from intruding.

“Father?” Adrien weakly murmured, frozen with his hand raised, unable to bring himself to knock.

Plagg, on the other hand, held no such fear, easily darting forward and phasing through the door. After a moment of internal panic, Adrien realized that there was no outbreak of growls and orders from within, meaning that Gabriel Agreste really wasn’t in there.

Tentatively, Adrien opened the door. Approaching it like one would approach a trap, cautious that every wrong move would trigger some terribly deadly contraption that would decapitate him – or worse, alert his father.

Inside, he found Plagg lounging about on Gabriel’s desk, lazily looking over a pile of notes. “Huh, the old man really did fly the coop.” He said, disinterested.

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief, clasping his sweaty forehead. “Wow, we’re really alone.” He huffed, falling back against the wall. “I’m the man of the house now.”

It suddenly felt like a ton of pressure materialized to weigh down on his shoulders. His father had really left him alone, left him with responsibilities.

“Quick, do the Home Alone thing!” Plagg jumped up, giggling like the gremlin he was. “Minus the part about two guys trying to break into your home and mess up your kitchen sinks.”

Adrien’s eyes narrowed, peering down at the kwami, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Plagg rolled his eyes, zipping up to rest on Adrien’s shoulder. “Geez, you don’t know any movies that your girlfriend hasn’t shown you, do you?”

“H-Hey, Marinette isn’t my girlfriend.” Adrien spluttered. In his mind he added ‘yet’. On the outside, he simply made a show of nonchalantly crossing his arms and turning his nose up at Plagg. “We had a completely platonic snuggle session.”

However, he couldn’t keep up his fight against his blush, nor resist the giddy burst of energy that struck him at the memory of his unofficial sleep over at Marinette’s. He dropped down to eye level with Plagg, his grin breaming. “Though I think she’s coming around on Chat Noir. So, maybe, eventually… Romance…”

Plagg rolled his eyes, some people were too cheesy even for him. “Yeah. Right.”

Adrien snapped out of his trance by clearing his throat, instinctively mimicking his father’s nervous tick of adjusting the tie… That he wasn’t wearing. “Anyway, you were last active like 200 years ago, what the hell do you know about 90’s classics?”

“What do you think I do all day?” Plagg scoffed, crossing his little arms. “Eat cheese and sleep?”

Adrien stopped, considered it, breathed in, and nodded fiercely. “Yes.”

Plagg fell back spluttering. “Well, you’re wrong!” He screeched. “It’s only, like… 70% of my day!”

Adrien clapped his hands together gasping, “Is this why I’ve been getting billed for a Netflix subscription I’ve never used?”

“Maybe.”

Adrien sat himself on the edge of the desk, a thoughtful expression taking over. "You know, Plagg, I’m going to be retrieving the Bee Miraculous soon."

Plagg raised a brow, floating up to meet Adrien's gaze. "What’s your point?"

Adrien shrugged nonchalantly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I’m just saying, I’ll be getting more options for kwami partners." He tapped his chin, pretending to think deeply. "And I wonder if the Bee Kwami would keep using my credit card without my permission to make frivolous purchases."

Plagg's eyes widened, and he spluttered, zipping back and forth in a tiny panic. "H-Hey, you don’t mean that! There’s no Chat Noir without Plagg!"

Adrien tilted his head, feigning an innocent, considerate expression. "Hmm, I don’t know… Pollen sounds pretty responsible. Plus, I bet she wouldn’t blow my budget on cheese."

"Think of Marinette!" Plagg yelped, throwing his paws up. "Pollen isn’t gonna make your abs and that ass look as good as I do! Would you really deny that poor girl our greatest assets?"

But Plagg’s pleas fell on deaf ears as he had lost Adrien at the word ‘Marinette’. The buzzwords of the conversation conjured up the image of him leaving the Bee miraculous with her, she’d probably use it more responsibly than him, and she’s already a superhero in real life. His father would never allow it of course, but Adrien’s mind started to wonder.

Then again, the power to stun people would be superfluous; Marinette was already stunning after all.

He would not apologize for that pun.

 His mind started spinning with more thoughts. What would she even call herself? Bumblebee? Wasp Woman? Ooooh, maybe Murder Hornet when she was pissed off.

And then there was the costume. What would it look like? Marinette could make anything look good, sure, but the Miraculous transformation would only enhance what was already there. Would it be sleek? Dramatic? Maybe something with a honeycomb pattern? Adrien leaned back against the desk, gazing up at the ceiling with a goofy grin.

"Man," he muttered to himself, "she’d make one hell of a bee."

“…Uh, Golden Boy? You there?” Plagg’s voice snapped Adrien out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, I just got distracted,” Adrien replied, shaking his head with a sheepish smile. “What do you think Marinette would look like with a Miraculous?”

Plagg immediately shot him a pointed look, floating right in front of his face. “Hey, hey, you’re the black cat, remember? So, stop drooling like a dog, you perv.”

Adrien’s face turned bright red. “I-I was thinking only about how cool she’d look, I’ll have you know.”

Plagg crossed his little arms, clearly unimpressed. “Boy, don’t even try to lie to me; I was half of you when she showed you a little shoulder.”

Adrien nearly choked, his blush deepening. “T-That’s not the same! I just—she—uh—” He stammered incoherently before throwing up his hands. The loud echoing ring of the doorbell saved him from having to finish that sentence as he jumped up, vigorously pointing towards the front door. “Oh, look, a distraction!”

He practically flung himself out of the room, tumbling down the stairs as Plagg’s fierce laughter followed at his heel. He didn’t so much as reach the front door as slam face first into it in what any outsider observers would describe as a drunken stupor. In the last few seconds before he pushed down on the door handle, he feverously ran his free hand through his hair, trying to smooth out any evidence of embarrassment and calm down his heart rate.

The door opened and already Adrien felt tired again.

“Alya, it’s ten in the morning, what are you doing here?”

She was leaning against the frame, a wicked smile on her lips and two empty coffee cups crushed in her hands. There was something in her eye that just instantly communicated an image of him being dragged on an exhausting morning run, because a day out with Alya always ended with severe damage to your lungs even if physical actions weren’t even involved.

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.” She lit up, baring teeth and terrible promises.

Adrien groaned, scratching his forehead and peering past Alya, hoping to see Nino or Marinette to act as a limiter. But no, there was only Alya, and she had her sights set on him. “I’m barely awake, cut me some slack.”

Without permission she pushed past him into his house, letting out a sharp whistle looking over the grand, empty hallway. “Heard about your dad leaving you the house for a while.” She patted her hip, shooting him a sly smirk. “Figured it’s a perfect opportunity for more undercover shenanigans.”

“It’s not undercover if Dutch knows our identities.” Adrien squinted, “Wait, how did you know-”

Alya shrugged. “You texted Nino about it as soon as you found out.”

“Oh.” Right, he did do that.

“And Nino can’t keep a secret for shit.”

Hesitantly, Adrien nodded. He’d learned his lesson the last time he let Nino in on a surprise party for Marinette. “Fair.”

Suddenly, Alya’s arm was slung around his shoulder, pulling him further into the house. “Come on, Agreste, make yourself decent and let’s get dangerous!”

“Alya, I appreciate the thought, but…” Adrien hesitated, shrugging her arm off. He stalked away from her, nervously pressing his fingers together. “My dad’s given me a responsibility—his implicit trust to take care of the house while he’s gone.”

He looked back, trying to retain a stern face. “I can’t just throw away my duty to my father to go and goof off with my friends.”

Alya’s grin only widened. “Adrien, this is what us normal kids call ‘Teenage Rebellion.’”

Gabriel Agreste would rightly suggest that Alya was a terrible influence on Adrien.

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was in a good mood. For the first time in months, she’d gone an entire week without incident. No Hawkmoth sending out akumas, no series of unfortunate events caused by her bad luck, no drama; aside from that text warning her about Mayura’s spying, it had practically been a vacation.

No super villains, just her and the warm allure of freshly baked bread wafting under her nose.

She’d just finished pulling the latest attempt out of the oven when she heard the shuffling of slippers across the tiles behind her, pulling her attention to a short balding man fanning away the light cover of smoke as he entered the kitchen, his big bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“How’s the bread coming along?” Her grandfather, Roland, asked.

Admittedly, she was still getting used to working in her grandfather’s kitchen, everything in his house was old school and she didn’t fully get how all the old tech worked, but a good baker is one that could get the basics done with any tools. It didn’t help that the man embodied a drill sergeant whenever baking was involved, even after he let go of his hard stance on tradition, he still expected the upmost diligence and discipline when baking. Which was why he banned her phone from the kitchen after the tenth time she started looking through her texts mid-baking.

“Better than the last attempt.” She giggled, balancing the bread on the wooden peel and placing it on the counter. There was a slight frown at seeing burn marks around the rim, she was still getting used to the old oven’s temperature difference. “It hasn’t come out lumpy and deflated yet.”

Roland leaned over her shoulder, breaking off a chunk of the crust for a taste. He hummed thoughtfully as he chewed on it. “You have your father’s touch.”

Marinette pursed her lips, “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

His face was so expressive for an old man, his features wide and stretching under the weight of uncertainty. “Yes?”

Marinette shook her head, giggling as she loaded the bread loathes into a basket. “I think it’s ready now, we can add it to the basket.”

“Perfect!” Rolan snapped his fingers, prompting his three mouse assistants (don’t ask how that’s hygienic at all) to carry the rest of the loathes in suit. For a moment he was left silently watching, drumming his fingers on the counter, before he spoke quietly, with a sombre edge. “I was hesitant at first, I admit, but I really missed this… Baking with family.”

It hadn’t always been this stable. In times like this, she had to think back to how, until a couple of months ago, she’d never met her grandfather. He’d broken off contact with his family ever since her father and mother married, isolated himself to his home and talked to nobody but the delivery guy for twenty whole years. Even Marinette turning up herself to try and get him to visit for her father’s birthday just ended up with him freaking out about tradition, how things should be done and then being turned into a giant bread man.

Yeah, she did not know what Hawkmoth was going for there. Even Chat Noir was side eyeing that one.

Ironically enough, the akuma might have been just the push her grandpa needed to finally accept that he wanted to rejoin his family. He’d been so worried that he might have harmed Marinette as an akuma that he started to question how much he was losing out of by being so strict about ‘how things should be done’.

Volpina had been caught between them at the end, forced to taste test Marinette’s modern bread and Roland’s traditional bake. Unfortunately, the girl hadn’t been much help.

“Well? Which one is best?” Roland asked expectantly, foot tapping away a musical as Volpina shrunk under his gaze.

“I dunno.” She shrugged.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Marinette unintentionally matched Roland’s stance.

“It’s bread. They both taste like bread. I don’t know what you want me to say. They are very bread-y.” She took another chunk out and looked around the kitchen curiously. “Now, maybe if I had some curry or something to dunk it in-”

“That’s not how it’s done!” They both yelled.

Since then, she’d had fun making regular visits to her grandfather’s home to get up to date on all the old ways she’d missed out on in baking. Outdated doesn’t mean that there isn’t still something to value to learn from those old methods after all. There was probably some inspiring metaphor about building the future with the past or something, but Marinette wasn’t dedicating any brain power to figuring it out.

She’d learned that she shared a lot of traits with her grandpa, both admirable and… Loud. Mostly in being very particular about how they go about their passions, and how much they grumble to themselves about the people around them.

“I enjoy it too, Grandpa.” Marinette smiled softly at Roland, placing her hand atop his and squeezing. “Now how about we spread that cheer to the neighbourhood.”

One new step Roland had taken in getting out of the house had been reviving an old tradition he and her father had long before all the drama; that being baking goods to hand out to the people around the area, mostly those down on their luck. Roland lived in one of Paris’ more run down and crime ridden neighbourhoods, but the old man was far too hard boiled to let that stop him from getting out there and doing something good for his community.

Marinette had been invited along once and now the two made it a regular outing when she came over, which meant, against her will, Marinette had now internalized over thirty new names of her grandpa’s various neighbours and the names of their pets.

So, when the two, after passing Miss Keely the woman who has been thirty years old for twenty years, and Mr Vogal the conspiracy theories who delivered the mail, Marinette had no trouble recognising a familiar face just up ahead resting against a payphone. He was an older man, roughly around her grandpa’s age, who always looked like he was in some stage of moulting. The tattered remains of a beard dotted his chin, buried under waves of wrinkles that led up to a bald head only sheltered by the rough patch-work fedora on his head.

Marinette recalled his name being Frank Roads, though his friends call him Franky, and he seemed to have some history with her grandpa, so she assumed that they were old friends.

“Mr. Roads, is that you?” Marinette leaned down to get a closer look at the man only for his head to roll back and reveal a big black swelling mark over his left eye. “Oh my god, what happened to your eye?”

He stumbled to his feet, swaying with an unbalanced gait. “Ah, this old thing?” He laughed at a joke nobody told. “I just, uh, got into a bit of a scrap.”

Her grandfather looked upon him with suspicion, beady eyes following his every movement. “A scrap huh?”

Marinette was already sprinting away, “I’ll get some ice!”

Marinette didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll get some ice!” she called, already sprinting off.

It wasn’t a long trip, stumbling through Roland’s house to the fridge and snatching up a handful of ice. But it was long enough that, by the time she returned, Marinette could feel that there’d been a shift.

Frank was now leaning upright against the wall, with her grandfather advancing on him in an aggressive stomp that made it look like Frank was being pressed into the wall.

“—don’t know why you’re so curious,” Frank grumbled, leaning away from the old man. “You know how it goes in this part of town. You start looking like you’re doing better, and all the assholes wanna tear you down and take your new shiny things.”

But Roland’s accusatory scowl didn’t falter. He may have been shorter, but he gave off the impression that he could close the distance and rip out a throat if given a reason. “Frank, are you clean?”

Frank’s cheeks puffed out as he spluttered, shaking hands quickly stuffed into his pockets. “W-What the hell are you asking for, asshole? I’m not… I’m not on that stuff anymore.” He added with an unconvincing laugh, “Couldn’t even get it if I wanted to.”

Roland’s expression was stone-cold. “So, you’re on something new?”

“Look, Roland, I respect you, but if you don’t back off, I’m gonna have to scrap with you too.” Frank growled. “I said I’m clean, so I’m clean. I’ve been clean for months.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what wound her grandfather was picking at. Marinette wouldn’t deny that Frank’s behaviour seemed suspicious, but she was quick to slip between the two and press the bag of ice into Frank’s hand. The man already had his face busted open; he didn’t need Roland getting in his business too.

Turning her back on Frank, she planted herself firmly in her grandfather’s line of sight, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. “Grandpa, are you being a nosey detective?”

Roland looked down at his feet, grumbling, “I’m just making sure he isn’t bringing that garbage around my family.”

Frank used this opportunity to try and scurry away, quickly pushing himself off the wall and stumbling past them.

“This is an honest package thank you very much.” He snapped, repeating the ‘honest’ under his breath a few more times. “And I just remembered that I need to deliver it quickly o-o-or I won’t get my bonus.”

He only took four steps before his swaying carried enough momentum to completely knock him off balance, quickly bringing his body crumbling to the floor while the package went flying over his shoulder.

Marinette rushed to his side. “Whoa! Mister, are you okay?”

“Just… Just lost my footing there.” He said, his voice muffled by concrete. “I think more than my eye got a little bruised…”

Roland peered over the scene, revealing the package safely secured in his palm. “You’re in no state to go all the way up to…” He pulled it up under his nose, squinting to read the address without the aid of his reading glasses. “The Grand Hotel?”

Frank managed to pull himself out of the ground, spitting out chunks of the floor as he pushed himself onto his knees. He shot Marinette a grateful look before holding his hand out for the package. “I need this pay check, Roland.”

“You’re in no condition to be wondering around the city.” However, Roland shook his head and ripped the package out of reach. “You’re going to run yourself into a car at this rate.”

“Why don’t I take it up for you?” Marinette offered, brushing dust off Frank’s sleeve as he wobbled unsteadily.

“Marinette, no.” Roland’s response was immediate, sharp with authority.

“Gramps, I’ve walked up there a bunch of times,” she argued, hands on her hips. “It’s not like I’m gonna get lost.”

Roland’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to Frank. “What’s in the package, Frank?”

“I can’t exactly violate the privacy of the person getting it,” Frank replied, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Frank…” Roland’s voice dropped into a dangerous growl, the parental kind that made you feel like a kid, and usually got people confessing things they hadn’t even done.

“It’s paper, see?” Frank sighed, making a show of drumming his fingers across the package, shaking it and letting them hear the shuffle of parchment inside. “Nothing sinister, you paranoid old quack.”

Marinette stepped between them again, her voice softer with her best pleading pose; hands together, eyes innocently wide and lip trembling. “Please, Grandpa? I just want to help him out.”

Roland grumbled under his breath. Inside, she could guess he was weighing up just how much he was able to stop her if he refused, he already knew his granddaughter was as stubborn as him and as reckless as his daughter-in-law.

“Against my better judgment…” He finally sighed. “Fine.” He lunged closer, face scrunched up and a thick, dangerous finger prodding her chest. “But you call me every half an hour, and if you see anything shady, you run the other way.”

Marinette gave him a bright smile, already reaching for the package. “Don’t worry, Grandpa; I’m the best at running away from trouble. I know how it’s done.”

---

“Do I even wanna ask what’s going on here?”

To outsiders, it wouldn’t be such a bizarre sight. It would almost look warm. But there was nothing warm or ordinary about Chloe Bourgeois doing normal things, because the woman had built herself around being above such peasantry.

Marinette watched in bizarre bemusement from the doorway, looking upon Chloe, who sat in a sea of tissues and fans on her bed, wrapped up like a burrito with her hair splayed across her pillows in a wild, untamed and unfashionable stream. And Marinette knew for a fact that Chloe would never let herself be seen like this, even in the privacy of her own home. Much less with Nino standing in the room with a bowl of chicken soup out to her – Sabrina wasn’t even here to comfort her.

There was conflict in Chloe’s scowl, a mental battle between screaming at Marinette for daring to poison her home with her lesser presence and making a grand display of whatever inconvenience had befallen her. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, Loser,” And loud spectacle it was, Chloe’s face trembling like it was all going to break apart. “But I’m clearly sick.”

The Chloe Burrito came up just for the sake of heaving a dramatic sigh and falling back down. “My heart is rushing, my skin is flushing, and everything is fading. Oh, how degrading.”

Marinette squinted, “…Did you just rhyme?”

“That’s how sick I am.” Chloe cried out, crocodile tears in hot pursuit. With her arms trapped under the blankets, all she could manage was a mad full-body shuffle that would make a worm jealous. “Numbro; I need more soup!”

Nino whistled, bowl in hand as he ever so carefully passed it over to her. “Wow, even your mispronunciations of my name are getting worse.”

Marinette groaned, her eyes lingering over Nino like a disapproving parent. “Nino, what are you still doing here? I swear the bet has ended by this point.”

The soup was wordlessly passed over, Chloe snatching it up and tucking it under her chest like a child trying to protect their toy. Nino shrugged, “Because Chloe doesn’t think I’ve technically been doing my duties since we got sidetracked by all her project stuff.”

Marinette’s palm met her face in record time. “You do realize that she’s just looking for excuses to drag out you being her slave, right?”

“Hey, I’m a king, remember?” He gave her a double thumbs up and that goofy grin. “I got this.”

From between the loud slurping under the covers there came a pained groan. “You tell her, Ninerino.”

Looking between Nino and Chloe, Marinette couldn’t quite put her finger on what was bothering her. Sure, Chloe being dramatic and Nino going along with it—because he was Nino—explained some of it. But not everything. There was something else at play here, something unspoken that hung in the air like an unanswered question.

She glanced back at Chloe, who was now dramatically slurping her soup and muttering complaints under her breath, before pulling Nino aside.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

She watched him carefully, scrutinizing every flicker of his expression. For just a moment, something passed through his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place. Fear? Unease? Was Chloe holding something over him? It had to be blackmail or some other underhanded scheme.

Nino blinked, his expression casual—too casual. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t it be?”

Okay, maybe not blackmail, but he had been acting differently ever since this whole thing started. Now that she thought about it, Nino had been acting weird with Alya, too. A little more distant, a little more careful—like he was afraid of setting something off.

“It just seems like you might be…” She leaned closer, squinting at him. “…looking for an excuse to avoid something.”

Nino laughed, a little too quickly. “Aww, Mari, are you worried Chloe’s stealing me from you guys?” He grinned, nudging her playfully. “Don’t worry, you’re always my number two pal.”

There was a pause. A long pause. Then Marinette’s expression hardened, and she smacked him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him wince.

“Number two?!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms.

“Hey, Adrien’s my bestie, of course,” Nino said, grinning as he rubbed his arm.

Marinette glared at him, her lips twisting into an exaggerated pout. “I carried your butt through middle school, and I get replaced by the boy you haven’t even known for a year?”

“How do you think I felt when Alya came into the picture?” he shot back, smirking.

“That’s different!” Marinette huffed. “You could never understand girl talk.”

Their banter came naturally, a playful back-and-forth that was as familiar as breathing. For a moment, it was enough to ease the tension in the room. But even as they laughed, Marinette couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“What are you doing here anyway, Dupain-Cheng?” Chloe demolished the friendly atmosphere in one shrill swoop. “Who let a dirty peasant up onto my floor? Or did you finally embrace your criminal ways and break in?”

Marrinette returned to the bed and brandished the package, smacking it against the pouting heiress’ forehead. “I’m here to deliver a package to your mom, but I can’t find her room.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, letting out a shrill laugh. “My mother ordered that nasty old thing? Impossible, she only accepts deliveries by helicopter and packages wrapped in gold.”

“Claudia, why is there fashionable rat and an ugly little turtle standing in your room?”

Speak of the devil and she’ll appear, rocking heels and dowsed in enough makeup that she looked like she was chiselled from gold. Audrey Bourgeois, fashion icon, shoe connoisseur, professional bitch, the evolved Chloe; appeared in the doorway, sneering at Marinette and Nino from behind her designer shades.

Nino groaned from over Marinette’s shoulder. “Why does everyone keep comparing me to a turtle?”

Marinette turned back to him, kind words of affirmation on her tongue, but glancing over him, she shouldn’t help but push them back down. Instead, she answered with a pained cringe. “You do kind of have a turtle-shaped face going on there.”

Nino, aghast, huffed and turned away. “And you wonder why you’re number two.”

Chloe wriggled her way over to the side of the bed, calling out. “The rat is a delivery girl and the turtle is my servant.” Marinette waved the package for emphasis.

“Ah, I see.” Audrey stepped forward, one hand pulling down her shades so she could peer over the rim at the unimpressive display that stood in front of her. She looked at Marinette like she was looking at mud that had been scrapped off her shoes. “Dutch’s people are getting younger by the day.”

Quite aggressively, she snatched the package from Marinette’s fingers, snarling. “It took you long enough.”

Marinette tried not to look too agitated, left awkwardly rubbing her palms together. “Sorry, your original delivery guy got his lights punched out.”

Audrey didn’t give her the privilege of holding her gaze anymore, turning her back to Marinette and ripping open the package. “Then he should have been courteous enough not to run into another man’s fist.”

She held the flap open with two fingers, flicking through a the contents with little affirmative hums. “Hm, everything seems to be there.” Pulling away, she glanced over her shoulder and shoo’d Marinette away. “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll look over this later; tell Dutch our little arrangement will continue.”

Audrey didn’t wait for a response, she just continued her stride out the room and disappeared into the one at the other end of the hall. A minute later she resurfaced only to make her way to the elevator. When the distant rumble of machinery in motion confirmed that she was gone, Marinette allowed herself to breath.

And then feel wildly offended, whirling around to face Chloe. “Wait a minute, how am I a rat?”

Chloe scoffed at the stupid question. And Marinette bristled at the audacity of this brat. “Have you seen that mangy mat you call hair? And the less said about that nose of yours the better.” Her hands, now free from the blanket prison, came up to draw circles around her mouth. “And let’s not mention that, from certain angles, your teeth look buck tooth’d.”

“What?!” Marinette squealed, slapping her hand over her mouth and hiding her face from Chloe. “No, they don’t! Nino, tell her she’s wrong.”

But when she turned to Nino for backup, he was conspicuously silent.

“Nino?” Marinette prompted, her tone wavering.

Behind her, Nino scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

“Sorry, just a bit distracted.” His brow furrowed in thought. “T-T-That name, ‘Dutch,’ I swear I’ve heard it before.”

Marinette lowered her hands from her face, curiosity overtaking her indignation. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Yeah…” Nino snapped his fingers, his expression lighting up in sudden recollection. “Right, right! Adrien and Alya were talking about him.” He paused for effect, his voice lowering slightly, as though the walls might be listening. “He’s the leader of that gang they were joining.”

“They’re what?!” Marinette screeched, the volume of her voice making Chloe wince and burrow deeper into her blanket cocoon.

“Ugh, could you not yell?” Chloe groaned, “Some of us are trying to heal here.”

But Marinette paid her no mind, whirling back on Nino with wide eyes. “What do you mean joining a gang?!”

Chloe huffed, her curiosity piqued despite her apparent disdain. “So, Adrikins is a common hoodlum now?” she asked.

Marinette shook her head fiercely, rejecting the idea outright. Nino had to be pulling her leg. “That literally makes no sense. Adrien couldn’t break a promise, much less the law.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “Did they not text you about it too?”

“They did not,” Marinette replied through gritted teeth, her eye twitching over and over. No, somehow these two idiots decided not to tell her about them doing something stupid and dangerous; probably because she’d talk them out of it.

Nino leaned back with a teasing grin. “Getting some real number two energy from this.”

Marinette’s glare could have pierced steel. “Nino, I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright!” Nino laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “No need to go full psycho on me.”

Marinette’s response was short lived as a yellow blur dashed between the two and made a break for the door on the other side of the hall.

Without much else to do, the two moved to follow the suddenly energetic heiress. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

They ended up gathered around the door Audrey disappeared into before, Chloe crouched down by the keypad welded to the door frame. “Breaking into my mom’s room, duh.” It took a few tries, but Chloe quickly figured out the right code and had the door swinging open to clip Marinette across the nose. “If my mom’s making deals with gangsters, then whatever that package is has gotta be juicy.”

Marinette gripped the tip of her nose, staring at Chloe pointedly. “I thought you were sick.”

She opened with a sneer, tossing her loose hair over her shoulder and falling back into her perfect poise pose; a far cry from the flushing fever patient she’d been a mere minute prior. “I am, but I’ve been feeling better ever since you came.”

Pressing her finger against Marinette’s nose, she roughly shoved Marinette’s head back before slinking into the room. “Maybe my disgust for you overpowered my fever.”

After recovering from the unwanted touching, Marinette stormed into the room after her, knocking aside poor Nino in the process.

The room they entered could only be described as a gold palace. Every surface shimmered with gold accents, from the gilded furniture to the ornate frames of massive mirrors hanging on the walls. The bed was oversized, draped in luxurious white and gold sheets, and the faint scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air.

“Whoa.” Nino breathed, stepping in behind them. “And I thought Chloe liked gold.”

Marinette whistled, trailing her finger over the opulent surface. Just touching the desk made her purse groan in fear. “How much space was removed just to make way for this mini palace?”

Chloe shook her head at them them, making a beeline for the large desk in the corner. “Bourgeois women go big or go home, you two should know this by now.”

It didn’t take long to find the package, Audrey didn’t exactly attempt to hide it, so soon enough Chloe held it up before them. “Hah, found it. Now let’s see what Dutch wanted my mom to see.”

She turned the parcel upside down, dumping its contents out on the desk. On a quick glance it was a lot of paper; letters, news articles, contracts and some photos of people in compromising positions.

Nino stroked his chin thoughtfully, “Maybe he’s your mom’s secret admirer sending love notes.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, flashing the photos of several different women under his nose. “What love notes are all about other women?”

He shrugged, “Okay, maybe he’s the ultimate hater then.”

Marinette took a crack at sifting through them herself. It was information, just raw data with no connecting thread she could see. It was like someone printed out their social media feed, just filled with bits of meaningless information about a celebrity being pregnant, someone cheating on their partner, some safety regulations being violated, ect.

“This is just… Gossip?” She murmured, letting the pages drop back onto the desk. “Does your mom not know how to use the internet or something? She can just look all this up online.”

“You’re thinking too small,” Chloe groaned, shaking her head as though it physically pained her to explain. “This isn’t just gossip. It’s blackmail material. All the people mentioned in these are involved in rival brands.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed with a thoughtful hum, looking over all the pictures and finding the connecting thread. Audrey was gathering leverage. Okay, it was unethical, but it made sense of Audrey’s character. That wasn’t the part that confused her. “How is a random gangster getting all this?”

Chloe tutted, “The question isn’t how, it’s why.”

Nino nodded, “What is Dutch getting in return? ‘Cus it doesn’t sound like just money.”

Chloe shrugged, “Someone as powerful as my mother could give a guy practically anything.”

With this new suspicion hanging over her head, Marinette found herself further emboldened to seek out her friends and pull their asses back with her before they got involved in whatever this was. “Well, anyway, that’s my job done. I’m off to yell at Alya and Adrien, but mostly Alya.” She patted Nino on the shoulder as she turned to leave, gesturing to Chloe. “Have fun dealing with that mess.”

Chloe scoffed, crossing her arms with a haughty tilt of her chin. “I still look better than you, Dupain-Cheng!”

Marinette smirked over her shoulder, unable to resist one last jab. “You’re right, Chloe. I’d never be able to rock the caveman look, especially not with hair that looks like it got dragged through a thorn bush.”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Why, you—!”

“Calm down, Chlo,” Nino interrupted with a good-natured grin, stepping in to defuse the brewing storm. “She doesn’t mean it. You look pretty cute with messy hair.”

Chloe froze mid-rant, her cheeks suddenly taking on a rosy hue. “Gah! It’s happening again!” she squealed, clutching at the blanket she’d abandoned earlier and tossing it over her head like a shield. “More soup! I need more soup!”

Marinette had so many questions about Chloe’s sudden reaction, and maybe a suspicion in the back of her mind.

But ultimately, they were not worth the brain bleach to ask.

---

As they ventured down the street Adrien was still trying to wipe the sleep from his eye and, for once, Alya was thankfully merciful with her tangents. At the very least she didn’t pause to bark a question at him to make sure he was paying attention.

As soon as he was able to wave away the fog of dreariness around his head, he let out a yawn. “So, we confirmed that Darcy has the miraculous, but how are we going to get it from her?”

Alya tucked her chin between her thumb and forefinger, eye scrunched up in contemplation. “You could probably just pay her for it.”

“My father tracks all my purchases.” Adrien was quick to remind her, “If he found out I shelled out that much cash to a stranger, I swear to you we’ll be finding Darcy in a shallow grave.”

Another reason he didn’t voice came from the Chat Noir part of him. Sure, he wanted to succeed and all, but he didn’t come all this way behind his father’s back just to throw money at the problem. He wanted it to be a real heist with some real effort; he didn’t even want to use Plagg if he could. This was about proving himself, that he didn’t need to fall back on his wealth or powers to gift-wrap success for him.

Alya wiggled her eyebrows, leaning back towards Adrien. “She seems to like you, maybe we can play on that.”

Adrien narrowed his gaze, his lip pulled into a tense line as a wave of nausea hit his stomach. “…Are you trying to pimp me out to a middle-aged woman?”

Alya wheezed with laughter, practically doubling over. “No, of course not,” she choked out, wiping at her eyes. Then, under her breath, she added with a sly smirk, “Marinette would murder me.”

She quickly cleared her throat, cutting off her amusement with an overly dramatic clap of her hands. “I’m just thinking you talk her up, get her to tell you where she stashes it, where she lives in the base and then we sneak in and yoink it while she’s distracted.”

Adrien exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he considered the plan. It wasn’t the worst idea Alya had ever come up with. But it still left him deeply uncomfortable—and not just because of Darcy’s particular interest in him. “I dunno, I’m not that good at lying.”

Two finger guns did not raise his confidence level. “We can work on that.” Alya assured him with a mischievous smirk. Her attention was then stolen by a buzzing from her pocket. Quickly, she retrieved her phone, brows knitting together as she examined the caller id. “Oh, hang on, it’s Marinette.”

One press. She brought the phone to her ear. “Hey Gir-”

And promptly ripped it away as a blood-curling roar erupted through the tiny speakers.

“YOU’RE JOINING A GANG!?”

Suddenly, Adrien could imagine Marinette with sharp pointing teeth gnawing at her phone, tongue flailing like a whip as her erratic pacing engraved her footsteps on the floor.

“Hey Mari.” He called out.

Alya cautiously brought the phone closer, putting it on speaker. “Adrien says hi.” She whispered.

“I can hear him!” Marinette snapped, “Adrien, you know I like you a lot, but what are you thinking!?”

Adrien glanced at Alya, unsure whether to laugh or run for his life. “Alya says that I’m rebelling.”

He imagined her phone in one hand, her other flailing wildly as though that would somehow make her point clearer. “You can rebel by wearing out-of-season clothes and eating junk food, not listening to Alya.”

Alya pouted, “Girl, you don’t appreciate my advice enough.”

Adrien felt like Marinette’s hand was reaching through the phone to aggressively point at Alya. “I don’t appreciate you leading Adrien into trouble with a capital T, no.”

But hey, he didn’t mind Alya taking Marinette’s wrath as long as he got out unscaved, backing away from the conversation slowly.

There was a mutter of ‘traitor’ as Alya glared at him, softly speaking into the phone. “Relax, Girl.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re joining some rough and tumble band of thugs.” Adrien added. “The Freedom Fighters are the good guys, heroes – like Ladybug.”

For some reason Alya suddenly snickered and Marinette sounded like she was choking on something.

When everybody had calmed down Marinette groaned, “They’re a gang, Adrien.”

“You’re starting to sound like my father,” Adrien grumbled in a manner some might consider childish, crossing his arms.

“Believe it or not, the man occasionally has a good idea,” Marinette shot back, exasperated.

“Aaaaanyway,” Alya suddenly intervened, “we’re not joining for the funzies.”

Adrien nodded furiously, as if he’d only now remembered the entire reason for this whole ordeal. “Right, right, the leader’s girl, Darcy, has one of those magic miracle things that Ladybug is after.”

“She what!?” Marinette screamed again. “Alya, why didn’t you tell me about this? I had to learn this from Nino.”

“I did tell you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I could have sworn I did.” Alya tapped her chin, squinting. “Maybe you weren’t listening. Like always, you were too busy talking.”

Marinette scoffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alya shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m just saying, Mari, you’re so desperate to talk yourself until you’re drowning in words,” she leaned back with a lazy hum. “But what anyone else says just goes through one ear and out the other.”

“I am a great listener!” Marinette snapped indignantly. Adrien could just picture her cheeks puffing up all rosy and adorable.

Adrien, sensing an argument brewing, leaned in to interrupt. “Is Nino with you?”

“No, he’s still at the hotel with Chloe.” Marinette’s mood seemed to lighten, breaking through her irritation with a snicker. “She’s so sick of his company that she’s feigning illness. It’s both sad and funny.”

The two shared an odd look before Alya asked “What were you doing at the hotel?”

“Delivering a package.” Marinette explained, adding a thoughtful ‘hmmm’. “And I think it might be for your new leader. Dutch, was it?”

“You’re a mail man now?” Adrien asked.

“The guy who was supposed to deliver wasn’t available, Frankline Roads.”

Alya patted Adrien’s shoulder to gain his attention, her eyes wide. “Wait, is that Franky?”

Adrien blinked, the name suddenly bringing back a memory. “The guy Dutch gave medicine to yesterday?” He gasped, Alya nodding to confirming the shared revelation. “Is he okay?”

Marinette’s tone dropped low. “He had a black eye, he was attacked.”

“That’s terrible.” Adrien sighed, shaking his head.

Alya remained focused, asking “So, he gave the package to you then?”

“Yeah, and that’s where it gets weird.” Marinette’s voice became more hesitant, but she pressed on. “The package was for Chloe’s mom.”

“Apathetic Audrey?” Alya scoffed. “She doesn’t have one charitable bone in her body, what’s she got to do with the freedom fighters?”

Adrien nodded along but didn’t comment, waiting patiently as Marinette continued. “She said she had some sort of arrangement with a guy named Dutch.” He could hear the bustle of her crossing the street at the other end, pausing to the honk of a couple of cars. “The package, according to Chloe at least, was secret info about her competitors.”

“Has to be a different Dutch then.” Adrien concluded immediately. “How’d he be connected to Audrey? Or have info on the fashion industry? Just doesn’t make any sense.”

“You say it like you know this guy at all.” Marinette shot back immediately with a little more force than Adrien expected.

“Trust me, Mari, he’s a cool dude.” Adrien insisted, glaring down at the phone, suddenly feeling defensive. “Come down here and meet him yourself if you wanna, he welcomes anybody who wants to help.”

“I-I don’t know.” Marinette murmured, her usual uncertainty leaking in. “I mean, if this is a miraculous matter, shouldn’t Alya try to call in Ladybug?”

Yeah, that was one possibility that Chat Noir couldn’t allow to come to fruition. He did not need Ladybug crashing his heist and snagging the miraculous, but how could he protest without sounding completely suspicious? Maybe he should just lie about seeing Ladybug on vacation or something and hearing that she doesn’t want to be bothered. It’s not lie Marinette was gonna call her up and fact check.

However, deep in thought, Alya was the one who came to his rescue.

“We can’t call in the big guns right off the bat.” She explained, “Ladybug brings attention, a lot of attention, which means Hawkmoth and Chat Noir coming in and turning a camp of the unfortunate into a warzone.”

Quickly, Adrien jumped in to add “Besides, this crowd doesn’t exactly like the heroes right now. Sees them as ‘above’ them and all that.”

There was silence, the sound of Marinette shuffled on the spot and most likely darting her head around like somebody was going to catch her doing something scandalous, which was then followed by the mother of all heavy sighs.

“F-Fine, just…” Her voice trembled and suddenly all Adrien could think about was hugging her. “Don’t go in without me, okay? I’d hate to be there alone.”

Notes:

Next time, the investigation continues as Marinette questions Dutch and Adrien questions Darcy; both are uncomfortable.

Chapter 28: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Parentless Guidance Part 2

Summary:

Marinette has a bad time with Dutch. Adrien has a bad time with Darcy. Alya is just vibing.

Marinette was not a people person. She knew that. She shied away from crowds, she reeled at the prospect of approaching strangers without backup, and she preferred to do most of her talking with baked goods to bribe the tastebuds. But she’d like to think that, even if she was a people person, she’d still be uncomfortable in this place.

The onlookers around the camp reminded her of how Chloe would look at her, like she was scum, like her very presence offended them; only they had the added bonus of looking like they could beat her to a pulp if they wanted to. One guy in particular, big, bulky, mean-looking and bit down on his it cigar like he was about to eat it, was following her every move. And all she had to protect her was the thin shield of her sketchbook pressed against her chest.

She didn’t want to say that she was suspicious of these people, but she was making mental notes in her head of how easy it would be to hide her body. Maybe her grandpa was right to be worried.

Adrien leaned in to give her a reassuring pat on the back. It did not reassure her. “They’re all friendly, Mari.” He whispered.

Marinette glanced over her shoulder at him, desperately hoping her fear wasn’t obvious in her expression. “Are you sure?” She inclined her head towards the mean guy who looked like he ate rocks for breakfast. “I swear that one’s giving me the murder eyes.”

Alya snorted, “That’s just Joey’s resting murder face.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Alya!”

“Trust me,” Adrien assured her, smoothly slipping his hand into hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If anything happens, I’ll have your back.”

And suddenly, nothing was wrong in the world. There was just a protective, warm blanket enveloping Marinette and telling her everything was okay. Colours popped more, the sun didn’t seem so vacant, the faces around her brightened and her vision was utterly dominated by Adrien’s shoulder.

There were no more worries, just Adrien.

Marinette let out a dreamy sigh. “W-W-Well, when you say it like that, what’s the worst that could happen?”

She stuck close to Adrien as long as she was able, never leaving the warmth of his side nor the comfort of his embrace, just letting herself be led along like a little lovesick lamb. The thought made her cheeks burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to care—not when being near him felt so safe in the midst of such an intimidating crowd.

Adrien took her to the middle of the encampment, just outside the factory entrance where crowds of people bustled about between different tents, shacks and podiums. At a glance she could catch people trading nicknacks for cigarettes and food, she could see gambling, people moving boxes and hushed conversation. It looked like a mini marketplace.

Just in front of the factory was also where they found Dutch, easily distinguishable from the crowd as the one guy not buried under layers of patches. He and his crew sat upon a makeshift stage put together with metal panels and shabby wood. A drink in hand he curiously looked over the crowd below him, occasionally breaking away to make a comment to the older men surrounding him.

By the time they reached him, he was leaning towards a boy – Adrien brought up the name Louie – who muttered something into his ear. Whatever Louie said made Dutch’s face tense up, and for a split-second Louis seemed to cringe, as if bracing himself for a hit. But the tension melted, and Dutch merely nodded in another direction, saying something Marinette could roughly make out as ‘Off you go’.

The moment he caught sight of them emerging from the crowd he stood up, a roaring laugh following him.

“Well, Agreste, aren’t you a gem.” He clapped his hands together. “Two days and you’ve already brought me two people. Am I gonna have to make you my recruitment officer?”

“This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Adrien introduced her with a warm smile, gesturing toward her. “She’s, well…” He hesitated, looking at her fondly before adding, “She’s pretty amazing. She does a lot of the same stuff you do with her family.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, looking between Adrien and Marinette as a realization set in, leaving a snide, knowing smirk behind.

Marinette’s face turned bright red, and she glanced down at her shoes before mustering a shy smile. “H-Hey there, Sir,” she stammered, trying her best not to shrink under the intensity of Dutch’s gaze.

Dutch let out a hearty laugh, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Please don’t call me ‘sir’; it makes me feel old.” His grin widened as he extended a hand to her. “I’m Dutch, and I think I recognize your family name. The bakers, right? I’ve only heard good things about you guys.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, so why could Marinette only focus on how much she didn’t like the idea that Dutch knew who her family was?

Marinette’s eyes widened in surprise. “Y-Yeah, that’s us! My parents own the bakery up in the 21^st arrondissement.” She shook his hand quickly, her grip firm despite her nerves. “It’s nice to meet you, Dutch.”

“You’ve got a solid reputation,” Dutch said with a nod. “A place like that, bringing the community together? We need more folks like your family.” He turned to Adrien with a chuckle. “See, Agreste? This is what I mean by bringing in the right people.”

Adrien beamed, nudging Marinette lightly. “Told you he was cool.”

Marinette nodded, but her internal tension didn’t ease. She clasped her hands tightly, taking a small step forward. “Actually, that brings me to why I’m here. See, my grandfather and I were handing out bread around the neighbourhood when we met a man named Franklin Road. I believe he works with you?”

Dutch’s expression softened, his hands resting on his hips. “That he does,” he confirmed with a small nod. “I do hope old Franky wasn’t rude to you folks or nothin’.”

Marinette quickly shook her head. “It’s not that. He was…” She paused, glancing at Adrien before continuing hesitantly. “Well, he said he’d been mugged. Had a big black eye and everything.”

Dutch’s jovial demeanour faded in an instant, his face darkening. “Franky was attacked?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief and anger. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “There’s some sick, sick people in this world, I’ll tell ya.”

Marinette offered a small, polite smile, her hands clasping tightly together in front of her. “We got him some ice and made sure he was alright, but since he found it hard to walk, he asked me to deliver his package for him.”

Dutch stiffened.

“That’s right, Franky was delivering some stuff for us—I almost forgot.” He gave a hearty chuckle, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Awfully nice of you to help out like that.”

“It wasn’t a problem, Dutch.” Marinette reached into her bag and produced a small envelope. “I was given this, which I assume is for Frank.”

Dutch took the envelope, giving it a brief glance before nodding. “Yes, that’ll be his bonus. I’ll make sure he gets it when he comes back.”

He hesitated for a moment, then met Marinette’s gaze with a curious look. Despite having a stage between them, it suddenly felt like Dutch was in her face. “Marinette…” His tone turned cautious. She didn’t like the way he clicked his tongue as he said her name. “You didn’t happen to look inside the package, did you?”

“Of course not,” Marinette replied quickly, shaking her head. “That would be rude of me.”

Dutch studied her for a moment longer. “And did the receiver say anything?”

Marinette tilted her head thoughtfully, recalling the encounter. “Oh, she just said that your arrangement would continue.” She gave a small shrug. “Sorry, I haven’t the foggiest what that meant.”

His easy smile returned, slinking down to the foot of the stage and sitting on the edge. “Sorry for the questions, it’s just that this is all sensitive business for us.”

“I understand, Dutch.” She replied, finding herself squeezing Adrien’s hand tighter and tighter. “I hope Frank is okay.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. Frank… Well, he can take a beating.”

Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to Dutch’s hand as he flexed his fingers, specifically to the bruises around his knuckles.

He met her gaze, catching her staring and quickly covering up his knuckles with his other hand. There was a tense moment of silence between them, his eyes narrowed expectantly, waiting for Marinette to say something, but she remained quiet.

“But let’s not dwell on all that, we have work to do.” He said eventually. “You wanna help out?”

---

Two hours later Marinette – whose face and hair had been turned a ghostly white by a thick layer of flower – found herself being dragged out of the hall by Adrien, restraining her like she was a dangerous wild animal. And considering the murderous scowl she was aiming at a sheepish-looking Alya, that wasn’t entirely unfounded.

In contrast, the other people flooding out of the ‘main hall’ area, people of varying ages, were all smiles and laughter. The people Marinette was so afraid of when she entered the camp were now casually patting her on the back as they passed or whispering thanks that her brain was too occupied to notice.

Once Marinette was deemed a safe distance away, Adrien awkwardly tried to mediate. “Okay, I think we need to officially ban Alya from baking.”

“I’m a great baker!” Alya insisted, “I was just trying to branch out and experiment.”

“The whole point of this was to follow the instructions.” Marinette seethed, barely containing the venom in her voice, her eyes threatening to burst free from their sockets.

Alya wrapped her arms around herself and pouted. “I thought my idea was inspired.”

Marinette threw up her flour-caked hands in exasperation, looking moments away from lunging at her friend. “That’s not how it’s done!” she cried, her voice echoing around the encampment as Adrien hurriedly stepped between them, hands raised like a peacekeeper in a warzone.

Marinette threw her hands up in wild exasperation, sending a small cloud of flour puffing into the air around her. “How could you have thought adding that to the mix was a good idea?!”

Alya shrugged, entirely too casual for someone who had apparently committed a culinary war crime. “It sounded good in my head, okay? I mean, who doesn’t like a little chili powder in their chocolate croissants?”

Adrien, the ill-fated taster, paled as he rubbed his fingers over his bright red lips. “That was more than a little…”

“Everyone!” Marinette practically screamed, gesturing dramatically as if the sheer force of her emotions could drive the point home. “Everyone doesn’t like that! It’s called baking, Alya, not sabotaging taste buds!”

Alya had the audacity to look indignant, waving her finger in the air like she just didn’t care. “No piece of paper is gonna keep me down.”

Marinette, on the other hand, cared a lot. Cared so much that she reached forward to take hold of the girl’s shoulders and squeezed her tight enough that Alya had to thank her lucky stars that Marinette wasn’t transformed at the moment. “Yeah, my foot up your ass is gonna keep you from sitting down for a good while.”

A half-amused, half-concerned look flashed. “Whoa girl, when did you get claws?” Alya awkwardly giggled.

“Everything you did in there was a crime against my pride as a baker.” Marinette proclaimed, shaking Alya as she did so. “You’re executing my dad’s dreams with those culinary war crimes.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave it to the professionals.” Alya deflated in Marinette’s grip, a crestfallen slump followed by mutterings. “I didn’t see you talking to any of the other guys like this…”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Because they actually did what they were told.”

She rounded on one of the freedom fighters who stuck around, the boy who was now beaming up at her. “Especially you, Louie; you got a real talent!”

He flashed her a smile, a bright flush on his cheeks. “Thanks, Marinette. I’ve never baked before.”

It had started as just a snippy comeback. Hours prior, she’d ended up in the kitchens, making an odd comment about the food. At some point, someone had languished about how they had the same slop every day because they couldn’t make anything else, to which Marinette had politely disagreed. That quickly turned into a challenge. Somehow, they ended up with Marinette leading an impromptu class on how many things you could bake with as few and cheap ingredients as possible; her grandfather’s lessons coming in real handy.

“Well,” Marinette continued, shaking her head with a fond but exasperated smile, “let’s just say, Louie here may not have baked before, but he’s got a natural flair for it. Unlike some people who think chili powder belongs in everything.”

Alya shot her a playful glare, but didn’t respond, choosing instead to fold her arms and sulk dramatically.

“I’m not hearing you complain when your stomach’s full,” Alya muttered under her breath.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re getting plenty of complaints from me already,” Marinette retorted, though her tone softened as she added, “But next time, no surprises. I swear, if I see chili in anything I’m baking, I might actually strangle you.”

Alya raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no chili. I get it. Next time, I’ll follow your lead.”

“I didn’t know you could make so much with such little ingredients.” Said Adrien.

Marinette couldn’t help how her chest swelled with pride, proudly pumping her fist into the air. “Baking’s all about making do with what you got. My family didn’t always have a big bakery.” She thumped her fist against her chest. “It used to just be me, my dad, my mom, an oven, and a whole lot of discounts at the grocery store.”

Louie nodded enthusiastically, grinning. “Adrien’s right, you are amazing.”

Alya held her head low, grumbling and huffing with her arms crossed. “You make one good cupcake, and you already have half of this joint eating out of your hand.”

“A good meal is the key to anyone’s heart, Alya,” Marinette teased with a smile.

“Now now, Alya, I’m sure when we join a gang of gossiping mean girls, your journalistic endeavours will make you the popular one,” Adrien added with a playful smirk.

Alya groaned, sinking into exaggerated drama. “You two are ganging up on me. This is outrageous.”

“This is why Nino should be with us; he’d back me up!” Alya huffed.

Adrien hummed, “That sounds like some serious number two energy.”

Marinette groaned.

“Oh, don’t you start, Sunshine,” Alya retorted, finally cracking a smile.

They continued through the factory laughing with, and at, Alya. Though, throughout their teasing, Adrien and Marinette stayed on target, slipping in questions every now and then about the different parts of the base and how it all functioned. Supplies were mostly kept on the west side’s collection of rooms, Dutch had turned the foreman’s office that looked over where the factory’s production line used to be into his room, most of the younger members slept in shacks around the building that acted as cabins, and the east side had been converted into a general communion area.

What caught Marinette’s attention as they headed over to the east side was a half-open shutter that led into a parking bay, offering her a teasing view of multiple delivery trucks posted side-by-side.

She stopped by the opening, tapping Louie on the shoulder. “Hey, Louie, what’s with all these trucks?”

Louie straightened up. “Those? Those are for… Medicine. And supplies, you know.” He answered a little too quickly, enough so that he stumbled over his words. “We have a lot of people here working 24/7.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, trying not to let any suspicion leak into her voice. “Yeah, Dutch has really got himself a dedicated work force.”

Louie cleared his throat. “’Course he does, we urchins have gotta stick together and work our butts off.” His breathed quickened, a twitchiness overcoming him. “Otherwise, Dutch will-”

He cut himself off, averting his eyes from Marinette, less confident than before. “He won’t have anywhere to put us.” He combed through his hair, revealing a thin sheen of sweat. “A-And then we’ll be food for guys like the Velenci.”

“Where does he get all this stuff?”

“How should I know?” He snapped, glaring at Marinette hard enough that she threw her arms up defensively. “That ain’t my department, ya hear?”

Another glance glimpsed her a view of the men moving around the trucks, disappearing t the other side of the room. What caught her attention was the glint of silver on their belts. “Are some of those men armed?”

Louie crossed his arms, giving her an incredulous look like she was an idiot. “The Velenci has it out for us, and other gangs ain’t so nice to us neither. We gotta have protection on our runs.” He scratched his chin. “And I think the one tonight is a big delivery.”

“Tonight, huh?” Marinette murmured to herself, deciding the back off from him. Louie was hiding something, that was for sure, something that scared him; but he wasn’t going to open up to a stranger like her.

Adrien and Alya came back into view, apparently only now realizing that the other two had stopped by the shutter. Bringing his attention back to them, Louie cleared his throat. “Anyway, me and the boys are gonna try and figure out snooker if you guys wanna join.”

“I’m in!” Alya jumped at the chance, grabbing Adrien by the shoulder and letting out a mad cackle. “You might not know this about me, but I’m sort of a pro.”

Adrien shook his head laughing, nodding for Louie to lead the way. This time, however, he noticed that Marinette still hadn’t moved from her spot. “Marinette, you coming?” He asked softly.

She wanted to, but her mind wouldn’t let her ignore another detail she noticed when looking into the room, something she needed to investigate.

She shook her head with a forced smile. “I’ll be with you in a minute, I just need to make a call to my parents.”

It took a good minute to muster the courage, even after the group were long gone and the foot traffic decreased enough for nobody to be looking. Her movements were not graceful, they were sporadic, she didn’t have the confidence to be subtle, her body sort of just threw itself to the ground and tumbled under the shutter.

She landed face first on the concrete floor, quietly groaning to herself as she struggled to her feet. Her short trip to the side of the truck felt like an eternity stretched out by her repeatedly looking over her shoulder and jumping at every slight noise that sounded an inch too close. When her body was finally pressed against the cold steel shell, she allowed herself a sigh of relief.

Quickly, her eyes found the discrepancy that caught her attention earlier. It was tiny, barely noticeable, but on the side of the truck bed, the stretch of dark colouring on the paintjob had a slight wrinkle. But as Marinette peered closer she found her suspicions to be correct, spotting that it wasn’t a wrinkle, but a seam that had slightly curved up.

Another glance over her shoulder and she drew her nail under the seam, peeling it back as gently as she could. She didn’t rip the entire thing off, she just needed to push it far enough to get a good idea of what was underneath. And thankfully, she didn’t need much more than the corner to recognise a piece of the ‘Style Queen’ logo.

Style Queen was Audrey Bourgeois’ designer brand.

“I knew it, it’s a cover…”

This must have been the arrangement she had with Dutch, supplying him with her own company’s delivery trucks. That technically made sense, but Marinette couldn’t wrap her head around the practicality of it. Surely it would be easier and cheaper to buy regular trucks than enter some elaborate deal about gathering blackmail in exchange for trucks. Was there something special about these trucks?

“And why would they hide Audrey’s logo?” Marinette murmured.

“Find something interesting?”

Shock rattled Marinette’s body, shooting her up into shoulder checking the truck and smacking her face against the metal in her mad scramble to turn around. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely stammer. Dutch stood over her, his elbow propped up against the truck bed, and his eyes boring down on her without a hint of the mirth he displayed before.

And suddenly Marinette had to remind herself that she left Tikki at home for this trip.

“I-I was just admiring the trucks.” Stammering, she was good at stammering with random words when her mind could supply nothing but panic. She banged her knuckles against the truck. “They sure are… Sturdy. And good at being trucks.”

There was no doubt that Dutch didn’t buy it for a second, the amused grin stretching across his features seeming more sadistic than friendly. “You did a great job with that impromptu baking class. The fellas are raving about you.”

His tone was so welcoming, but his eyes betrayed that he was annoyed by this fact.

Marinette slid back, trying to escape his presence, but no matter how far she scuttled his shadow seemed to consume every corner. “Oh, it was nothing! I don’t get a lot of opportunities to show off.”

“You know, I’m a pretty good judge of character. Came with the trade of growing up conning adults for food.” He pinched his fingers together, examining his nails, looking for all the dirt he needed to scratch away. Judging by his expression, he saw a lot of dirt, and he wondered how much force he was going to need to apply. “And I think that you’re more than what you appear to be, you know? No wonder the Agreste kid is crazy about you.”

“Ha, as if.” Marinette’s pitch hit a high note as she snorted, her stammering fluctuating in volume. “I’m just Marinette, a normal girl with a normal life.”

He pushed off the truck, swaying every step he took closer to her, as if he were idling, as if it were oh-so casual. “Are you nervous, Marinette?” He said low enough to make it sound like a hiss. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m always nervous.” Marinette squeaked. “You just didn’t notice before because you got me rolling on all that bakery talk.”

“That so?” He smirked, looking her up and down. He was not impressed with what he saw. “Talented, humble and helpful; you’re a real model citizen.”

“Y-Y-You can thank my parents for that.”

He crouched down, eye to eye with her, staring into her face; looking for something. He hummed. “Ah yes, Paris’ favourite bakers.”

“Have you been to the bakery before?”

“No, no, I don’t have a sweet tooth and that bakery’s so far from here.” He laughed like she’d told the funniest joke in the world, barely breathing as he repeated, “So, so far.”

He snapped his fingers, suddenly and right next to her ear. “But I did meet your grandfather once or twice, I think.” His fingers came back to trace over his brow, bringing attention to the scars stretching over his forehead. “Roland, right? A real hard ass when I was a kid. Used to chase off thieves with a rolling pin. Saw him once smack a gangster across the head and threaten to throw the guy in his oven.”

There was a pause, waiting, demanding a response from Marinette, but she couldn’t form any words. All she could do was note how much bigger Dutch was than her, how much quicker he probably was, how easily he could restrain her if he needed to.

Tired of waiting, he looked away, sighing. “’Course, after what happened to Hugo, I’d be like that too.”

Something told her that she didn’t want to ask, but her lips moved before any warning could be made. “Hugo?”

“His brother; probably doesn’t talk about him much.” He shook his head. “Such a shame what happened.”

“See, Hugo had this big nose – rat-like.” Suddenly his fingers fell on her nose, catching it between the index and forefinger curving like hooks. “A little like yours in fact.”

Dutch drew his face closer, his iris’ shrinking to barely a pin drop on the canvas of his eyes. “And he kept sticking it in everybody’s business.” He continued, quietly, cautiously, drinking in every subtle movement of Marinette’s face. “And when you keeping sticking your nose into stuff that ain’t your business, you’re gonna start pissing off the wrong people.”

He squeezed her nose without resistance, lightly tugging on it; for a moment Marinette feared he was going to rip it off like it was made of paper. “Ironically,” That hissing whisper slivered into her ear as if he were pressed right up against them. “after the Velenci were done with him, all that was left of poor old Hugo was his nose.”

And just like that he fell back onto the balls of his feet, letting that jolly grin take him over again with a boisterous laugh. “But hey, why are we messing up the good vibes with bad memories?” He snatched Marinette’s hand and yanked her up onto her feet with him, squeezing her hand hard enough that it would leave a bruise. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen again, right?”

Marinette had no choice but to nod. “Right.”

---

Adrien leaned back against the wall, arms crossed as his gaze swept over the room. The base's bar was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air and mingling with the clinking of glasses and muffled chatter. It was a stark contrast to the refined cafés his father used to drag him to, but somehow, Adrien found it… cozy. More alive.

His focus, however, wasn’t on the ambiance—it was on Alya. She was at the pool table, leaning over the green felt with practiced ease, lining up her next shot. The cue stick in her hand moved like it was an extension of her arm, her sharp eyes calculating every angle with frightening precision.

The sharp crack of the cue ball colliding with the striped twelve sent it spinning into the corner pocket. Alya straightened up with a triumphant grin, twirling the stick like a baton before resting it casually on her shoulder. "And that’s how you do it, boys," she said, the smugness in her voice thick enough to cut with a knife.

The small crowd of men she’d been hustling groaned, some throwing up their hands in frustration, others scratching their heads like they’d just watched sorcery in action. One of them, a gruff-looking guy with a scar running down his cheek, slammed a wad of cash onto the table. "I don’t know how you do it, but this is the last round for me, girlie."

"You sure about that?" Alya teased, spinning the pool cue and catching it behind her back like she was on a stage. "I could always go easy on you this time. Give you a fighting chance."

"You’re a demon," the man muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed his drink and slinked away.

“Huh, Alya wasn’t kidding.” Adrien murmured, leaning back on the bar stool.

Darcy sat next to him, lips parted in incredulous confusion. Under her breath, she grumbled, “That girl is gonna leave all my men homeless if she keeps this up.”

Adrien snorted, propping his elbow up on the bar and repositioning himself to face Darcy. “When Alya finds something she can dominate in, she will grind you into the ground.”

Darcy shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated, as though she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or agree. But Adrien wasn’t paying her full attention anymore. As Darcy continued to shake her head at Alya’s display, Adrien’s gaze subtly shifted to her wild hair.

He scanned the mass of untamed curls, searching for the miraculous hairpin he’d seen before. The noise of the bar was loud, the chaotic chatter blending with clinking glasses and the occasional cheer or groan from Alya’s pool game. It would be easy enough, Adrien reasoned, to feign a casual move. All it would take was leaning in, brushing against her, and pretending the small prick of his fingers reaching for the pin was just him being clumsy.

But as his eyes carefully combed through her hair, he realized something unsettling—the hairpin wasn’t there. The spot where he’d seen it just a day ago was empty, and as his gaze roamed further over her curls, it became evident that it wasn’t anywhere.

Unfortunately, he only paused his search when he realized that Darcy’s eyes were now staring right back at him.

“See something interesting?” She gave a grin that would give the cheshire cat a run for his money.

At first, he just thought she’d caught him in the act of giving her a weird look, or just acting suspicious in general. However, it quickly hit him that it was even worse than that, that in trailing his gaze down the end of her hairline… He might have given the impression that it was an entirely different pair of her assets that had stolen his attention.

His face ignited with heat, his brain scrambling for a way to undo the impression he was sure he’d just given. Adrien lurched back in his seat, flailing for some semblance of composure, but all he managed was a stammered, “O-Oh, I was just… uh… looking at your hair.”

The words sounded awful even to him, and his panicked laugh—high-pitched and awkward—felt like a betrayal. Desperate for anything to ground himself, he ran a hand through his own hair, giving his fingers a task other than trembling. “I-I’ve never seen hair so… big and poofy before.”

Oh lord, kill me now.

Darcy’s grin only widened, her eyes twinkling with something that made Adrien’s stomach churn. “No shame in looking, dear,” she said, her voice dipping into a playful, syrupy cadence. “Just try to be more discreet. I know a lot of people find my ‘hair’ interesting.”

Adrien’s laugh faltered, his blush deepening as the weight of her words hung in the air. He forced himself to look away, clearing his throat as though that might somehow cleanse the uncomfortable energy out of the room. It didn’t.

Somewhere deep down, a warning bell chimed faintly in the back of his mind. Darcy was acting strange—her tone, her expression, the way her words dripped with a familiarity that made his skin crawl. It wasn’t the kind of interaction he was used to. But Adrien dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came, chalking it up to his own insecurities. You’re just thinking like Father, he told himself. He wouldn’t understand how normal people act around others either.

Gabriel Agreste’s understanding of social dynamics extended only as far as his ability to control or manipulate the people around him. Adrien, in contrast, prided himself on trying to be normal, to be human. Surely this was just Darcy’s way of being friendly… right?

Adrien let out a forced breath, shaking his head as if to dislodge the awkwardness clinging to him. “Well, uh… I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice tight, his words barely audible over the growing din of the bar.

“You look tense there.” Darcy hummed, drumming her fingers against the bar. “I think you need a drink.”

“Uh… Maybe just some water.” Yeah. Water. Something cold to cool him down, to numb his brain of all this embarrassment.

In a blink of an eye he found a small bottle shoved into his hand, one that was pungent with the odour of alcohol and almost instinctively made him wretch. “How about something that’ll keep you relaxed, hm?” Darcy coo’d.

He turned the bottle away. “Pretty sure I’m not allowed to be drinking at my age even in France.”

Adrien’s gaze dropped to the bottle in his hands, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. His father’s disapproving face flickered in his mind like a ghost, accompanied by the memory of Gabriel’s disdain for alcohol. His father had always forbidden him from so much as sniffing a drink, citing reasons Adrien had never fully understood. The only time he’d seen Gabriel relent was during rare occasions involving red wine at formal events—a tradition that often sparked heated arguments between his parents.

But Darcy’s words lingered, tugging at something fragile and uncertain inside him. Wasn’t that the whole point of this mission? To prove to everyone—to himself—that he wasn’t just a boy anymore? He wasn’t Adrien Agreste, the sheltered model with a controlling father. He was someone new, someone strong, someone capable of standing on his own.

Men drink alcohol, he thought, his grip tightening on the bottle. That’s what adults did. That’s what men did.

He nodded slowly, his voice quieter now, but tinged with a hint of forced conviction. “Y-Yeah, you’re right.”

Raising the bottle with trembling hands, Adrien hesitated for only a moment before pressing it to his lips. The scent made him flinch, but he forced himself to take a small sip, grimacing as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

“I am a man,” he muttered, more to himself than to Darcy, as if trying to convince himself that the words were true.

Adrien sputtered and coughed after taking a larger sip, his face twisting as the vile, bitter taste assaulted his senses. “And I think I’ve gone cross-eyed,” he choked out, feeling the world tilt slightly.

Darcy burst into laughter, leaning closer with that same wolfish grin. “Oh, that is so darling! Here, take my arm, you’re gonna fall off the stool.”

“I am… puuuuurfectly balanced, thank you very much,” Adrien slurred with mock dignity, waving her off, though his hand swayed unsteadily as he did.

He shook his head, trying to focus and steady himself. The buzzing sensation in his head was strange, disorienting, but he couldn’t let it distract him. He had a job to do. The miraculous… He had to figure out where she’d hidden it.

After taking a moment to keep himself upright, he pushed forward, his voice soft but deliberately curious. “I was wondering where your hairpin went,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “It looked so good on you.”

Darcy tilted her head, her grin turning thoughtful. “That? Oh, I love it, but something that expensive-looking needs to be saved for special occasions.” She leaned back against the bar, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. “I keep it in the safe back in my bedroom.”

Adrien nodded slowly, the alcohol’s influence making it harder to hold onto the thread of the conversation. “Mhm,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly. Then, without thinking, he blurted out, “And where’s that?”

It was only when Darcy’s grin widened, turning amused and slightly predatory, that he realized how his question might have sounded.

“Why are you so interested in finding my bedroom, hm?” she asked teasingly.

Adrien’s brain scrambled for an answer, his cheeks burning as he stumbled over his words. “B-B-Because…” He swallowed hard, then forced a laugh, desperate to redirect the conversation. “I just can’t imagine someone like you living here full time. You just look so… refined and elegant. Figured you had a house somewhere fancy.”

Darcy chuckled as she watched his floundering. “It’s in the back,” she said, her voice low and inviting. “Top of the stairs; only room with a balcony.” She took a step closer, her fingers briefly brushing along Adrien’s arm as she slipped off the stool. “Best seat in the house.”

Adrien froze at the touch, his brain a mix of nerves, embarrassment, and the creeping haze of alcohol.

Darcy tilted her head toward him, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I think I’ll retire to my bedroom, actually. Had plenty to drink.” She paused, her voice dipping into something softer. “But if you have more questions…” Her fingers lingered briefly on his arm before she stepped away. “You’re free to knock.”

Darcy's departure left a lot of unfamiliar feelings swirling in Adrien's chest, and none of them sat right. His stomach churned, his thoughts clouded, and he couldn’t tell how much of this discomfort stemmed from his first real experience with alcohol. Everything felt hazy and cold. Worse still, it suddenly felt like everyone in the room was watching him. Their eyes burned into his skin, their judgment weighing heavy on him, as if he’d done something disgusting or shameful right there in front of everyone.

He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart raced, his hands shook, and his world spun like it was tilting on its axis. He hated it—hated himself in this moment.

“Hey, Adrien! Sorry I took so long, my dad went off on a rant about a cu—"

And then Marinette was there beside him, and suddenly it wasn't so bad. Adrien hadn’t even realized how much he needed her until she was right there. Without thinking, his hand shot out, grabbing hers like it was a lifeline. His fingers intertwined with hers, and the sensation felt so right, so grounding, that he didn’t even care how awkward or random it might have looked to her.

Marinette blinked, taken aback but not pulling away. “Uh… Adrien?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

But Adrien didn’t care. She didn’t need to know anything about what was going on for her very presence to calm the storm Darcy had left in his mind. It was like Marinette had swept away all the tension with nothing but a touch, allowing him to breathe again for the first time in what felt like hours.

“You’re here now,” he murmured, his voice soft and almost relieved. “That’s what matters.” He tugged her closer—not close enough to make it weird, but enough that her warmth steadied him even more.

“Oh. Okay,” Her face flushed a deep red and it made his heart want to sing. She glanced down at their hands, her lips parted as though she was trying to find words. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

Adrien smiled faintly, ignoring the way his head still swam. “Just cold,” he replied, his tone light despite the turmoil that had been clawing at him moments earlier. “But I’m warming up now.”

---

Night fell over the compound, blanketing it in shadows that made every corner feel like a potential hiding spot. Adrien had stayed behind long after the others had gone to their rooms or passed out in the bar, the plan firm in his mind: sneak into Darcy’s room, grab the miraculous, and get out. Simple, clean, and effective. He’d already replayed the route in his head a dozen times, Darcy’s drunken flirtations still clinging to his nerves as he tried to push past the unsettling memories of the evening.

But just as he started toward the staircase leading to her room, movement caught his eye. A flicker of motion in the corner of his vision—a silhouette slipping into the docking bay. For a moment, Adrien froze, heart leaping into his throat. It wasn’t just the sight of someone sneaking about; it was the shape of them, the way they moved. It sparked something familiar deep in his gut, a nagging instinct that he couldn’t ignore.

Without thinking, he veered off course, his body moving before his brain could protest. Darcy could wait. If this was who he thought it was…

He followed the figure, keeping to the shadows and carefully controlling his steps so his boots didn’t echo against the cold, hard floor. His nerves prickled with every creak or groan of the building, but he didn’t let up, tracking them into the docking bay.

There, among the rows of trucks parked neatly in the cavernous space, he finally spotted them. They were crouched near one of the trucks, inspecting something by the dim glow of a flashlight. Adrien’s breath hitched when the light illuminated her face. Marinette.

Adrien couldn’t resist letting out a quiet chuckle, stepping out of the shadows just enough to catch her attention. “Didn’t know you were a snoop, Mari.”

Marinette jerked upright, the flashlight beam whipping toward him like a spotlight. Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape. “And I didn’t know you could be so quiet.” She grumbled.

He offered her a grin that was a little too Chat Noir, slipping beside her. “Maybe you were just thinking too loud to hear me.”

“Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” She crossed her arms, “Isn’t your father gonna blow a gasket if you’re out past your bed time?”

Some part of him knew that he was playing too cocky, but he couldn’t help it. It was hard to be anything but when Marinette was standing in front of him, her face scrunched up in that adorable manner that was just so perfectly her. “My father’s still out of town, so I’m still free to… Well…”

She cocked a brow, “Rebel?”

He snapped his finger, “Exactly.”

“And your idea of rebelling is prowling around some old trucks?” She sniggered, throwing her hand out to gesture around the room. “You might be the most boring teenager ever.”

He dared to lean closer, revelling in how her eyes widened and her blush deepened at his proximity. “I mean, I’m just following your lead.”

“Look, I’m just here because… Uh…”

“He just sets off some warning bells, okay?” she admitted, her voice lowering as she glanced toward the trucks. “I was hoping I could find something here to answer my paranoia.”

Adrien tilted his head, his teasing expression softening. “I believe you, Mari.”

Her gaze darted to him, caught off guard by his sincerity. “Thanks… but seriously, what are you doing here? I don’t think these trucks have anything to do with the bee miraculous.”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m still working on how to get it, true. In the meantime, I thought I’d come along and see the guys in action. Dutch seemed worried that something interesting would happen on this trip.”

Since when was this the plan!? Adrien asked himself.

Since we had a cute girl to impress. Chat Noir shot back.

“What?” Marinette straightened, her frown deepening. “He invited you to ride along?”

“No,” Adrien admitted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “But who says I need an invite?”

“What are you-” Her question was answered before it could even be asked as Adrien slinked his way over to the back of the truck, pulling up the back cover to reveal the body completely devoid of any supplies.

“Adrien, no!” She cried out.

He shot her an innocent grin, peeking over the corner. “What? It’s the perfect hiding space.”

“You can’t just tag along on a gang mission, Adrien!” She hissed, stomping over to his position and grabbing his arm. “You could be out in the middle of a shoot-out or a car chase all alone.”

Adrien fell silent. He considered her point. Made his decision. He nodded.

“Then come with me.”

Marinette allowed some gasping choking noises to escape her. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Adrien shrugged, “Not really, I’m just going with my gut on this one.”

“You are impossible.” She exhaled sharply. “I should leave you here to—well, to your idiocy.”

But before she could make a move, the sound of pounding footsteps reached them, growing louder by the second. People, organized and moving with purpose, were quickly approaching the room.

“Alright, boys,” called out Dutch’s voice, sharp and impatient. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t wanna be here all night!”

Adrien’s eyes widened as the sound of voices and movement intensified. He quickly turned to Marinette, urgency flashing across his face. “Time’s ticking, Mari. Either get in or duck out.”

She spluttered and heaved. “Wha—? You can’t just put me on the spot like this.”

He held out his hand, his grin turning almost too charming. “Do you trust me?”

For better or worse, it was never really a question for Marinette.

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

Getting into the truck was trickier than Adrien expected. Between fumbling with the lock and struggling with the dark, they both ended up colliding into each other more than once. Finally, they managed to stumble into the truck’s bed, collapsing against one another in the process.

“Quick,” Marinette hissed under her breath, her hands flailing in the dark before they finally found Adrien's knee. “Close the back.”

“On it, on it…” Adrien scrambled to latch the cover shut, his heart pounding as the sounds of Dutch and the others grew nearer.

It should have been a simple task.

And yet Adrien managed to screw it up in the most spectacular way.

As Adrien fumbled with the latch, his fingers slipped awkwardly, and in that moment of clumsiness, his black cat ring slipped off his finger and fell, clinking lightly against the cold concrete.

He only had enough time to glimpse Plagg, dazed and confused, popping out of the ring and turning to share a bewildered, eye-bulging look with him before the cover came down and sealed Adrien in total darkness.

“What was that?” Marinette whispered.

Adrien scrambled back until he hit the end of the interior where Marinette sat next to him, trying his darndest to play it cool as the loud voices surrounded the truck. “J-Just smacked my hand on the latch. Nothing to worry about.”

It was fine.

Totally fine.

He hadn’t wanted to rely on Chat Noir for this, after all.

It was all good.

Plagg could pick up the ring and fly after them anyway.

It was going great.

…

At least his father was enjoying his business trip…

---

Hawkmoth’s eyes narrowed at the sudden feeling that struck him in that moment. It was a strange feeling, and that was quite the statement considering how strange the situation already was.

Hawkmoth stood poised on a gargoyle’s statue, its stony features cracked and worn with age. It was attached to a fragment of what once might have been a cathedral, now one of many floating islands of random debris, junk, and crumbling buildings that hovered in the abyss of an infinite, swirling blue void.

Oddest of all was the fact that, despite being transformed, his kwami hovered over his shoulder. “Nooroo… I have no idea where we are, or what we’re doing, or how we’re going to escape.”

He crouched down on his perch, eyes scanning the horizon of fracture land masses pooling together, trying to make sense of it all. “But I do know that there’s a strange itch in the back of my mind telling me that my son is making a poor decision.”

Nooroo could only stare blankly.

Chapter 29: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Demons

Summary:

Nathalie learns a little more about Gabriel, Marinette learns a little more about Adrien, Adrien learns how to take a beating and everyone learns that Duusuu might be a little racist.

The first thing Hawkmoth noticed when he opened his eyes was that the sky was broken. A cracked skyline flickering between different shades of blue like tv static. His ears ached with a constant, low drone emitting from all around him, racking his head with dull headaches. Upon sitting up, the oddities continued, with his hands sinking into wet mud and his gaze meeting the base of an immense medieval tower standing over him. He certainly wasn’t in Paris anymore, much less the evidence room.

The last thing he could remember was fighting over the horse miraculous, and considering the horse’s whole deal was making portals to anywhere, it was only logical to assume that it had to be responsible for his current position.

The biggest surprise had been finding Nooroo hovering over him, eyes wide with something resembling concern, despite the fact that Hawkmoth could clearly see that his transformation still held.

“Master! You’re awake.” Nooroo dropped to his nose, using it as a handrail as he examined Hawkmoth’s face. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“What happened?” He groaned.

“When miraculous holders clash, they generate and release miraculous energy.” Nooroo explained slowly, making sure Hawkmoth was following along. “The fight between you and Mayura caused that energy to go to the wild miraculous, supercharging it until… Well, I guess you could say it overloaded and sent you here.”

Hawkmoth’s gaze swept over the environment, “And where is here?” He asked.

The landmass was multiple landmasses, a bunch of islands floating together, all looking like a literal chunk of land had just been yoinked out from the ground and thrown in there. Half of a castle was shoved up against the treeline of a forest, ending with a perfect square edge that had the mote and trees meet in the middle with the water defying gravity to stay in place. The statue of liberty balanced itself atop a strip of stone, the torch part of it holding up an entire ship.

Nooroo spread his paws as wide as he could, twirling around in place. “The space between the portals the horse miraculous creates; inhabited entirely by Kaalki’s miraculous energy and whatever’s been sucked into here over the centuries.”

Hawkmoth watched an ancient Greek temple fly past his little island. He tried his best to shrug it off, asking “How often do things end up here?”

“Some holders used this as a storage space, some holders accidentally created mini-blackholes.” Nooroo listed them off casually being his voice dropped to an uneasy tune, coupled with him cringing. “One holder used this space as a junkyard for a few years before accidentally opening a portal to that junk over his head…”

Hawmkoth joined in, wincing as he imagined being flattened by a mountain of junk. “That’s one way to go.”

Nooroo scoffed, “It’s tame compared to how a lot of users have fumbled their powers.”

He got the feeling that any further questions on that front was going to be the pandora’s box of distracting tangents and decided to move on. The next question was easy, it was the most pressing one that had been on his mind since he spotted Nooroo; namely, how could he spot Nooroo. “How are we talking like this right now? Shouldn’t you be… Merged with me in this form?”

Nooroo circled around him, looking over his form with a scrutinizing frown. “I can only assume that the blast detransformed you, kicking me out, but the copious miraculous energy in this realm is getting sucked into your miraculous and holding your form together instead of me.”

Well, if there was a silver lining to be found in this, being able to retain his enhanced abilities and form while in this unknown, and most certainly dangerous, realm was better than nothing.

Using his cane as a crutch, he pushed himself wearily to his feet. While Nooroo’s explanation suggested that his transformation was working the same as usual, he couldn’t shake the worry that this energy surge powering his miraculous could have some hidden consequences. There didn’t seem to be any obvious damage to his person, experimentally stretching out his limbs didn’t bring out any sensations to worry about.

He wasn’t convinced, but he couldn’t find anything to complain about just yet, so he turned back to Nooroo, cane stabbing into the muck. “What do you suggest our next step should be?”

Nooroo seemed stunned for a moment. Yeah, Gabriel didn’t directly ask for his input often, but this was clearly a kwami matter, was it not? After shaking off the surprise, Nooroo offers a hesitant grimace before speaking, and Hawkmoth already could guess why. “Our first priority should be finding Mayura.”

He groaned, turning away to grumble at the sky, whose shade already reminded him enough of that horrid, manipulative, no good and strangely beautiful woman. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Nooroo didn’t let him walk away from it, shooting past Hawkmoth and throwing himself at Hawkmoth’s nose, forcing the man to look at him. “This is not a time to let your pride get in the way, Master. This realm is treacherous, and you’re stronger together.”

Sometimes, Gabriel hated being a man of logic. He could shoo Nooroo away like the bothersome rat he was, he could insist that he required no help to best this tiresome tribulation, he could stomp ahead without thought or regard. But he couldn’t escape the fact that Nooroo made perfect sense.

But he could still avoid admitting that outright.

“I suppose, if anything,” He grumbled, eyes narrowing on Nooroo’s deadpanned reaction. “I can’t allow the peacock to be lost to this realm.”

Nooroo was getting too comfortable, Gabriel noted as the blasted kwami spoke almost teasingly. “Permission to establish contact with Duusuu, Master?”

“Fine, fine. But the moment we escape, I’m turning her into a pin cushion.”

---

Kwami fun fact #1 – Kwamis can phase through practically anything.

Kwami fun fact #2 – They cannot phase objects with them.

This is why Plagg, all powerful God of Destruction, was currently clinging for dear life after he’d somehow managed to get his ring caught on the tail of a helicopter, with the propeller blade only an inch above his head.

Plagg flailed, his tiny claws desperately holding onto the metal while the wind from the spinning blades whipped around him. “What kind of idiot manages to get themselves stuck like this?!”

His eyes flicked nervously toward the rapidly spinning propellers, cursing Adrien's name under his breath. Of course he’d lose the ring! He would’ve preferred to just phase through the tail, but the ring had been caught too tightly, and with the way it was latched on, the Kwami was stuck, suspended in mid-air with the high-pitched whirring of the blades as his only companion.

“Oh right, this kind of idiot.”

Plagg's claws dug into the metal tail as he gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing at the spinning blades overhead. He squinted at the ring, which was hopelessly caught in the tail, wedged between two metal points. With a huff, he gave it a determined tug, and then another—his tiny body straining as the helicopter's whirring increased.

"Come on..." he growled, jerking at it with all his might. "This thing isn't getting the best of me!"

With a final, desperate yank, the ring shifted. It came loose just enough for Plagg to scramble and get a better grip. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his tiny heart pounding in his chest as the whirling blades threatened to shred his ears off.

"Yes!" Plagg grinned in triumph as he managed to pull the ring free—but the momentum of his last effort sent him spiraling backward into the air. The wind whipped around him as his little body tumbled uncontrollably through the open sky.

"No—no, no, NO!" Plagg's voice cracked as panic surged. The ring slipped from his claws, spinning off into the wind. His wide eyes tracked the shiny silver object as it fell farther away.

Instinct kicked in as Plagg dove forward, a desperate streak of motion through the air. His tiny body shot toward the plummeting ring like a missile. He stretched out, the edges of his claws barely catching the glint of the object as it tumbled away from him. With a final lunge, Plagg opened his mouth wide, and with a deep breath, he caught the ring just in time—clamping down on it with a firm snap of his teeth.

The helicopter was now a blur beneath him, the wind howling in his ears as he hovered mid-air, panting, his tiny chest rising and falling.

Plagg let out a long sigh of relief, the ring safe between his teeth, even as he struggled to regain control of his direction. “Awww, come on, where are ya, Kid? I’m going in circles here.” He groaned, tiny eyes looking over the massive city.

He’d long since lost track of the truck Adrien had haphazardly decided to trap himself inside – a plan that Plagg will swear he was not informed of. At this point he was simply directionless zooming past the Paris skyline, hoping by some miracle he’d run into some sign.

Since the start it’d been one misadventure after another. First he dropped the ring down a drain and had to chase it through the sewer line. Then a damn dirty dog snatched it up and he had to dodge between people’s legs hoping to himself that everybody wrote him off as a weird looking cat. Then it ended up in someone’s soup and they choked on it – that was a whole situation in of itself!

Suffice it to say, but this point Plagg was not a happy kitty. All he could do was wonder, and grumble under his breath. "Jumping into a gangster’s truck, taking off all on his lonesome. God, we really should’ve gotten this kid chipped," he muttered to himself, his tail twitching irritably.

He zoomed through the streets, passing towering buildings, streets crowded with pedestrians, cars, and everything in between. "I mean, what’s pigtails gonna do when things get tough? Nothing!" Plagg snorted. "Old reliable Plagg packs a super sexy transformation, the best she’s got is glue and glitter."

As he zoomed over a nearby rooftop, his nose twitched. "Wait, that smell... That heavenly, divine juice of the angels..." His stomach rumbled in response.

"My cheese! It’s near, it’s here!" Plagg’s eyes lit up, and his mouth watered. "And where there’s expensive cheese that no human could possibly eat, there’s gotta be the kid."

With a new fire burning in his stomach, Plagg made a hard left turn, his nose set to the scent trail of the one thing he could track down from across the universe.

And then realized his mouth was open and-

“No, no, no, no- How did I drop it again!? It’s practically my house.”

---

When jumping into the back of a truck, driven by semi-criminals to an unknown secondary location, Marinette forgot to consider one crucial detail.

She’d be stuck in the back of a truck, alone, with Adrian Agreste.

The truck lurched forward, throwing Marinette off balance for the third time in less than a minute. Her knees hit the floor of the truck container with a dull thud, and she barely managed to keep her phone from slipping out of her hand. The dim glow of the screen illuminated the small space in fleeting bursts, casting long, sharp shadows over the crates and walls.

And over Adrien’s ridiculously perfect face.

Why did I agree to this? she thought for the hundredth time, biting the inside of her cheek as she sneaked another glance at him.

He was sitting against the side of the truck, one leg stretched out casually while the other was bent, his arm draped lazily over his knee. His blond hair, already tousled from their earlier rush, seemed to catch every bit of light, as if the universe was determined to make him look like some golden boy action hero even while hiding in the back of a moving truck.

Marinette couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or melt into the floor.

Play it cool, Marinette, she thought, her inner voice sharp and panicked. He’s just a boy. A regular, breathtakingly handsome, perfect-smile-having boy.

Her grip on her phone tightened as she shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t feel like she was crumpling into herself or sitting too close. The truck swerved again, sending her sliding a few inches across the floor, her shoulder nearly brushing Adrien’s. She jerked back instinctively, her heart slamming against her ribcage.

“Uh, you okay?” Adrien asked, his voice low and calm, his green eyes glinting faintly in the pale light as they flicked toward her.

“Fine! Totally fine!” she squeaked, clearing her throat immediately after to make her voice sound less like a chipmunk. “Just… uh… slippery floor, you know?” She knocked her knuckles against the metal for emphasis, wincing when it made a loud clang.

He laughed softly, a sound so warm and gentle it sent a shiver down her spine. “Yeah, not exactly first-class travel accommodations.”

Oh no, he’s smiling.

Marinette quickly ducked her head, pretending to fiddle with her phone while trying to get her thoughts in order. Focus! Think of a plan! ANYTHING that doesn’t involve staring at him like some starstruck idiot.

But no plan came. The truck bounced again, and Marinette was forced to brace herself by planting her feet against the floor and leaning back against the wall. The new position helped her stay steady, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable.

Nope, not this one.

She tried sitting cross-legged, but the floor was cold, and her knees kept knocking together every time the truck turned. She tried crouching, but that made her legs cramp. Eventually, she settled on kneeling, leaning forward slightly to keep her balance. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she wasn’t sliding into Adrien.

Except then the truck hit a pothole, jolting her forward with a startled yelp. She instinctively reached out to steady herself, her hand landing squarely on Adrien’s arm.

“So…” she blurted, immediately pulling her hand back to smooth over her hair. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“You… Uh… Come here often?”

Adrien blinked at her, confused for a second, before a grin tugged at his lips. “Nope. So, it’s your lucky day.”

The truck swayed again, throwing Marinette sideways for a second before she steadied herself. “W-Where do you think the truck’s going?” she asked, desperate to fill the silence—and maybe distract herself from the heat creeping up her cheeks.

“I dunno, probably like…” Adrien tilted his head, as if thinking. “Some super-secret warehouse by a dock or something.”

Marinette frowned, momentarily finding comfort in the distracting tangent. “Does Paris have docks?”

Adrien’s grin grew wider. “I mean, isn’t a dock just anywhere you can put a boat?”

She blinked at him, unimpressed. “That’s… not how docks work, Adrien.”

“Then enlighten me, Captain Marinette,” he teased, his tone light and playful.

Her lips quirked into a reluctant smile before she could stop herself. “You are impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are. Stuck with me.” Adrien leaned back against the wall, looking far too comfortable for someone hiding out in the back of a truck enroute to who-knows-where.

Adrien blinked, turning to her with mild confusion. “Huh?”

“The trucks,” Marinette said, her voice speeding up. “They’re hers. But Dutch hid the brand behind some paper.”

Adrien shrugged. “Well, at least we know they’re good trucks then.”

“You don’t find that weird at all?” Marinette asked, her tone sharpening.

“Audrey’s lending people stuff. Big deal.”

Marinette gave him a look like he’d just suggested the sky was green. “Audrey doesn’t lend anyone anything. There’s gotta be easier ways to get vehicles. Why her?”

“Dutch is ripping off the rich to help the poor,” Adrien said with a casual wave of his hand. “There’s probably some dramatic irony to it or something.” He looked at her, his expression equal parts exasperated and amused. “I really don’t know what your problem is.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, biting back the comment her mind freely scoffed about. Dutch could shoot him in the chest and he’d thank the guy, I swear.

“My problem is that you’re really going to bat for a guy you didn’t even know existed three days ago,” Marinette shot back, leaning forward.

Adrien scoffed. “It’s not like I’m trusting him with my life or anything. I’m just saying the dude’s been nothing but a standup guy, and I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt against your zero evidence to the contrary.”

“You only think that because he does nothing but compliment you,” she said, crossing her arms.

Adrien’s brow furrowed, his voice defensive. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you’re not paying attention because you’re too busy hero-worshipping.” Marinette snapped. “And his partner, that Darcy woman; she just gives off seriously creepy vibes.”

“What’s wrong with Darcy?” Adrien demanded.

“She looks at you weirdly, and she’s way too affectionate with you. And Alya says she saw her giving you alcohol.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “So what? It’s a crime for a woman to be nice to me?”

Marinette spluttered. “I think so! She’s, what, like forty? You’re just a boy. She shouldn’t be acting like… that with you.”

Adrien bristled, his voice rising. “I’m not a boy, I’m a man. I’m mature enough to do whatever adults do.”

“You’re fourteen,” Marinette deadpanned, her arms crossing tighter.

Adrien’s face flushed with indignation. “Fifteen!”

“By like a month,” she shot back without missing a beat.

It was weird to feel Adrien glaring at her. It was even weirder to glare back with no second thoughts. She didn’t want to be on Adrien’s bad side, but his bone-headedness was really getting on her nerves – especially because it was having him waltz right into harms way. This was basic stranger danger and he was jumping in the unmarked candy van.

The truck swerved again, and Marinette’s hand shot out instinctively, brushing against Adrien’s shoulder for balance. She snatched it back like she’d been burned, her heart racing as she turned her glare to the floor.

She was drawn back to him by the sound of his fingers snapping together, and a smug grin that looked too arrogant and ugly on Adrien’s usually flawless face. “You know what?” He said, his fingers turning on her accusingly. “You sound jealous, Mari.”

Marinette expected that accusation to get her blushing, to get her shy as butterflies flapped in her stomach, but it didn’t. Suddenly, in that moment, her mind brought forth hurt. And she only realized why when her mouth started moving. “You know who else might be jealous? Lila.”

All this time, the tidbit had escaped Marinette’s thoughts, she’d damn near forgotten it entirely in the wake of all the chaos lately. Adrien had a girlfriend, who was damn near convinced they were serious about each other.

Where was his regard for Lila? Where was the gentleman she knew Adrien to be? Maybe Marinette didn’t like Lila at all, but someone else’s wrong doesn’t become right just because the target so happens to be someone who’s wronged you. Cheating was cheating.

She wanted Adrien to snap out of it, to stop and think about it, to look effected by the realization.

Instead, his grin twisted into some measure of disgust, glaring at her like she’d suggested he dig up a corpse. “Why should I give a damn what Lila thinks about my interactions with women?”

Marinette’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this!”

“What, like my own man?” Adrien shot back, his voice rising. “I just want to help people and prove I can do this. I thought you’d support me on this!”

“I am supporting you,” Marinette snapped, her fists clenching at her sides. “But support isn’t just blind agreement!”

Adrien leaned back against the wall of the truck, crossing his arms and glaring at her like she was the one being unreasonable. Marinette could feel her frustration mounting, her chest tightening with a mixture of anger and worry.

“Support,” she continued, her voice firm, “is making sure you’re thinking about what you’re doing. It’s making sure you’re safe. But you—” She jabbed a finger at him, her blue eyes blazing. “You’re just running headfirst into situations without even considering the consequences. And for what? To prove something? To who?”

“To myself!” Adrien shot back, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do. I’m tired of being treated like a kid who doesn’t know anything. I’m trying, Marinette. And all you’re doing is telling me I’m wrong!”

Marinette stared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to find the words to respond. “I’m not saying you’re wrong for wanting to help people,” she said finally, her voice softer but still steady. “I’m saying you need to be smart about it. And right now, you’re not.”

Before she could say anything else, both of them had the misfortune of being tossed the floor as the truck came to a dead halt. Marinette let out a muffled groan as she hit the cold, metallic surface, while Adrien cursed under his breath.

“Great,” Marinette hissed, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Because this night wasn’t already going perfectly.”

Adrien didn’t respond, sitting up and brushing himself off with a scowl. The tension between them lingered, but there was no time to keep bickering. The sound of heavy footsteps outside the truck quickly snapped both of them into focus.

They shared a glance, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten, and silently scrambled to stay low. Marinette pressed herself against the side of the truck, straining her ears as Dutch’s men began moving around outside.

The voices were muffled but clear enough to catch snippets of conversation.

“Unload everything from this warehouse first.”

“Don’t forget the crates in the back. Boss’ll want those inside immediately.”

“Fan out and check the area—just in case.”

Marinette’s stomach tightened as she realized they weren’t in the clear yet. She motioned for Adrien to stay quiet, and for once, he didn’t argue, nodding and crouching beside her.

They waited in tense silence as Dutch’s men moved about. The sound of crates being dragged off the trucks, heavy boots on gravel, and muttered conversations filtered into the container. Marinette held her breath, every muscle in her body taut as she waited for the sounds to fade.

After what felt like an eternity, the voices began to recede, and Marinette dared to peek up. Slowly, carefully, she crawled over to the shutter of the container, easing it open just a fraction.

The sight that greeted her wasn’t exactly comforting. They were parked in what looked like a forgotten part of the city—if it even was the city anymore. A collection of warehouses and old, crumbling buildings stretched out before her, their windows shattered, and walls streaked with graffiti. The glow of Paris’s bustling city centre was nowhere to be seen, leaving this place bathed in an eerie, dim light.

Marinette’s heart sank as she watched the last of Dutch’s men disappear into a nearby warehouse, carrying crates inside. She glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, before carefully closing the shutter and crawling back to Adrien.

She gestured for him to follow her, motioning toward the back of the container. Together, they slipped out of the truck as quietly as they could, their shoes crunching softly against the gravel. Marinette held her breath, scanning the area for any signs of movement, before leading Adrien toward a nearby stack of crates.

They crouched behind them, pressed against the rough wood as Marinette peeked out from the edge. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her earlier frustration with Adrien replaced by a gnawing anxiety about what they’d just walked into. Which only increased her anxiety about Adrien potentially doing something reckless. She knew she needed to settle things between them before they went any further.

“Adrien…” She sucked in her breath and puffed out her chest, trying to find a measure of courage. It was hard enough to talk to a guy you liked casually, it was even harder to talk to him when you knew that your words weren’t what he wanted to hear. “I know that this is all easy to take as an insult, but I’m saying this as your friend; you’ve lived a really sheltered life.” She kept her voice terse and dry, hoping he’d see that there was no bite or judgement to her words. “And I… I see how eager you are to please everyone.”

Turning to face him was daunting, imagining that disgusted, betrayed look from earlier made her heart cry. But fortunately, when she saw him, his face was neutral, just carefully studying her. “And I think that’s making it difficult for you to think these things through, and that… That makes it easy for others to trick you.”

Hesitantly, she reached for his hand, waiting to see if he’d pull away or balk at her attempt. Relief blossomed in her chest when he instead reached back, squeezing her fingers. “And I can’t stand the thought of it. It makes me mad and desperate, because… Because you don’t deserve that.”

He stared at her. Just stared at her. It took him a minute to reply. She had no way of knowing that he was spending most of that minute trying to calm his heart down, and that he was mentally trying to stop himself from kissing her right there.

All she got to experience was the exasperated sigh he let out at the end, burying his face in his hands. “I can be a real idiot sometimes.”

He groaned into his hands, which managed to make Marinette crack a smile and lean closer, taking him into her hands. “This is all so new to me; I’ve just spent so long following my father’s designs, and now I’m…” One eye peaked at her through his fingers. “I’m colouring outside the lines.”

Adrien’s arms came down, resting on top of hers as he shot her a lopsided grin. “This is my first time away from him. Like, away, away.” He bared his teeth in a half-hearted grimace, shuffling around to press his back to the boxes. “I just want to be able to go along for the ride instead of rocking the boat, to not have to filter everything through everyone else’s expectation of me.”

One arm pulled back to smack himself over the head. “I’m bad at this, and maybe I am getting myself into trouble.” And then, to Marinette’s confusion, he was back to staring at her again, looking almost dream-like as he did so. “But that’s why I’m so lucky to know that I have a girl like you in my corner, ready to knock some sense into me.”

She had to keep reminding herself that he had a girlfriend for a minute straight.

“So… You’re overly trusting and I’m overly suspicious.” She chuckled, “We’re quite the pair, huh?”

His hands squeezed hers tighter, his voice dipping into something earnest. “Just so you know, I don’t see Darcy like that. I don’t think she means any harm, but… she does remind me of some models I worked with who’d… make me uncomfortable.”

Marinette blinked, surprised at his honesty. “Does your dad know about that kind of stuff?”

Adrien shook his head quickly. “What? No way. My father would kill them, I’m not going to ruin their careers over me having some bad feelings.”

“Your personal space deserves to be respected.” Marinette argued, her voice firm.

Is this why he didn’t see Darcy’s actions as off putting? He’d been taught that this was just the normal way that people treated him, that he should suffer in silence? Marinette’s eyes narrowed, pulling him into a quick embrace to stop him from seeing her scowl. She mentally noted that, after all this is over and done with, she needed to find a way to have a talk with Gabriel Agreste about paying attention to his employees.

Adrien gave her a sheepish grin, clearing his throat. “Well, anyway, yeah; nothing going on with Darcy.” His expression softened as he added, almost shyly, “I’ve already got my eye on a special girl… someone much more in my age range.”

He said it so casually, yet with so much warmth, that Marinette felt her stomach twist. Adrien’s hands tightened around hers as his gaze locked onto her, his green eyes looking impossibly soft.

Marinette’s brain screamed at her to take a step back, to stop the train of thought she could feel forming. Wow, she thought, he must really love Lila. He probably wishes she were here instead of me.

“She’s a lucky girl,” Marinette said, genuine even if her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Adrien smirked, his grip on her hands loosening as he leaned back slightly. “Okay, current plan: I’ll scout up ahead, make sure the coast is clear, find us a way inside, and then signal for you to follow.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “And why am I waiting back?”

Adrien tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Because Miss ‘Walking Disaster’ isn’t exactly great for stealth.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage. “I cause one pile-up on the street—one! And suddenly, I’m branded for life?”

Adrien chuckled under his breath, raising his hands defensively. “I’m just saying! You’ve got a bit of a track record, Mari. I mean, you’re great at a lot of things, but sneaking around?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, huffing. “I can be stealthy!”

Adrien raised a brow.

 Marinette threw her hands in the air and turned away, though the corner of her lips twitched upward despite herself. “Fine, Mr. Stealthy. You go ahead. But if you get caught, don’t come crying to me.”

Adrien’s smirk softened into a warm grin, and he gave her a playful salute. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Just stay here and stay safe, okay?”

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Marinette shot back, her tone a mix of concern and exasperation.

Adrien gave her a wink before slipping around the crates, moving as silently as he could. Marinette watched him go, muttering under her breath, “Pfft, ‘You’re great at a lot of things, Mari’. The audacity.”

In her wait for Adrien to return, and a desire to rest the tension in her stomach, Marinette’s eyes found their way back to the truck and the logo hidden away on its side. Adrien’s speculations weren’t enough, she knew in her gut that there had to be a reason why it was Audrey’s trucks specifically. But it wasn’t like she could just ask Audrey or Dutch for the answer.

She gasped, slipping down to sit as her fingers fumbled for her phone. But I can ask the second best thing.

It felt like an eternity waiting on the ‘calling’ beeps before a very familiar shrill groan broke through her phone’s speakers. She brought it up to her ear, pressing it close and glancing over her shoulder to make sure there was nobody to hear her. “Chloe? It’s Marinette.”

There was a pause where she just knew Chloe was staring down at her phone like it was cursed. “…How the hell do you have my number?”

“You gave it to me last year when you had that scheme to send me demotivating text messages every month,” Marinette reminded her. “You even asked me to text back my reaction.”

“Oh. Right.” Chloe sounded more annoyed than embarrassed. “W-Well, what makes you think you can just call me? Just because I tolerate Nino doesn’t mean you get a free pass!”

“You weren’t sleeping, Chloe,” Marinette said dryly. “You’re staying up late to watch the live stream of the latest El Espectáculo Muy Dramático episode. Like you do every Saturday.”

There was a long, offended, judgmental silence before Chloe let out an exasperated, “Ugh, fine. What do you want?”

Marinette wasted no time. “I need to ask a few questions about your mother’s company. Specifically, her delivery trucks.”

Chloe yawned and, in the background, Marinette could hear Chloe’s chair spinning around. “What about them?”

“Is there any special benefit to using them over other trucks?” Marinette asked, leaning forward as if Chloe could hear her anticipation.

“I mean, they’re expensive, so they’re good trucks,” Chloe replied casually. “People tend to give them priority on the street. They’re fast.” She paused, then added, “Oh, and there’s the security privileges.”

Marinette straightened. “Explain that last one.”

“Well, duh, when you’re married to the mayor, you can pull strings to avoid all kinds of red tape.” Chloe’s tone was dismissive, and Marinette just knew that the girl was inspecting her nails. “You slap my mother’s logo on a car or truck, and you can get through anything—police stations, checkpoints, roadblocks, you name it. No one even asks about your cargo.”

Marinette’s stomach sank, but her mind was alight with the last puzzle piece falling into place. “So… what you’re saying is that these trucks would be good for smuggling something you don’t want anyone to see?”

Whatever Dutch was loading up here, it wasn’t ‘medicine’, it was something he wanted to be able to hide from the authorities.

“Yeah, I guess,” Chloe said breezily. “Is that all? Because I cannot miss this episode. We’re finally going to find out which of the twins actually slept with Palo.”

“Wait a second…”

Marinette’s brow furrowed as a realization hit her.

“Did you say Nino’s name right earlier?”

“Hanging up now!”

---

For the past ten minutes, Mayura had busied herself burying her head in her hands and screaming. She was quite sure that this was the most productive use of her time, as a second not spent letting loose her frustrations in the most unprofessional manner possible was time that would be spent lingering on the utter mortification that Nathalie was currently going through.

When she eventually had to pull her hands away to let herself breathe, she was in what one might call a state. Her usually neat hair was a tangled disaster, bright blue locks sticking out at odd angles thanks to her frantic tugging. Her sleek costume was ruffled from her nervous pacing, and yet the pièce de résistance of her frazzled state was the deep, burning blush painting her face. It overpowered all the purples and blues of her transformation, screaming her humiliation to the heavens.

“Duusuu, what was that?!” She finally cried out, hands strangling the air.

Duusuu simply hung over her head, upside down, blinking innocently. “I just explained it, Miss Nathalie, were you not listening?”

Mayura groaned. “Not this.” She hissed, gesturing to the mess of floating islands the horse miraculous had teleported them to; which was clearly the less pressing matter. “That! Back there!” Breathing in sharply, she couldn’t help but wince at the memory. “Mayura… That had to be your doing.”

“Nope.” Duusuu said simply, booping Mayura on the nose. “You’ll know when I’m talking, that was alllll you.”

The kwami dived down into a little summersault, twirling giddily through the air. “Oh, it was so romantic!” She sighed wistfully, paws to her cheek as she squealed. “Did you see how Mr Gabriel became as red as a tomato?”

Mayura caught the kwami by the tail, yanking her down to eye-level. “No, I was too busy being mortified.” She whined.

Nathalie was a woman of integrity and professionalism. When eyes were upon her, she acted her station; she didn’t laugh, she didn’t joke, she didn’t sneer, she didn’t get emotional. She was a fortress of ice that did only what she was supposed to do and saved any nonsense in the privacy of her room. She most certainly didn’t hit on her boss, her married boss, her grieving married boss whose eyes were only on his dead wife that she was helping him bring back to life.

But Mayura? Oh, it just so happened to turn out that Mayura was a damn mad woman! She giggled, she got snarky, she got in his face, she both insulted and complimented him; and she called him handsome. She talked about how good he was with his ‘cane’. Oh, Nathalie bet that Nooroo was laughing his smug ass silly right now.

“Oh god. Oh god.” All she could do was repeat it under her breath and remind herself that it did happen, that this wasn’t all just some terrible hallucination from a gas leak. It was real. “I made a pass at him. How could I do that?! I’ve never flirted with anyone in my life!” Her strangled cries were hell on her ears. These were noises she didn’t even know that she could make. “I couldn’t even compliment a boy’s haircut without scowling at him. How the hell am I flirting with the one man who scares me more than anything!? It’s just… Not me! It couldn’t be me.”

“Which means that he’ll never guess that it’s you!” Duusuu cheered, “Isn’t that what you want?”

“No!”

She paused.

“Maybe…”

She bit her lip.

“Not exactly…”

She threw her head back in dismay. This was a disaster, an utter disaster.

“Gah!” She growled, shaking Duusuu for good measure. “I was going to expose my identity after we got the horse miraculous, remember? The whole point of this was to show off what I could do with the peacock.”

Mayura brought Duusuu so close that the kwami’s head was squished against the bridge of her nose. “How am I going to reveal myself now?! He’ll think that I was flirting with him.”

“You were flirting with him.”

“He’ll think I’m in love with him.”

“You are in love with him.”

Her lips drew into a thin, tight line. “I don’t remember you being this much of a smart ass, Duusuu.”

Duusuu just grinned and tapped Mayura’s cheek. “Miss Emilie taught me so much.”

Mayura’s brows shot up, doing the math in her head returning only nonsense. “Emilie only used you once…”

“No, she only used my powers once.” Duusuu corrected. “We became the best of friends after she realized that she could drink twice the amount of alcohol in her transformed form.”

Mayura stared, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. “You’re telling me… Emilie used the damaged peacock miraculous to go on late-night binges?!”

“It was a never-ending party, Miss Nathalie!” Duusu chirped, spinning gleefully in the air. “We’d hop from club to club—disguised, of course—laughing, dancing, and drinking like royalty! You should’ve seen her moves. Miss Emilie could really tear up a dance floor!”

Nathalie pinched the bridge of her nose, slowly sinking to the ground in defeat. She stared at Duusu like she was trying to make sense of the sheer absurdity of it all. “Between Gabriel and Emilie, it’s a wonder that Adrien has turned out as stable as he has.”

Suddenly, Duusu froze mid-somersault, her eyes clouding over with a blank, glassy stare. Nathalie immediately stiffened, instinctively reaching out as though to catch the floating kwami. For a few tense seconds, the air buzzed faintly, like static electricity passing through a wire. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, Duusu blinked and snapped back to life, spinning cheerfully as if nothing had occurred.

Nathalie’s breath caught, her hands darting forward to hold the kwami still, examining her tiny form for any sign of damage. “What was that?” she demanded, her voice sharp with worry.

“Oh, that’s just Nooroo sending a message!” Duusu chirped, seemingly unfazed.

“You… you can do that?” Nathalie’s brows furrowed.

Duusu giggled. “As long as the holder doesn’t forbid it, yes! And guess what? Hawkmoth wants to team up! See?” Duusu clapped her little paws together with glee. “Your relationship is growing already!”

Nathalie froze, her grip tightening ever so slightly on the kwami. “We must be in a real bleak situation if Gabriel’s willing to swallow his pride and accept help from the enemy.”

Mayura squared her shoulders, forcing herself to focus. “Alright. We can do this. We just have to…” She exhaled slowly, willing herself to remain composed. “Not say anything weird. I can be confident without being improper.”

And that’s how, minutes later, she ended up perched upon sentiboard, descending the length of a tower to spy Hawkmoth brooding on the edge of a gargoyle.

She took a deep breath. I just need to be normal.

“Hello, Stranger.” She purred, watching Hawkmoth’s shoulders tense at her approach. “Need a ride?”

That’s good. That’s great!

He tilted his head back towards her, scowling. “Under protest.” He growled.

Natural. Just be natural.

Sentiboard pulled up just beside him, her feet guiding the sentimonster like it was second nature. She pushed herself into a light bow, holding her hand out to the pouting prince. He sneered at her hand, trading another silence ‘Do I have to?’ glance with Nooroo.

“Come now, Handsome. There’s no need to pout.” Her offered hand came back to trace over her lip in mock hurt, before unfurling to gesture to the empty space beside her on the large sentient glider. “This is the best seat in the house.”

No! Nathalie internally whined. We were doing so well…

“Let me make myself clear.” Hawkmoth kicked his cane up with his hell, the bladed tip ending up stuck right between her eyes, inches from skewering her. “The moment we escape this calamity is the moment I-”

She leaned into the blade, letting it press against her temple just enough that any pressure would make it sting. Her eyes remained undeterred. “Smash me into a billion pieces? Tear me into ribbons? Hang my intestines from the power lines like laundry?” The metal seemed to hum in response to her fingers drumming against the side of is. “Save the pillow talk for after our daring escape.”

Hawkmoth’s grip on the cane tightened, his jaw clenching beneath the mask. He said nothing for a long moment, his frustration evident in the twitch of his free hand. Then, begrudgingly, he lowered the blade and stepped onto the sentiboard beside her with a gruff, “Your feeble mind games only illustrate your incompetence.”

Mayura allowed herself a small, triumphant smile as the sentiboard ascended into the night. “How devoid of affection must you be in normal life to think simple interest is a mind game?” She snorted.

The question seemed to momentarily stun Hawkmoth, which made Nathalie pause and think. Okay, yeah, Gabriel wasn’t the most outwardly affectionate person in general, but he and Emilie were always such an obviously loving couple. Gabriel would always profess his love for her, or get her little gifts, or wax on about his muse. And Emilie would always… Um… Uh…

She remembered Emilie going ‘Yes, Dear’. And ‘That’s nice, Dear’. And ‘Not in front of my agent, Dear.’.

Huh, now that Nathalie thought about it, after the first year of their marriage, Emilie was less responsive to Gabriel’s stunts. And Gabriel stopped doing them. Nathalie always assumed that they’d become private people who kept their affection for behind closed doors in the wake of paparazzi and the rumour mill.

There was no way that, out of the two, Emilie was the less affectionate one. Gabriel must just be panicking because Emilie was the last and only woman to take an interest in him.

Eventually, Hawkmoth’s gruff growl hit her ear. “How devoid of common sense must you be to keep mouthing off to the man eager for a reason to slit your throat?”

““For a gentleman, you’re awfully eager to strike a lady,” she shot back without missing a beat, raising her chin in defiance.

“You’re no lady,” he snapped, his voice dripping with venom.

“Touchy, touchy,” Mayura teased, letting her lips curve into a smug smile. She leaned slightly closer to him, her confidence returning in full force. “So dramatic.”

Hawkmoth let out a sharp exhale, his grip on his cane tightening as he muttered something under his breath. Mayura smirked to herself, knowing she’d successfully gotten under his skin yet again. One of these days, she thought, he’ll learn to pick his battles.

He crossed his arms and kept his gaze ahead, desperately trying to avoid looking at her in a manner she couldn’t help but find adorable. He really is a drama queen when he doesn’t need to be Gabriel. Still, she decided not to push it with any more teasing comments. There was no need to make this a tense dynamic – unless she found a really tempting line – when she could use this time to make him comfortable with her.

Comfortable. It was a strange word that never applied to Nathalie and Gabriel. They were content, they worked well together, they knew how to work around each other, but they weren’t cozy. They were as much friends as two people like them could ever be with other people. The benefit of a mask was that you weren’t restrained to what you thought other people needed you to be.

Was that what Gabriel meant when talking about his dynamic with Chat Noir? How their masks allowed them to be closer in ways they were too socially inept to accomplish as Gabriel and Adrien? As she fought not to stare at him, Nathalie wondered if maybe she was finally starting to understand was this entire situation was important to the boys outside of Emilie.

Nathalie and Gabriel weren’t comfortable, but maybe Mayura could find a way to be comfortable with Hawkmoth. Which, maybe, could pave the way for Gabriel to be comfortable with Nathalie.

They journeyed through the strange realm with no actual direction in mind. Nooroo simply said that the horse miraculous would open a portal somewhere around here any time it activated, so they were just aimlessly flying around looking out for a glowing blue door in the world of glowing blue bullshit.

It gave them little else to do but take in the bizarre sights of the dimension—a chaotic collection of mismatched objects and terrains that had been sucked into the realm over centuries. There was no rhyme or reason to what ended up here. A child’s toy floated serenely in the air not far from them, while an entire lake shimmered below, its water spilling off the edges of its boundaries like a piece of art defying physics.

“This place is madness,” Nathalie muttered, her voice breaking the silence as she craned her neck to glance at a spiral staircase that led nowhere.

“Fitting, then,” Hawkmoth replied dryly, his voice laced with disdain, though whether it was directed at her comment or their circumstances, she couldn’t tell.

“There’s a lot of junk around here.” She murmured, her gaze falling far towards the horizon where she could just glimpse a group of large wooden galleys resting atop of each other in a heap. “Is that ship graveyard over there?”

Nooroo, who had plopped himself on Hawkmoth’s head to the man’s protest, lazily looked over the ships, nodding along. “Oh, that’s from when the horse miraculous got left in the Bermuda Triangle for a while.”

Duusuu varied between speeding around Mayura to hanging from Mayura’s hair. What made that comfortable for the kwami, Nathalie did not know. “Hehe, you humans don’t even know how close you came to the earth getting flooded again.”

Hawkmoth nearly choked, “…Again!?”

Duusuu carried on with the breathless sigh of the minorly inconvenienced, “That doesn’t even compare to when the aliens got a hold of it.”

Mayura blinked, “Aliens!?”

“Don’t worry,” Nooroo laid on his back, dismissing their concerns with a wave. “they ended up destroying themselves when they accidentally made a mini-black hole.”

Duusuu tugged on Mayura’s hair to pull her attention to the opposite direction, pointing vigorously. “Look, there’s one of their spaceships!”

Both supervillains were left speechless as they watched a genuine flying saucer casually float past, the corpse of some alien creature with a mushroom for a head contained within.

“Terrible what they did to Pomona though.” Nooroo humed, only to stop when he noted the two’s clueless reactions. “Oh, it was the tenth planet in your solar system before the black holes sucked it into the sun.”

After that, Mayura had been content to just power forward and ask no further questions, but in that moment, Hawkmoth suddenly stood at attention, bringing his cane across her stomach to stop her.

“Wait, wait,” he said hastily, his voice low but urgent. “Turn around.”

“What?” she asked, startled.

“Turn around, now. I saw something.”

Mayura narrowed her eyes but obeyed, shifting the sentiboard to circle back in the direction Hawkmoth had indicated. Her gaze scanned the distance for… whatever had him so rattled.

Then she saw it.

“…Is that…?” she trailed off, squinting into the horizon.

“It couldn’t be,” Hawkmoth murmured, though his tone carried an uneasy mix of doubt and certainty.

Hovering just off in the distance was an unmistakable silhouette. A large, intricately decorated sleigh with ornate golden accents. Its runners gleamed faintly in the eerie blue light of the realm, and a cluster of vaguely reindeer-shaped sentient constructs seemed to be pulling it.

“It’s Santa’s sleigh.” Mayura said finally, her voice flat with disbelief.

“Oh, that takes me back!” Duusuu squealed, rushing over towards the busted old vehicle, which Mayura only now noticed had a modified Ladybug symbol on it. “Me and Tikki used to run Santa’s workshop, you know.”

There was no choice but to fly closer to the spectacle themselves, Mayura curiously looking over the abandoned craft with restrained disbelief. Hawkmoth, on the other hand, was far more expressive, lighting up like… Well, a Christmas tree, at the sight.

Nooroo nodded, bringing himself over to the front bumper and wiping off some of the grime, unveiling a horse symbol. “And, of course, Santa Claus was one of our greatest miraculous holders. He used to use the horse to get around the universe in one night.”

“Used to?” Mayura gasped, “Oh god, is Santa dead!?”

Hawkmoth let out a mad laugh at that, and Mayura did not want to ask why.

Nooroo had a coughing fit over that. “What? No. He just renounced his miraculous.”

At this, it was Duusuu whose mood took a sharp shift, crossing her arms with snarl. “Tch, yeah, years of loyal, efficient service and that fat bozo tosses us kwamis aside for those knife-eared dwarfs and their cheap Christmas magic!”

“Duusuu!” Nooroo scolded. Mayura got the impression that they’d been over this a couple of times.

“I’m just saying,” she snapped, gesturing animatedly toward the sleigh, “if I were still there, toy production wouldn’t be falling behind by two days. And most planets wouldn’t have to wait a week after Christmas to get their gifts because that new sleigh is slower than molasses.”

Hawkmoth rubbed his temples, trying to process what he was hearing. “Planets?”

“Kwamis are just so much more reliable!” Duusuu declared, puffing out her chest. “I don’t see the elves helping Santa cross the universe so he can deliver coal to the space devil.”

“Space devil?” Mayura echoed weakly, her voice wavering as she stared between the kwamis and the sleigh in utter bewilderment.

“Stop asking questions,” Hawkmoth hissed, “it’s not helping!”

---

Adrien Agreste was not a man of stealth. In fact, many people would argue that Adrien was born to stand out and attract attention. This was not ideal in his current situation—sneaking through a dimly lit warehouse filled with Dutch's men, a strange mix of gruff older men and wiry teenagers, all of whom seemed to be on high alert.

He swallowed nervously, his heart pounding in his chest. Every creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet and every rustle of his jacket sounded impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet space. He pressed himself against a stack of crates, peeking around the corner to see a group of the men gathered near a table, poring over what looked like a map.

Adrien bit his lip. These guys weren’t the villains of the story—at least, he didn’t think they were. Dutch seemed to be some kind of modern Robin Hood, right? Fighting against corruption and injustice? But still, even Robin Hood’s merry men probably wouldn’t take kindly to finding a random teenage boy snooping through their hideout.

Okay, Adrien, you’ve got this. Just act like Chat Noir. Confident, suave, in control... No, wait, don’t act like Chat Noir. That’s how you end up cracking jokes and making everything worse. Just...be cool. Be cool and quiet.

He tried to move silently, stepping carefully over discarded tools and stray bolts scattered on the floor. He froze as one of the teenagers, a lanky kid no older than himself, turned and looked in his direction. Adrien ducked behind a crate, holding his breath.

“Hey, did you hear that?” the kid asked, his voice breaking slightly.

One of the older men grunted, not even looking up from the map. “It’s probably a rat. Keep your head in the game, Charlie. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

The teenager hesitated but eventually shrugged and turned back to the table. Adrien let out a silent sigh of relief, his fingers trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the crate. “That was a close one.”

With a weary heart, he scrambled over to the staircase leading to the upper floors of the warehouse, and the office overlooking everything. They were all focused on loading crates into the truck, so he was hedging his bet on them having little reason to go upstairs. Still, he was starting to think that he wasn’t going to get a good opportunity to signal Marinette or get her inside right now.

It was nauseating getting up the steps. They were thin, metal and shaky; each step he took made the entire staircase tremble and caused the metal under his foot to groan. It wa only by the grace of god and the loud bustle of activity int eh warehouse that allowed him to go unheard until he reached the top.

Along the way, his eye caught sight of Dutch leading a pack of men through the warehouse. The man walked with a smooth calm to his steps, yet his eyes kept darting around eery corner like he was expecting something to pop out at him.

“There’s Dutch…” Adrien muttered under his breath. “I just need a better view, then I’ll get back to Mari.”

Luck was smiling on him today as Dutch just so happened to stop under the catwalk that connected both sides of the warehouse, allowing Adrien to inch in close, hiding himself under the shadow of the roof beams. There was something to be said here about his luck improving as soon as he no longer had the black cat on his finger, but he was sure that Plagg would hit him for even thinking it.

Dutch hoisted himself up onto the table, holding aloft a megaphone. “Come on boys, we needed these loaded up yesterday.” He called out to them. “The Velenci could be on us any minute.”

Adrien recognised Louie’s form emerging formt eh shadows, shuffling over to the table and yanking on Dutch’s trousers. “But Dutch, how would the Velenci even know that we’re here?” The boy asked innocently.

Dutch crouched down, a weak frown gracing his features as he patted the boy on the head. “They’re powerful crime lords, Louie; they have their ways of turning up where they’re not wanted.”

Something caused Adrien’s ear to twitch and, with the reflexes Plagg had beaten into his muscle memory, he just managed to throw himself flat against the railing just as two burly men stormed past him in the darkness.

They leaned over calling down to Dutch, one out of breath and the other grumbling.

One called down. “Boss, come quick, we have a… Problem.”

It must have been a trick of the light because, for a moment, it looked like Dutch was relieved.

In a blink of any eye, the appropriate reaction of dread was clear as Dutch jumped down from the table. He gently pushed Louie towards the entrance and made mad gestures at the rest of the gang to stay on alert. “Get back to the truck, Louie. I got a bad feeling about this.”

Adrien’s heart sank as he watched Dutch and the two men make their way toward the office at the far end of the catwalk. Torn between curiosity and self-preservation, he waited until they entered the room before silently following after them.

Peering through the cracked doorway, Adrien’s stomach turned. In the center of the office was a body—sprawled on the floor, lifeless. Dutch stood over it, his expression grim but not surprised.

“So, Velenci did strike.” Dutch murmured, crouching to inspect the corpse. “Hm, no big entrance, no welcoming party, just a body left for us to find. Strange, that ain’t in the sc—” He coughed, quickly correcting himself. “Ain’t their style.”

Dutch’s eyes roamed over the scene, narrowed and then – confused. For a moment, Adrien thought Dutch’s eye might have caught him. Only for Dutch to get back up, turning on his goons. “Where are the bullet casings?”

“There are none.” The man replied simply. “He wasn’t shot.”

The other man kicked the body over, revealing two stab wounds in the chest, the entrance wounds having a slightly burned texture to them.

Dutch’s face paled. “…This isn’t Velenci.”

Adrien’s chest tightened as he crouched by the doorway, struggling to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. Dutch stared at the corpse, his jaw tight, the color draining from his face. Adrien’s gaze darted around the room nervously. Something felt wrong.

It was then he saw it—a flicker of movement in the far corner of the room. At first, it was barely noticeable, something he could easily have dismissed as a trick of the dim lighting or his overactive imagination. But his gut twisted in warning, screaming that this wasn’t normal. Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.

Without thinking, Adrien grabbed a piece of scrap metal from the ground and hurled it into the corner. The clang echoed through the room.

“What the hell was that?!” one of Dutch’s men barked, his head snapping toward the sound.

On edge, Dutch reacted instinctively. His hand darted to his gun, and before anyone could stop him, he fired off several shots into the corner. The noise was deafening, the muzzle flash lighting up the dark room.

For a moment, there was silence. Adrien peeked through the doorway, his heart hammering.

Nothing moved. Nothing was there.

Except…

Adrien’s eyes widened as he spotted it—a smoking hole suspended in mid-air, right where one of Dutch’s bullets had struck.

“What the fuck?” Dutch muttered, his voice low and filled with unease.

Then, before their eyes, the air seemed to shimmer and bend, like heat waves rising off asphalt. Slowly, a figure began to materialize.

It stood tall and menacing, its form clad in sleek, dark armor that glinted faintly in the dim light. The figure’s face was obscured by a featureless faceplate, save for the jagged, broken section where Dutch’s bullet had struck. Beneath the damage, Adrien could see something that made his blood run cold—wires and circuitry sparking faintly.

“What the fuck is that?!” one of the men shouted, stumbling back.

Dutch took a step forward, his gun trembling slightly in his hand. The figure didn’t move, its presence unnervingly still. Then its head tilted ever so slightly, the exposed circuits flickering ominously.

Dutch gritted his teeth, his hand tightening on the trigger. Without hesitation, he fired again, emptying half the clip into the android. The shots landed squarely, and the android stumbled back, its armored body slamming into the wall with a metallic clang.

For a split second, Adrien thought it was over, but then the android pushed off the wall with terrifying force, launching itself across the room like a missile.

“Shit, shoot it! Shoot it!” Dutch bellowed, diving to the side just in time to avoid the android’s charge.

Bullets ricocheted wildly as the other man in the room unloaded his weapon in a blind panic. The android moved too fast, weaving between the shots with unnatural precision. Then, with a mechanical hiss, it reached behind its back and drew a long, sleek blade. The blade pulsed with electricity, crackling violently as it swung through the air.

Dutch hit the ground hard, rolling out of the android’s path, but the man behind him wasn’t so lucky. The blade pierced through his face with a sickening crunch, the electric current making his body jerk uncontrollably before the android yanked the sword free and discarded him like a broken toy.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Adrien whispered to himself, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Dutch scrambled to his feet, his eyes wild with desperation. “Keep shooting!” he shouted, but his remaining man froze, his gun trembling in his hands as the android turned toward him.

And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the android vanished. The air around it shimmered, and it was gone.

“What the—he just vanished! How’d he do that?!” the surviving man cried, his voice breaking.

Dutch stood frozen, his chest heaving as he scanned the room. His gaze lingered on the bloodied body of his fallen comrade, then on the still-smoking hole in the wall where his bullets had struck.

“…Demons…” he whispered, the word barely audible.

Dutch snapped out of his daze, rushing toward the door with a renewed sense of urgency. “This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he muttered, kicking the door open.

The other man followed close behind, their boots pounding against the metal floor. Neither of them noticed Adrien, still crouched in the shadows, as they stormed past him.

“Get back to the trucks! We’re getting out of here!” Dutch barked, his voice echoing through the warehouse.

Quickly, Adrien realized that this was not a simple contained problem as, the moment he turned around, he was greeted by the chaos unfolding down below. More androids were appearing out of the blue, and they were on a war path.

They moved with terrifying precision, dismantling Dutch’s crew one by one. The sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air, and Adrien instinctively ducked lower against the railing.

“Okay, think, think!” he muttered to himself, fingers gripping the metal tightly. “What would I do if I had the ring? Cataclysm! Yeah, great, that would solve this in one second.” He groaned, slapping his forehead. “But I don’t have the ring! Why do I not have the ring? The one time I stumble into a freaking android army! Plagg, where are you?!”

His self-reprimanding was cut short by movement below. His eyes darted to a small figure scrambling across the floor—Louie. The kid was running for his life, but an android had zeroed in on him, its glowing red eyes locked onto the boy like a predator to prey.

“Kid, run!” Adrien whispered urgently, watching in horror as Louie tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. The android loomed over him, its electrified blade humming as it raised it high, ready to strike.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Adrien growled, adrenaline surging through him. Without thinking, he dashed to a nearby stack of crates. His hands trembled as he pushed against one, the heavy wood barely budging. “Come on, come on!” he grunted, putting his full weight into it.

Finally, with a loud creak, the crate tipped over the edge. Adrien watched as it plummeted down, crashing onto the android with a thunderous CRACK, pinning it to the ground. Louie wasted no time, scrambling to his feet and bolting for the nearest exit.

Adrien let out a shaky sigh of relief, leaning over the railing to make sure the kid was safe. “Okay, one problem solved,” he muttered.

His relief was short-lived. A low, metallic groan reached his ears, and his blood ran cold. The crate shifted slightly, and then, with horrifying ease, the android shoved the wreckage off itself and stood. Its body was dented and sparking, but it was still functional—and now, its glowing red eyes locked onto Adrien.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Adrien whispered, his legs already moving backward.

The android crouched, its body tensing before it leapt high into the air, landing with a heavy thud on the railing in front of Adrien. Its head tilted slightly, almost as if it were analysing him, before taking a menacing step forward.

Adrien didn’t wait to see what it would do next. “Shit, shit, shit!” he muttered under his breath, spinning on his heel and taking off toward the closest door. His sneakers squeaked against the metal as he sprinted, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the chaos below.

But the android was faster. With a mechanical whir, it closed the distance in an instant. Adrien barely had time to register the sound of its approach before a metal foot slammed into his back, sending him flying forward.

The impact smashed him through the wooden door at the end of the catwalk. Splinters flew everywhere as Adrien hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor before coming to a painful stop.

Groaning, Adrien pushed himself up onto his elbows, his entire body aching. “This… is not my day,” he muttered weakly.

The android stepped through the shattered remains of the door; its red eyes fixed on Adrien. Sparks flew from its damaged frame, but it didn’t falter, its blade humming ominously as it raised it once more.

Adrien scrambled to his feet, adrenaline overriding the pain in his back. The android’s red eyes locked onto him as he bolted, its mechanical legs propelling it forward with unsettling speed.

“Why do you need to be so fast?!” Adrien yelled, weaving through the cluttered warehouse. He ducked behind stacks of crates, overturned barrels, and discarded machinery, hoping to slow it down. But the android was relentless, vaulting over obstacles with terrifying precision.

A loud clang sounded as a metal beam toppled in the android’s path. Adrien allowed himself a small moment of hope, glancing back to see if it had been delayed. The android merely kicked the beam aside, its glowing eyes never leaving him.

“Of course you did,” Adrien muttered, skidding around a corner. He spotted a staircase leading down and darted toward it, but the android anticipated his move, cutting him off with an inhuman leap.

Thinking fast, Adrien spun around and sprinted up a narrow catwalk instead. The high ground wasn’t ideal, but it was better than letting the android corner him. As he ran, his eyes darted around for anything he could use to his advantage.

His chance came in the form of a large window at the far end of the warehouse. The android’s heavy footsteps thundered behind him, growing closer with each passing second. Adrien reached the window, throwing it open with shaky hands, and without a second thought, he swung himself outside.

Hanging by his fingertips on the ledge, Adrien pressed himself flat against the wall, his chest heaving as he struggled to stay quiet. The android skidded to a halt just inside the window, scanning the area. Adrien held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears as the machine’s glowing red eyes swept over the ledge, pausing for a tense moment.

After what felt like an eternity, the android turned and walked away, its heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

Adrien let out a shaky breath, carefully pulling himself back inside once he was sure the coast was clear. He crouched behind a stack of crates, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, his voice trembling slightly. “Time for a new strategy. Obviously, these guys are more than they appear.”

His thoughts drifted back to Dutch’s panicked reaction. “Demons,” Adrien whispered. “I really hope that’s just a nickname.”

Before he could dwell on it further, a piercing scream echoed through the warehouse, cutting through the chaos. Adrien’s blood ran cold, and his head snapped toward the sound.

“That voice—” His eyes widened in realization. “Mari!”

Without hesitation, Adrien took off running, his exhaustion and fear forgotten as he raced toward the source of the scream. Whatever was happening, he wasn’t about to let Marinette face it alone.

His journey back outside was uneventful. He didn’t know whether it was because he was lucky, or because he was too focused on Marinette to care about anything around him. His muscles heaves, his heart froze and his every flight or fight response was screaming for him to get out of here, but he didn’t care; Chat Noir or not, he wasn’t leaving her behind.

He broke through the same door he’d entered in and the first thing he saw was Marinette. Two androids were off to the side, chasing down a group firing at them, but Marinette was all Adrien acknowledged. She was hurt, his blood boiled at see a clear bruise on her head, she’d been smacked across the ground and, most pressingly, was sitting slumped under a section of roof that was just about to collapse.

There was no thought, just a primal instinct to protect her. He rushed into action, tearing across the yard in long, fierce, desperate strides. He knew it was cutting it close when he launched into a full on dive, tackling her out of the way a split second before the mass of brickwork hit the ground. The two were left tumbling along in a heap of limbs until they came to rest against the foot of a lamp post.

Adrien opened his eyes, groggy with his mind still stuck mid-dive, to find himself positioned over Marinette, his hands pressed down flat either side of her head.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He barely managed a chuckle.

Marinette’s eyes widened as soon as she realized just who saved her, a painful gasp escaping her as her hand shot forward to caress the bruise on his cheek. “Oh my god, Adrien; what’s happening?” Her eyes roamed down the rest of his side. While most of the damage was on his back, it was obvious even from below that he’d been through a little bit of hell. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to look stoic and badass, but that went to hell the moment her touch made him wince. “N-No, don’t worry, just got punted through a door, not a big deal.”

She shot him an unimpressed looked, but she also knew that he wasn’t going to give her an inch, so she sighed. “Who are these guys anyway?” They both turned their head to see one of the robo bastards get their heads blown off. At least they weren’t completely defenceless against these guys. “Techno ninjas?”

As much as Adrien wanted to stay on top of Marinette, he forced himself to get to his feet and pull her with him. “Dutch seemed to recognise them. Called them ‘Demons’.”

Adrien kept a firm grip on Marinette’s hand as he helped her to her feet, his eyes scanning the chaos around them. “Demons,” Marinette repeated, her voice laced with disbelief and growing dread. “I really hope that’s just a nick name.”

“That’s what I said.” He glanced back at her, his emerald eyes full of concern. “Are you okay? That bruise looks—”

“I’m fine,” Marinette cut him off, although her hand subconsciously brushed against her temple where the bruise throbbed. “You’re the one who got punted through a door, remember?”

“Okay, fair,” Adrien admitted with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What do we do?”

Marinette frowned, her gaze flicking between Adrien and the chaos erupting around them. “What do you mean? Obviously, we stay here and don’t draw any attention to ourselves,”

Adrien sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Sorry, Mari, no can do. There’s a lot of people out there who are gonna get hurt, and I can’t sit by while I could’ve done something.”

Marinette groaned, exasperated. “Why couldn’t I fall in love with a sensible guy?”

Adrien blinked, caught off guard. “What was that?”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, rolling her eyes as if annoyed. “Why couldn’t I have fallen in with a less dangerous crowd, huh?”

Adrien had a snarky come back locked and loaded, but that quickly tumbled out of his tongue when he glanced over Marinette’s shoulder and found a pair of emerald green eyes staring at him from behind a barrel.

“Okay, fine,” Marinette huffed, “I’ll go with you.”

She started to turn around-

“N-No!” Adrien blurted out, grabbing firm hold of her shoulders and keeping her there until Plagg could scarper out of sight. He laughed awkwardly. “No, you shouldn’t do that, you should… Hold down the fort.”

“Huh?”

He was just running his mouth by this point. The priority was get Marinette somewhere safe and sound so he could transform without her seeing. “You know, just set up shop here and I’ll point all the people over here to hide!”

His gaze fell on the little shack beside them that stretched all the way to the road. It was probably an office or something for whatever security this place used to have. Quickly, he guided (forced, shoved, dragged; take your pick) Marinette to the open door. “In fact, you should get started on hiding. This empty office is perfect!”

“A-Adrien, you don’t need to pus-”

In a most ungentlemanly manner, he shoved the love of his life through the door, yanked it shut and tipped over a heavy barrel in front of it, barricading Marinette inside.

“See? Snug as a bug.”

The handle started to violently shake as Marinette repeatedly pulled at it. “Adrien, that better not be you putting crap in front of the door I hear.”

“Can’t hear you over my genius plan,” Adrien called back, stepping away cautiously.

The sound of her foot joining the fray made him flinch. She was full-on kicking the door now. “Agreste! I swear to God, let me out of here!” she screamed, her voice dripping with fury. “I have a pole in here, and I am not afraid to shove it where the sun does not shine!”

Adrien winced, muttering, “I’ll owe her so many pastries for this later,” before turning on his heel and sprinting back toward the chaos. Plagg, still hiding behind the barrel, zipped out and hovered by his shoulder.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Plagg said dryly.

“Plagg, you found me!” Adrien exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and frustration.

“Make with the cheese, kid,” Plagg replied, rubbing his tiny paws together. “I can hear it calling to me.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “We’re in a bit of a situation here, Plagg. Focus.”

“I am focusing!” Plagg retorted indignantly. “But I can’t help you on an empty stomach, remember?”

Adrien groaned, pulling a small wedge of camembert out of his pocket and shoving it at Plagg. “Here. Recharge, you little gremlin.”

Plagg snatched it up, practically inhaling it in one bite. “That’s more like it. Now, let’s get this show on the road!”

“Alright, fine,” Adrien said, cracking his knuckles. “You’ve had your recharge. Now gimme the ring and let’s go tear these guys up.”

Plagg froze mid-hover, his mouth twitching into an awkward smile.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “Plagg… where’s the ring?”

“It’s nearby,” Plagg said slowly, dragging out the words.

Adrien crossed his arms. “Where nearby?”

“Uh… it’s stuck down a toilet,” Plagg admitted, wincing.

Adrien blinked at him, dumbfounded. “How!?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Plagg said defensively, folding his tiny arms. “I was flying on empty, I was going a little… delusional. I may have crashed into a few things.”

“A toilet, Plagg!?” Adrien threw his hands up. “Of all places—”

“What matters,” Plagg cut in, “is that my paws are too short to get it. So it’s up to you, Kid.”

Adrien buried his face in his hands. “Headaches. You give me headaches.”

Plagg grinned innocently. “And yet, you’d be lost without me.”

Adrien let out a long, exasperated sigh before muttering, “This night just keeps getting better.”

Adrien ducked behind a stack of crates, Plagg hiding in his jacket as more androids leapt into the yard with a precision and agility that made Adrien’s heart sink further. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, peering through a gap in the crates. “More of these creeps.”

This time, though, one of them stood out. She strode into the chaos like she owned the place, her armor a sleeker, more intricate version of the others. Unlike the faceless androids, her helmet had an elegant, almost regal design, with sharp angles and a glowing blue visor. Her movements were fluid, almost humanlike, and Adrien immediately noticed the flashing light on the gauntlet she raised into the air.

“What is that?” Adrien whispered, his eyes narrowing.

The response to her gesture was instant. Every android in the yard suddenly froze, their red eyes dimming slightly as they all turned toward her. From the rooftops, the shadows, and even the warehouse itself, the androids began to converge on her position. They moved in perfect unison, some leaping down from high perches while others emerged from hiding places Adrien hadn’t even realized were occupied.

One by one, they knelt before her, forming an eerie circle of submission. The once chaotic yard was now silent, save for the faint hum of their internal machinery.

Adrien felt a chill creep down his spine. “I’m guessing the only one with distinguishing features is the head honcho,” he muttered to Plagg.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Plagg whispered back. “She’s probably got a lot more tricks up her sleeve than those tin cans.”

“You think if we take her down the rest stop working?” Adrien whispered hopefully. “I mean, that gauntlet looks like it’s giving the orders.”

Plagg gasped, “What if we snag it and get out very own army of ninjas to deliver us cheese?”

Adrien rolled his eyes before bringing his attention back to the gathering. One of the androids steps forward, presenting the woman with his hand. A silver ring lies on his finger and, with a  gesture, projects a holographic image of a map of the area, showcasing a red dot in one of the near by buildings. “Huh, what’s that they’re holding?”

In a dull, robotic tone, the android says “Closing in on the miraculous, Leader.”

Adrien furrowed his brow. Just when he thought things couldn’t be worse, these guys are after the big prize. “They’re after the miraculous!” He hissed to Plagg, “Wait, so is that some sort of radar?”

Plagg shrugged, “Must be.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed as he stared at the holographic map projected by the android. “But what are they even doing here? The Bee Miraculous is all the way back at Dutch’s base.”

Plagg hovered closer to Adrien’s ear, tilting his head in thought. “Maybe there’s another Miraculous around here somewhere,” he suggested. “You know, one without a holder to block its signal.”

They paused.

Then they both looked down at Adrien’s ringless finger.

Adrien blinked, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Oh.”

Plagg’s eyes widened in sync with Adrien’s. “Oh.”

They both froze for a moment, the same dreadful thought striking them simultaneously.

“Kid…” Plagg started, his voice wavering. “I think it’s time to hoof it.”

Chapter 30: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Uncharted Territory

Summary:

 

Marinette can't catch a break, Adrien does some regrettable things in the name of the greater good, and the Mayura/Hawkmoth partnership face a crash landing.

Adrien could have been home studying, or sleeping, or gaming, or literally anything a teenager could do with an entire mansion to themselves. Instead, he was spending his night in a rotten old, abandoned bathroom, staring into the murky water of a toilet bowl. Adrien Agreste, priceless jewel of the Agreste legacy, had fallen on hard times indeed.

Though his own hubris could be partly to blame, he much preferred to leave the responsibility to the little black gremlin hovering in front of him. Plagg, as a connoisseur of stench and filth, was unaffected by the disgusting abode. He observed the scuffed posters and broken bathroom tiles like one would observe art in a gallery, paw against his chin as the kwami focused on trying to decipher the philosophical meaning behind the ambiguous stains in the corner that Adrien didn’t want to think about.

“Okay, okay…” Plagg, quite rudely, sat on his nose, green eyes narrowed into fine points to scrutinize the stall before them. “It’s this one, I know it. I recognise the poster over there.”

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, Plagg?”

Plagg crossed his arms, scoffing. “Are you doubting me?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Adrien said bluntly, reaching up to pinch the scruff of Plagg’s neck between his thumb and forefinger. Plagg hung from his fingers like a dead frog, just letting his bulging belly hang out and his limbs hang limp. “This is the fifth toilet you’ve made me stick my hand down!”

There was a solid thirty seconds of staring, Plagg staring deeply into Adrien’s eyes trying to figure out what was bad about what Adrien said. Alas, he found no answer, ending up merely shrugging. “Well, this time, I’m really, really sure.”

“Plagg…”

He threw his paws up, rolling his eyes. “Hey, if you wanna let those ninja guys chop up your little girlfriend and all those orphaned kids…”

In his head, Adrien liked to think he should be proud of himself for managing to hesitate so long, staring off into the vague direction of Marinette, before giving in and readying his hand over the toilet seat. God, he really hoped it was just old water and not… Chunky.

He spared Plagg one last glare. “I hope you know that I hate you so much right now.”

The cheeky little shit merely grinned that cheshire grin and patted Adrien on the cheek. “You don’t mean that, Kid.”

Adrien sighed deeply, summoning every ounce of dignity left within him—which, at this point, was about as much as the murky toilet water could muster. He rolled up his sleeve with the enthusiasm of someone about to walk into a dentist's office, his face a mask of resignation.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” he muttered, bracing himself for the vile plunge. His fingers hovered over the water for a split second too long, his brain screaming in protest. You’re Adrien Agreste. You’re supposed to be on billboards, not in biohazard zones.

“Do it for Marinette,” Plagg said, not-so-helpfully perched on the stall door, his tail flicking with smug amusement. “And maybe for the fate of Paris. But mostly for Marinette.”

Adrien shot him a glare. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Plagg replied, reclining dramatically as if Adrien’s suffering was the most entertaining show he’d ever seen.

Adrien froze, his hand still hovering over the toilet bowl, an incredulous look plastered across his face. Slowly, he turned to Plagg, who was busy chuckling to himself from his perch on the stall door.

“Wait a minute…” Adrien began, narrowing his eyes. “Why don’t you just phase your head through and check if the ring’s actually down there?”

Plagg blinked at him. “Oh, yeah… I could do that.” He nodded. “But what if—”

“Plagg!” Adrien cut him off, his tone sharp and absolutely done with the kwami’s antics.

“Okay, okay!” Plagg raised his paws in surrender before floating down toward the toilet bowl. With a sigh that could have won an award for melodrama, the little kwami leaned forward and phased his head through the murky water.

Adrien tapped his foot impatiently, glaring at the cracked wall tiles while Plagg inspected the bowl’s contents. “Anything yet?”

“Hang on,” Plagg muttered, his voice muffled. “It’s kinda gross in here.”

They went through several more toilets before Plagg popped his head back out, grinning triumphantly. “Oh, hey! There it is!” He called out, “I see it, it’s just down this pipe.”

“Finally. To think you would have made me go through all that manually…” Adrien grumbled before plunging his hand into the toilet. The icy, slimy sensation made him gag instantly. “Oh god—oh god, why is it so cold?! The other ones were warm!”

He had to grit his teeth and turn his cheek to the grungy walls of the stall just to stomach his expedition into the bowels of the bathroom. For several seconds, because by God he would not survive minutes, his frustration only grew as his fingers slid over more shoddy piping, with no brush of the ring’s curves to give him hope. “I can’t feel anything.”

Plagg zipped through the air, delivering powerful shoulder charges into the space in front of Adrien’s eyes. “You’re real close, just get in there.”

“My arm can’t reach that far, Plagg!” Adrien snapped, his frustration mounting. “It’s no use. I can’t feel anything remotely like a ring.”

Plagg’s excitement dimmed, and he floated back a bit, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Then how are we gonna get it?”

Adrien pulled his arm out, shuddering in revulsion as he wiped it on the least disgusting part of the stall. “Well… we could try…”

“What?” Plagg tilted his head. “Calling in a professional? Renting some plumbing gear?”

Adrien sighed, glancing at the offending toilet. “Breaking it open?”

Plagg’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Smash it to bits!”

Adrien shook his head, muttering to himself as he stood and rubbed his temples. “This is insane. I’m insane. Why am I even considering this?”

Plagg grinned, floating beside him, “Because you’re a man of action. You’re not gonna let some porcelain throne defeat you, are you?”

Adrien’s breath slowed to a heavy heave as he set himself up against the toilet, back to the wall, right leg down flat, left leg readying the heel over the basin. It’s an old toilet with all the stability of a Jenga tower. He is a man. He can do this.

Using the toilet roll dispenser as an anchor, he reared his left leg up high and stamped it down on the toilet. It lightly jiggled.

“Come on, put your back into it!”

With more ferocity to his growl and an extra jump from his right leg, he lashed out with his left, slamming it once, stomping it twice. He saw cracks start to form.

“Your grandmother can probably kick better than that.”

In that moment, Adrien summoned all of his strength into a single cry of war, practically propelling himself off the stall wall and planting his foot firmly through the toilet bowl, breaking off and shattering a huge chunk that let a waterfall of murky water flood the floor. But he didn’t let up after that, he crashed and bashed and mashed until there was nothing left but pluming and the aftermath of a porcelain massacre.

“Show that toilet who’s boss.” Plagg cheered, whooping and hollering while he performed loop dee loops behind Adrien’s ear.

“Yes, got it!” Adrien could not fight off the urge to do a fist pump before dropping to his knees, the drenched floor seeping into his jeans doing nothing to deer him as he pulled away at the copper rubble. With some stone, porcelain and plumping pulled out the way, the gleam of silver lying at the curve of the pipe was like finding an oasis in the desert. “Fuck you, toilet!”

However, just as he reached for the ring, he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. Where he came face-to-face with a twin set of black boots. Slowly, he and Plagg’s gaze travelled up the boots to meet the faceless heads of two androids staring down at the two curiously.

There was a silent stare down for a moment.

“Oh.” Adrien said stiffly, making a limp-wristed wave. “Hello there.”

The androids drew forth their swords and, in a flash, had them pressed against Adrien’s throat. Adrien’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw dropping onto the cool surface of the blade poised for a killing blow.

All he could do was let a burst of panicked energy surge through him and throw him forward, blurting out in one desperate scream. “Wait!”

And they did.

One hand desperately brushing against the surface of the ring, Adrien nervously continued. “…Do you wanna see something cool?”

---

Marinette didn’t know how long she’d been stuck in that little office, all sense of time had drained away as she dedicated her brain power to pacing the floor and muttering every flustered insult that came to mind about her jailer.

She stomped back and forth in the tiny office, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared at every inch of the peeling walls, as though they were to blame for her current predicament. Every time she thought she’d burned through her frustration, a new wave hit her like a slap to the face, and her muttered complaints grew louder.

“Stupid... perfect... sexy... asshole,” she growled, spinning on her heel and pacing the other direction. “Who even does that? Locking someone in a dusty old office while they run off to play the hero? I swear, if he gets himself hurt—no, when he gets himself hurt—I am not helping him!”

Her foot scuffed against the floor as she whirled again, her rant gaining steam. “This is a new low, even for Adrien! And that boy already sets the bar underground. Just who does he think he is? Throwing me in here like I’m some fragile little doll who can’t—”

She paused mid-step, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Ugh, sometimes he reminds me of that mangy cat. He really does.” Her fingers tugged at the ends of her hair. “Running off, thinking he’s got everything under control, always—” She stopped again, blinking rapidly as her cheeks flushed. “Why do I put up with either of them?”

Marinette let out an exasperated sigh, dropping into the creaky chair in the corner of the room. She buried her face in her hands, her muffled voice still full of indignation. “Stupid, perfect, gorgeous idiot…”

Okay, Mari; focus on the situation. She told herself, fingers using her forehead as a drum set in an effort to beat back her indignation. Bottom Line: She needed to get out of here, and she wasn’t going to accomplish anything sitting around complaining all day. She could save her complaining for when Adrien was safe, sound and her hands were in full throttling position.

She needed Tikki. She was absolutely useless in a high-risk situation without Ladybug powers. But how do get a pair of earrings that are all the way on the other side of the city in your room when your parents don’t know that you’re Ladybug?

She snapped her fingers. You go to the next best thing, the best friend.

In a flurry of movement, Marinette threw herself back in the chair, tilting it to fall into the wall, placing her at an odd diagonal planking position as she ripped her phone from her pocket and feverously pulled up Alya’s contact information.

Marinette furiously tapped at her phone screen, muttering under her breath as she tilted at an awkward angle in the creaky chair, the backrest digging into the wall behind her. "Come on, Alya, pick up, pick up…" she whispered, the line ringing in her ear like an annoying reminder of her current situation.

Her patience snapped after the third ring. “If she’s busy live streaming some conspiracy theory and leaves me hanging, I swear…”

Just as she was about to descend into another round of muttered frustration, the call connected. “Finally. Alya, listen-”

“For the last time, my refrigerator isn’t literally running, and I don’t want to invest in your Ladybug crypto currency; fuck off!”

“Wait, wha—” Marinette’s jaw dropped, but the call cut before she had a chance to process the absolute nonsense she’d just heard. She stared at her phone in disbelief, the little "call ended" message mocking her.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to summon words that matched the sheer absurdity of the moment. “What the…?”

She dropped her head back against the wall with a groan. “This is not happening right now.”

Marinette attempted to call Alya four more times before she figured that it was a lost cause because, apparently, Alya was incapable of seeing the caller id on her phone. Just in case, Marinette made sure to at least fire off a few very strongly worded and disappointed texts before jumping to her feet.

It looks like she was on her own for this. In many respects, this meant that she was utterly doomed, but the delusional and optimistic part of her mind declared war on logical conclusions for the sake of keeping her standing.

She couldn’t directly fight the threat, nor was she that agile in her human form… Guess that meant she’d be trying to art of subtlety for this approach. Maybe she could use her ‘Mistress of Disaster’ reputation for the greater good for once; nothing beats a robot better than a comedy of errors.

But that still left one major step; getting out of the room. “Alright, I can do this, I can fix this. I just have to… Break down the door.” She swallowed. “All 5’4 feet of me.”

Marinette squared her shoulders and stared at the door like it had personally wronged her. Which, in fairness, it had—by existing.

“Alright, door. It’s you versus me,” she muttered under her breath. Her hands clenched into fists, her knees bent slightly, and for a moment, she looked like a protagonist gearing up for a climactic fight scene. “And I’m warning you, my Dad can attest to one fact of the universe: No door can stand up to a Cheng woman on a mission!”

She let out a battle cry and launched herself forward, shoulder-first, into the heavy wood. The door didn’t even rattle. Marinette, however, did—her entire body reverberating from the impact like she’d just run headfirst into a concrete wall.

“Ow, ow, ow!” She stumbled back, clutching her shoulder with a grimace. “Okay, new plan. We don’t lead with the shoulder. Shoulders are important. Shoulders are friends.”

She paced for a moment, glancing around the room. Her eyes landed on a tipped-over barrel languishing in the corner, similar to the one Adrien used to barricade her in. She frowned, then brightened.

"Right. Physics! Let’s try some leverage.”

She grabbed the barrel and hefted it with a grunt, positioning it precariously against the door. “Alright, if I just… kick it with enough force… it should…” Marinette raised her leg, braced herself, and swung a sharp kick at the barrel.

It tipped forward—success!—and promptly rolled onto her foot—failure.

“GAH!” Marinette hopped around on one leg, clutching her toes. “Why is everything in this room out to get me?!”

After a few moments of flailing and swearing, she regained her composure and glared at the door like it was mocking her. She crossed her arms. “Fine. You wanna play dirty? So can I.”

She spotted a rusty wrench in the corner of the room and snatched it up with purpose. “I’m gonna hack this door to pieces if it’s the last thing I do.”

With a determined yell, Marinette started wailing on the wooden door, the repeated clanging filling the room like a very angry, very bad percussionist at band practice.

With fiery determination, Marinette hoisted the rusty wrench high like a knight brandishing a sword. “You think you’ve won, door? Well, think again!” she growled.

She brought the wrench down with a loud clang, the vibrations from the strike rattling through her arms and into her soul. A splinter the size of a toothpick popped out of the door.

“Ha! Victory is mine!” Marinette declared triumphantly, only to realize the rest of the door remained completely intact. She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, round two.”

Her strikes became more frenzied, more desperate. The clanging noise grew louder, echoing throughout the tiny office and probably half the abandoned yard outside. She grunted and growled with every swing, the room slowly filling with the dusty remains of her labour.

“Who’s mocking who now, huh?!” she yelled, sweat dripping down her temple as she hacked away like a woman possessed.

The wrench slipped from her grasp on her final swing, clattering to the ground. Marinette stumbled back, panting, as she inspected her handiwork. The door… Still stood. But now it had a gnome-sized hole that Marinette’s vertically challenged body could wiggle through.

Of course, halfway through the desperate shuffle, Marinette realizes that crawling through a hole of jagged splinters was not a pleasant experience. But Marinette’s lack of forethought aside, what mattered in the end was that she crawled through the other side of that hole a free woman.

And you know what? Marinette was proud. So proud, in fact, that when she stumbled to her feet, not even thinking about all the stains and tears now littering her clothes, her first thought was to retrieve her phone. She took a quick snapshot of her handywork and-

A hand snatched her phone out of her grip.

She was forced to bend her head back to look up at the face of the thief.

“Well, fancy meeting you here, Fruitcake.” Dutch said calmly as he leaned over her, though a hint of irritation leaked into his voice.

Dutch loomed over Marinette with an expression that hovered somewhere between mild amusement and quiet exasperation. He held her phone up in one hand, inspecting the picture of her “handiwork” with a raised brow. The splintered, jagged hole in the door didn’t exactly scream "master escape plan," but it was certainly… creative.

Marinette, on the other hand, was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for what had just transpired. Her brain offered nothing but static. “Uh… you know what they say, when one door closes, uh… sometimes you just have to… smash it with a wrench?” she tried, her voice cracking at the end.

“H-Heh-Heh, it sure is a cowinkydink Mr!” The panicked, forced giggling was escaping Marinette before she could even think. She was already stumbling over herself, a fish flapping on dry land under Dutch’s heated gaze. “I have a poor sense of direction, you see. Guess I just wondered to the wrong side of Paris.”

Dutch’s brow twitched. “Cute. Now try again, but this time, how about the truth?” His voice lowered, a dangerous edge creeping in. He took a step forward and instinctively Marinette stumbled back. An amused, but not warm, grin appeared. “I’m getting the sense that you don’t trust me, Sweetheart.”

She scoffed, “No shit, Sherlo-”

It was only when Dutch stiffened that she realized that she said that out loud.

Before she could ‘correct’ herself, a glint of silver drew her eyes to the weapon she only now noticed he was holding by his side; fresh smoke from the barrel indicating he’d already used it plenty. “I wouldn’t keep up that attitude with the only guy standing between you and the anime terminators back there.”

He stepped closer, his hand darting forward to take hold of her chin. His grip wasn’t rough, but his fingers were icy, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, eh?” His tone was light, almost conversational, but the undercurrent of menace was unmistakable.

Marinette forced a nervous laugh, trying to wrench her chin from his grip without making it obvious she was terrified. “Me? I’m just a normal girl with a normal life. What would they have to do with me?”

“It’s just funny, y’know.” Dutch’s grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let go of her chin, but his eyes stayed locked on her, dissecting her every twitch and movement. “Been moving stuff through this warehouse for months without incident. Then the moment you show up, suddenly there’s some freaky people looking for one of those mystical whatchamacallits from the news.”

“You think I have a miraculous?”

His brow quirked curiously. “Is that what they’re called?”

Marinette blanched. “I mean-” She tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a strangled squeak. “Look, if I had one of those, do you really think I’d be getting threatened by some thug with a gun?”

‘Thug’ was perhaps not the wisest word choice, considering the situation, and the brief twitch of Dutch’s smirk confirmed it.

“Suppose not,” he mused, tapping a finger idly against the grip of his weapon. “You look stupid, but not that stupid.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered under her breath.

Dutch leaned back slightly, giving her just enough space to feel the faintest semblance of relief. “Now, how about I personally escort you to safety?” His tone dripped with mockery, but his smirk was firmly in place.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Really!” Marinette waved her hands dismissively, her voice climbing an octave as she stumbled over her words. “I can get myself out of here. I’m great at not being noticed!”

“Nonsense. I insist!” Dutch declared, taking a dramatic bow that only made Marinette’s nerves buzz louder. “I mean, what if something were to happen to you?” He loomed closer, head craned up and teeth bared, the perfect position to go for her throat and end it all. “Why, someone might never be able to find you.”

The sinister implication hung in the air, heavy as a guillotine blade, and Marinette felt the heat drain from her face. “T-Thanks. You’re such a… gentleman.”

“Anytime, Sweetheart,” Dutch replied with a low chuckle, straightening up and gesturing for her to lead the way. “Now, after you.”

Marinette forced her legs to move, each step feeling like she was walking deeper into a lion’s den. Behind her, Dutch followed at an unhurried pace, his hands in his pockets but his eyes never straying from her back.

Of course, the surprise interruptions didn’t stop there as Marinette turned the next corner to slam right into the chest of an android.

Behind her, Dutch let out a frustrated growl as two more androids emerged from the shadows, their sleek forms blocking any potential escape route. “Aw, hell,” he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with irritation rather than fear. With an exaggerated sigh, he let his weapon clatter to the ground and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Y’all some real nosey pricks, ain’t ya?”

At this point, Marinette didn’t know which she of the two groups she wanted to take her chances with.

The androids didn’t reply, of course. They didn’t need to. Instead, with a synchronized movement that was almost too fluid to be human, the lead android unsheathed a gleaming sword. The two others followed suit, their silent menace speaking volumes.

“Uh, Dutch?” Marinette whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “This… doesn’t look good.”

“No shit, Sweetheart,” he hissed back, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel.

Without so much as a word, the androids moved in, their cold hands gripping the two of them with inhuman strength. Marinette yelped as one android seized her arm, its mechanical fingers digging into her skin just enough to make her wince. Dutch didn’t resist, though his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, a storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor.

Dragged back into the main compound of the warehouse, Marinette’s stomach churned as her eyes landed on the scene before her. The once-chaotic space was now eerily quiet, save for the hum of androids patrolling the area. The floor was littered with bodies. Marinette may have her reservations about Dutch, but plenty of his guys were people who might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The coppery scent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of burnt circuits, and Marinette fought the urge to gag. She couldn’t help but notice the precision of it all—clean cuts, minimal damage to the surrounding area. It wasn’t a battle; it was an execution.

Dutch whistled low; his hands still raised as his eyes scanned the room. “Damn. Y’all don’t play around, huh?”

In the middle of the warehouse, the rest of the androids came to congregate around a throne, a woman, the sole distinguishable and human member of this invading force, sat atop it with a tablet in her lap. The woman looked every bit a monarch whose royal robes had been coated in funeral colours and donated from some distant sci-fi future. But then, what else would you expect from the person leading the army of robots. Marinette couldn’t make out an expression behind the visor, but she could feel the woman’s eyes following them as they were dragged before her.

Dutch was shoved to his knees, the leader and prime target. He may have bowed his head, but that didn’t stop his mouth. “Well, ain’t this all fancy.” He whistled. “Did you lug an entire throne here just to make yourself a princess?”

The woman tilted her head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement in her voice as she replied, “My mother taught me that one must maintain their status, especially in the face of their enemies.” Her tone turned colder. “I represent a clan befitting of royalty, and in turn, I must be regal in everything I do.”

Dutch snorted. “You’re a little young to be terrorizing my people, aren’t you?”

Now that he mentioned it, looking past the height and gravitas added by the tech and armour, Marinette could hear the youth in the woman’s voice and the lacking statue. If Marinette didn’t know any better, she’d say the woman was actually a girl around her age.

The woman’s hand was quick, retrieving an item from her belt and whipping it out before Dutch. At first, it was just the hilt of a sword, only for the blade, in segmented glowing crystal blue pieces, to extend from the hilt and unwrap into its full length, just barely missing Dutch’s throat. “I’m old enough to slice your head clean off if I so see fit, Sir,” she said, her voice now icy and dangerous.

“Then you must have one fucked-up momma,” Dutch shot back without missing a beat.

The woman’s visor flickered ominously, but her tone remained steady, almost clinical. “I have already demonstrated how illogical any resistance is. So, tell me what you know about the miraculous and tell me quick.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, and his voice hardened. “I. Don’t. Know. Jack. I barely even know what those do-hickies are.”

“There’s no point lying,” she said sharply. “We followed the miraculous all the way to your warehouse on our scanners. While we can’t pinpoint its exact location, we know it’s in this area.”

“I’m telling you, we don’t get mixed up in this shit,” Dutch snapped. He gestured to the bodies littering the floor. “If we knew what you were talking about, a lot of my guys would still be alive.”

The woman leaned forward slightly, her presence somehow even more suffocating. “And yet here we are. Either you’re a liar, or you’re exceptionally unlucky. Which is it?”

Dutch leaned away from the blade’s tip, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “I think you’re threatening the wrong person…”

Marinette felt her stomach drop and the realization hit her even before Dutch’s head turns to bring attention to her, his voice steadily gaining confidence as he sold her out. “My guys have been coming through here for months. If your miracle thing only came here recently, say the last hour, then the only surprise addition we’ve had today is this little brat.”

All eyes, both real and artificial, were on her now; it felt like a hundred little pins prickling at her skin. The leader rose from her seat, slowly pulling her sword away from Dutch as she crossed the length of the floor to get a better look at Marinette. And for a moment, standing over Marinette, sword pointing at the floor, visor staring intently.

The woman paused. And Marinette could almost swear she heard a quiet gasp. “Marinette?”

An explosion broke through both the side of the warehouse and any thought of Marinette questioning how the hell this random woman knew her name.

“Huh?”

The Leader whirled around, sword held high and teeth audibly gnashing together. “What the hell?” She cried out.

Half of the answer came with the arrival of two corpses, the twisted, mangled, destroyed remains of two androids cast through the billowing smoke. The bodies came to a skidding halt by the woman’s feet, one of them still active enough to try and reach for their leader before their head exploded.

“Alright, Lady, I don’t know if you’re not aware, but this is private property.”

With one powerful sweep of his baton, Chat Noir cleared the smoke, leaving on the clarity of his presence before them. He didn’t break his stride, drinking in the shocked, unbreakable gazes bearing down on him as he crossed the room.

When he reached the leader, he kept a respectful distance and gave a bow. “Please take your trash terminator wannabes and vacate the premises.” He rose with his baton twirling in toe, tapping it against the ground before sinking into a fighting stance. “Otherwise, we’re gonna have a security issue.”

---

Another island down, another disappointment. Though Hawkmoth would tell her that it wasn’t all a waste as they learned a neat little factoid of this realm; namely that the items imprisoned within, such as the ice cream the two were currently munching on, were magically preserved. It was odd watching the man devour the cone knowing that, underneath the mask, was the same health obsessed Gabriel who used to refer to such treats as ‘edible heart attacks’.

She decided not to bring attention to the fact that he had a glob of cream now smattering his cheek, as it made the permanent glare etched into his face more humorous.

Instead, she turned her gaze ahead, eyes already growing weary of the painfully bright skyline of the void. “And with that we can conclude that the portal isn’t in Atlantis or Disney World.”

How or when an entire theme park got sucked up by the horse miraculous, they would never know. She was sure there was some internet conspiracy story about it she could find later. What she did know was that getting Hawkmoth out of there had been quite the challenge. The man could insist that he just wanted to leave no stone unturned as much as he wanted to, but she knew that his inner child was giddy at being able to look at all the abandoned rides with no employees to judge him.

At the end of it, Mayura had to resort to having Sentiboard swoop in and catch him by the stomach to rip him off the island. She fought hard to bite back her laughter at the grown man’s pout, but then she remembered that Mayura didn’t have the reservations that Nathalie did and decided to belt out her lungs laughing alongside Duusuu. Nooroo didn’t laugh, but he did give a smug grin that had Hawkmoth glaring at him as he crawled back onto the sentimonster.

Her memories were interrupted by Hawkmoth grumbling. “Are you sure we can’t bring Walt Disney’s frozen head back with us?”

Mayura rolled her eyes, exasperated that she even had to have this conversation. “We are not stealing a severed head, have some class.”

He crossed his arms, rolling his entire head. “God forbid I think that the grandfather of animation deservers a better resting place than the universes’ junkyard.”

“You just want it so you can put it on a shelf and brag about it,” she shot back with a retrained smile, reaching forward to roughly wipe the ice cream stain off his cheek.

“That’s beside the point,” he muttered, sulking again.

Their attention was soon turned to a distant shape, a small, tiny island that floated on past them. On top of that island, the only visible feature was a lawn chair folded open with a man lounging in it. His face was sheltered behind his outdated newspaper, but the fur of his immensely furry arms and legs were easily distinguishable.

Without putting down the paper, he let go of one corner to wave at them. “Hey guys.”

Hawkmoth groaned, snapping his head away to glare at Mayura. “…I swear that’s the sixth time we’ve passed Big Foot.” An accusatory finger jabbed her in the chest. “Are we flying in circles?”

Mayura batted his hand away with an indignant scoff. “Excuse you. I know exactly where I’m going, thank you very much.”

“You literally don’t!” Hawkmoth shot back, his voice rising in frustration. “None of us do! Our entire plan is ‘pick a direction and hope for the best!’” He threw his arms up for emphasis.

“And I haven’t shifted from my direction!” Mayura snapped, crossing her arms. “So shush and let me do my job!”

From his island, Bigfoot folded the newspaper down slightly, revealing a pair of aviator sunglasses resting on his furry face. “You guys need a map or something?”

“NO!” both villains yelled in unison, startling Duusu, who promptly flew behind Mayura for cover.

With a shrug, Bigfoot flipped his newspaper back up, waving lazily as they passed. “Suit yourselves. I’m rootin’ for ya!”

“Why is he even here?” Hawkmoth grumbled, still fuming.

“Better question,” Mayura muttered, steering them away from the tiny island, “why is he reading a newspaper from 1976?”

“How is that a better question?” Hawkmoth replied dryly, flopping back into a crouch with a huff.

Nooroo cleared his throat. “I feel like we really should have taken that map.”

At some point, Hawkmoth leaned forward, pointing to the landmass below them. "Why don’t we make a stop down there? Gather our bearings and figure out where the hell we’re going."

Mayura sighed. "Fine. Let’s see what’s down there." She adjusted the course, guiding their transport toward the landmass.

The island grew larger as they approached, revealing an array of ramshackle buildings cobbled together like some post-apocalyptic outpost. A dense forest bordered the settlement, its canopy dark and foreboding, even in the omnipresent glow of the void’s strange light.

But what immediately caught their attention was the cluster of spherical objects dotting the island’s perimeter, bobbing gently in the air like sentinels.

“What are those?” Mayura muttered, narrowing her eyes.

On closer inspection, the spheres seemed organic—bundles of plant stems or roots wrapped tightly together into balls. Their texture was fibrous, almost fluffy, giving them the odd appearance of oversized yarn balls floating in midair.

“They look like something a cat would chase,” Mayura hummed, tilting her head curiously.

“They’re too perfectly round to be natural,” Hawkmoth mused as he leaned forward, his cape swishing dramatically behind him. “I don’t recognize them. Maybe they’re some kind of fauna unique to this place?”

Hawkmoth reached out tentatively and brushed his knuckle against one of the spheres. "Aw, it’s so soft."

The moment the words left his mouth, the "soft" surface pulsed violently, glowing a fiery orange.

“What the—”

Tiny spikes erupted from the ball, its previously smooth texture now bristling with menace. Before Gabriel could react, it latched onto his arm with alarming speed, adhering like it was alive.

“NOPE. NOPE. NOPE!” Hawkmoth screeched, flailing his arm wildly. “GET IT OFF!”

Mayura froze, her eyes wide. “What did you do?”

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” Hawkmoth cried, his voice climbing a full octave. “NOOROO! WHY IS IT BEEPING?!”

The sphere began to emit a rapid, high-pitched beeping noise, glowing brighter with each pulse.

From Hawkmoth breast pocket, Nooroo poked his tiny head out, his antennae trembling. “Beeping is never good!”

“I KNOW THAT ALREADY!” Hawkmoth bellowed, desperately shaking his arm in an attempt to dislodge the now glowing, pulsating sphere. “DO SOMETHING, NOOROO!”

Nooroo hovered from the pocket to the flailing arm, looking over the aggressive fungi curiously. “I think I get it now, it built up by a cluster of tightly compressed miraculous energy. By touching it, you’ve overcharged it and caused it to destabilize.”

Hawkmoth and Mayura gave Nooroo blank stares. Duusuu, seeing the communication error, leaned in to sweetly add. “It’s gonna go boom.”

The response was immediate, Hawkmoth letting out a shivering yelp as he violently whipped his arm about, desperate to dislodge the ticking time bomb. “Get it off, get it off!”

Mayura tried to grab his arm to hold him still, but Hawkmoth’s erratic movements made it impossible. “For the love of—”

Neither of them noticed the sentiboard beneath them wobble precariously. With both Hawkmoth and Mayura flailing about in a chaotic panic, the sentiboard started to lose altitude. Its once-graceful glide turned into a sharp nosedive toward the island below.

“THE BOARD!” Duusuu, the being who could fly, cried, her tiny paws waving frantically. “WE’RE GONNA CRASH!”

Hawkmoth finally stopped spinning, his face pale as he noticed the rapidly approaching ground. “Does this thing come with an emergency landing setting?!”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to make something to ride on!” Mayura snapped, gripping the edges of the sentiboard to steady it. She yanked at it in a desperate attempt to level them out, but the sentiboard responded sluggishly, jerking and wobbling with alarming force.

The glowing sphere on Hawkmoth’s arm, meanwhile, let out a sharp ding, signalling the end of its beeping spree. It now vibrated ominously, the spikes retracting as if preparing for something far worse. With a final, desperate yank, he ripped the sphere from his arm and hurled it toward the forest below.

The sphere arced through the air, glowing brighter and brighter before disappearing into the tree line. A half-second later, an earth-shaking BOOM erupted, sending a plume of fire and smoke into the sky. The shockwave rippled outward, causing the sentiboard to lurch violently.

“Okay. One crisis avert-“

The cluster of spheres surrounding the island began to move—each one glowing orange and emitting an ominous beep-beep-beep.

Nooroo’s voice trembled as he looked out at the growing swarm of floating explosives. “Um… I think they’re coming for us now.”

Duusu clapped her paws together, giggling nervously. “Oh! It’s like tag, but extreme! How exciting!”

Hawkmoth turned to Mayura, his face pale. “H-How’s getting control of the board coming along?”

Mayura’s response was immediate and unceremonious. “HOLD ON!” She yanked the craft up, sending the sentiboard careening upward at a sharp angle.

The floating spheres didn’t hesitate. They surged after them like a swarm of vengeful fireflies, their beeping growing louder and faster.

“How did my day end up like this?” Hawkmoth wailed as he clung to the side of the sentiboard, Nooroo desperately clinging to his shoulder and flapping wildly in the wind.

“Maybe it’s karma!” Mayura snapped, steering them away from the glowing horde. “Next time, don’t touch anything!”

“I don’t think there’s gonna be a next time at this rate!” Duusuu squealed, her voice nearly drowned out by the rising cacophony of beeps.

The sentiboard climbed higher and higher, but the swarm was relentless. As the first of the glowing spheres drew close, Hawkmoth gritted his teeth. Even as the sentiboard went completely vertical in its ascension, Mayura was secured on the board by helpful foot handles that shot out of the middle of the craft – Hawkmoth wasn’t as lucky. He had one arm wrapped around the board, leaving him hanging just out of reach of the spheres, while the other drew his cane from his coat.

Through the panic and fear, Mayura saw that familiar calculating scowl break through. “How confident are you in your flying?” He suddenly asked her, breathless.

“Honestly?” She heaved, fighting the flicker of uncertainty passing through her mask of confidence. “I wouldn’t trust myself on a trip to the grocery store.”

“Right. Right.” He hissed in response, taking one last uneven glance at their perusers. “Well, for the sake of our lives, I’d like you to pretend that you’re good enough to catch me.”

“Catch you?” Her heart stopped. “Why would I need to-”

The sudden loss in weight from the sentiboard confirmed that he’d completely let go of the craft, giving her just enough time to rear her head back and watch his body plunge into a spin, flipping over so he was diving headfirst into the horde. Shakily, he unveiled the sword hidden in his cane, raising it high and glaring ahead at his next foe.

Mayura’s jaw dropped as she watched Hawkmoth plunge headfirst into the glowing, vengeful horde of spheres. “Has he lost his mind?!” she screeched, yanking the sentiboard into a shaky hover, her knuckles white as her grip tightened.

Duusuu, unfazed, tilted her head curiously. “Oh! He’s doing a swan dive. Very elegant!”

“That’s not helping, Duusuu!” Mayura snapped, leaning forward, her pulse thundering as she tried to track Hawkmoth’s descent.

Hawkmoth, meanwhile, seemed disturbingly calm—if one ignored his tightly clenched jaw and the way his knuckles turned ghostly pale as he gripped the hilt of his sword. With every ounce of determination he had left, he twisted midair, the blade slicing cleanly through the first sphere that dared to get too close.

The sphere let out an ominous BEEP as it exploded into a shower of harmless sparks, the rest of the horde temporarily scattering. Hawkmoth smirked, though his face was still pale. “Did you see that? I’m wiping the floor wit- Ah!” he called back up toward Mayura, though his bravado was undercut by the fact that another sphere immediately lunged toward him.

With a grunt, he kicked it away, the glowing ball spinning wildly into another cluster, where it detonated in a deafening BOOM.

Mayura groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. “He’s going to get himself blown up AND us in the process!”

Duusu giggled, clapping her paws. “He’s so dramatic! I love it!”

Mayura grit her teeth, her heart racing as she commanded the sentiboard to tip backward. The board responded sluggishly at first, groaning as it shifted into a steep dive, shooting past Hawkmoth in a blur. Her eyes stayed locked on him as he spun through the air, slicing through the glowing orbs with wild, reckless precision. Each swing of his blade sent sparks and explosions scattering around him, lighting up the sky in bursts of orange and gold.

Mayura’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the edges of the sentiboard tighter. This is my fault. I got him into this mess. I put us in danger. The thought repeated over and over in her head, a relentless mantra of guilt. She pushed the board harder, willing it to pick up speed as her heart pounded in her chest. If I don’t catch him, if I don’t get to him in time... he’s going to die.

The sentiboard seemed to sense her desperation. With a sudden, guttural roar, an engine that shouldn’t have existed ignited within the sentimonster. The board surged forward, its speed doubling in an instant. The air whipped past her face, tugging at her mask and hair as the world around her became a blur. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest as she fought to stay upright, the sheer force of the acceleration threatening to throw her off.

"Stay on course," she growled to herself, her hands shaking but firm. For him. I have to do this for him.

Below her, Hawkmoth was reaching his limit. His swings became slower, his breathing ragged as the relentless horde closed in around him. One of the glowing spheres grazed his shoulder, leaving a faint scorch mark on his sleeve. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving, but it was clear he wouldn’t last much longer.

The sentiboard was closing the gap, but not fast enough. Mayura’s chest tightened as she realized she wasn’t going to make it. No, no, no— Panic overtook her, and in a split-second decision, she did the only thing she could think of.

She jumped.

Without hesitation, Mayura launched herself from the sentiboard, her body colliding with Hawkmoth midair. The force of the impact knocked the air from her lungs, but it was enough to break his fall. Together, they tumbled downward, the horde of spheres erupting in a chain reaction of explosions behind them. The shockwaves sent them spiraling out of control, hurtling toward the forest below.

Branches snapped and cracked as they crashed through the canopy, the trees breaking their fall in a chaotic blur of leaves and wood. The world spun violently until they finally hit the ground, landing in a patch of thick, muddy earth with a wet splat.

For a moment, everything was silent except for the faint ringing in Mayura’s ears. She blinked up at the sky, her body aching from head to toe. Slowly, she became aware of a weight beneath her. She pushed herself up, only to find herself staring down at Hawkmoth, who lay sprawled in the mud beneath her, his mask slightly askew and his expression caught between disbelief and exhaustion.

Her shoulders shook, fighting to keep her emotions within, to ensure that he could only see the adrenaline pumping through her. Inside her mind she chanted to herself ‘He’s alive. He’s okay.’ over and over again, convinced that if she didn’t he’d evaporate in her arms to reveal a corpse under an optimistic delusion.

It wasn’t until this moment that she realized how dangerous this line of work was. Sure, she always knew that super powered fighting was dangerous on paper, the same way one knows that guns are powerful, deadly little things. But in a way, it doesn’t feel real, it feels like reading a tragic statistic, until you hear that gunshot, until you feel the weapon’s recoil hit your palm; until you see the love of you life crumpled under you.

Gabriel Agreste was the most put-together, unrelenting, strict man she’d ever known; and he’d just almost gotten himself killed for some stupid stunt.

It evoked the sort of feeling she’d only read about in romance novels, that contradictory and explosive sensation of absolutely hating the man in front of her, but also wanting to kiss him until he stole her ability to breathe.

“You’re a crazy bastard, you know that?” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and relief.

My crazy bastard, Mayura added mentally against Nathalie’s protest.

“You’re calling me crazy?” Hawkmoth coughed weakly, a small, incredulous laugh escaping him as he looked up at her. “You were supposed to catch me with the board, not your whole body.”

Mayura gave a tired smirk, wiping mud from her face with the back of her hand. “Yeah, well... Someone had to save your sorry ass, Handsome.”

The two quickly made an effort to get up before any more unwanted feelings could risk being expressed, Mayura shuffling off of him while he felt around for his cane. She stumbled out of the mud pit groaning as she looked down at her absolutely trashed outfit. She was by no means a woman who cared much about her looks, but she liked to keep a certain air of professional dignity, even if she was in disguise.

Mayura tried her best to clean herself up, grabbing at globs of mud and grass and tossing them behind the nearest rock.

It turned out that the rock had a problem with that.

“I would encourage you to consider which direction you decide to dispose of that filth!”

Oh.

Oh no, that wasn’t a rock.

That was a helmet. A knight’s helmet that made the visor shoot up to simulate a mouth as it talked.

Mayura scrambled back with a yelp, imagining a particularly gruesome scene under the helmet. “Ah! Is that a head!?”

“That is the height of ill-manners, young madam.” The head- helmet- thing scolded her, rolling into the light to reveal that it really was just a helmet with nothing underneath. Mayura couldn’t decide if that was better or not. “I am a man, one of great status and stature. To distil my elements down to my current misfortune wounds me quite deeply.”

“I’m sorry?” Mayura squinted, lightly kicking the helmet over to right it’s orientation to look at her.

Hawkmoth made his way over to the two, crouching down by the talking inanimate object and, with no shame, poked at it. “You… You are literally a helmet.”

The visor came down, trying to nip at Hawkmoth’s invasive fingers, followed by an indignant shout. “I am Sir Ronald Lovain of England, Knave.” The helmet declared proudly, though it was hard to take it seriously when it was caked in mud and grass. “Pay me proper respect, lest ye be no better than the filthiest of scoundrels.”

“Okay, Sir Ronald.” Hawkmoth repeated, mocking him with his full chest. “You are literally a helmet.”

The visor snapped down in what could only be described as an attempt to glare at him. “That word! I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“I assume there was a time when you weren’t a helmet,” Mayura cut in, still utterly baffled by the situation.

“Indeed, madam,” Sir Ronald said, puffing up as much as a helmet could. “I was once a proud knight, fighting for my king. But alas... if I might impart one morsel of wisdom to you both, it is this: never spurn the advances of an ugly witch.”

Mayura blinked at him. “That’s... specific.”

“Painfully so,” the helmet muttered, its visor drooping slightly in a clear gesture of regret.

Hawkmoth pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “I do not have the patience for this,” he grumbled, turning his back on the talking helmet.

“You have a great many shortcomings, knave!” Sir Ronald called after him, his voice full of righteous indignation.

Mayura bit back a laugh, deciding she might not entirely hate this bizarre little interruption to their disastrous day. “So... Do you have any other advice for us, Sir Ronald?” She asked.

The helmet let out a haughty laugh. “Oh, I have a lifetime of wisdom to bestow! But first, you must carry me forth from this accursed mud and deliver me to a proper battlefield!”

Hawkmoth stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Mayura said with a smirk, folding her arms as she watched him. “You’re the one who poked him. I think that makes him your responsibility.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hawkmoth growled.

“Fine,” She said sweetly, leaning down to scoop up the helmet. “I’ll take Sir Ronald.”

“Excellent choice, madam!” Sir Ronald said enthusiastically, the visor snapping open in what might’ve been a smile.

“If I may ask, Mr… Uh… Lovain.” Mayura began, holding the helmet up to her face. “We are currently searching for the portal out of this place. Do you have any idea where it will appear?”

Ronald’s visor started clanging away, alight with shivering energy. “I do indeed, young madame. However, it is with a heavy heart to inform you that you can never hope to reach it.”

Hawkmoth scoffed as they passed under a thick cloud of smoke still swirling from their explosive arrival. “You’d be surprised by how much we can hope for.”

“A creature of great hunger and strength has swallowed the portal. It consumes everything in its path and makes that food meld with its hideous form.” Ronald hopped up and down in Mayura’s palm, trying to throw the nose of his helmet into a vaguely north direction where the outskirts of the abandoned city stood. “The great beast lies over yonder, where the shrine to the king of burgers resides.”

Hawkmoth hummed, staring off into the rough direction of where the helmet nudged. “This is quite the pickle.”

Duusuu pumped her little fist in the air, grabbing Nooroo’s to force him to do the same. “I’m sure that together we can conquer this beast.”

“It’s not the beast that I’m worried about.” Hawkmoth muttered gravely, stroking his chin. It was only with a heavy sigh that he continued. “I told myself long ago that I would never again step foot in a Burger King…”

Notes:

Next Time - Dauntless:

The key part to any fight is the opening move, and as Chat Noir learned in chess and in fencing; the opening move could take a while. Him and his opponent came to this fight unaware of the other, there was no strategy or hard data to equip themselves with before they engaged. This meant both stood back, weapons raised but unmoving, just studying the other, waiting for that first attack to reveal everything.

His opponent had some measure of honour and pride, it was the only reason why her hench bots stayed back, settling in as the silent audience instead of charging in to dog pile him all at once. She came down from her throne to face him directly. Whilst she was clearly someone who tried to keep her emotions hidden behind her armour, he could feel the earnest desire to prove something in her heavy, needy steps that mirrored his own.

“You still have a chance to surrender.” She uttered, her voice soft and delicate like silk and easily weaving through the air. There was a firm grip on her sword made between two hands, not loose like an amateur, but not tight like someone who feared being disarmed; just pure confidence. There was a familiarity to her stance, a certain poise that took him back to his fencing lessons, which allowed him to glimpse the same lack of openings he saw back then.

In contrast, he kept his stance wide and let his staff hand loosely in one hand, the appearance of unbalance. He let her see a treasure trove of openings she could exploit – too many openings, shed find if she was as well trained as he assumed, enough openings to be suspicious of a trap. “You sure are a cocky one.” He winked at her.

“I’m not cocky, I’m assured.” She insisted, her voice steady and unwavering. “I was designed to be the best; I see no worthwhile purpose for your creation.”

“So, do you have a name?” Chat asked, tilting his head slightly, his staff still held loosely in his hand as he sized her up. “’Cause I can’t just keep calling you creepy samurai lady; it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

The woman’s blank visor somehow managed to exude an icy chill, focused on him like a predator about to strike. She gave a slight tilt of her head, as though considering whether or not she would dignify his question with an answer.

“Names are worthless in battle,” she replied coolly, her voice unwavering. “The only identity we need is our weapons.”

Chat chuckled, his stance never wavering. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

She didn’t respond to the light mockery. Instead, her posture shifted slightly as she took a step closer, the tension thickening in the air around them.

“But if you must know the name of your executioner,” She added, her voice low and measured, as she unsheathed her sword with a deadly grace, “you will fall by the blade of Dauntless.”

Chapter 31: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Dauntless

Summary:

Hawkmoth sinks into denial while Marinette uncovers the truth about Dutch... A little too late.

The key part to any fight is the opening move, and as Chat Noir learned in chess and in fencing; the opening move could take a while. Him and his opponent came to this fight unaware of the other, there was no strategy or hard data to equip themselves with before they engaged. This meant both stood back, weapons raised but unmoving, just studying the other, waiting for that first attack to reveal everything.

His opponent had some measure of honour and pride, it was the only reason why her hench bots stayed back, settling in as the silent audience instead of charging in to dog pile him all at once. She came down from her throne to face him directly. Whilst she was clearly someone who tried to keep her emotions hidden behind her armour, he could feel the earnest desire to prove something in her heavy, needy steps that mirrored his own.

“You still have a chance to surrender.” She uttered, her voice soft and delicate like silk and easily weaving through the air. There was a firm grip on her sword made between two hands, not loose like an amateur, but not tight like someone who feared being disarmed; just pure confidence. There was a familiarity to her stance, a certain poise that took him back to his fencing lessons, which allowed him to glimpse the same lack of openings he saw back then.

In contrast, he kept his stance wide and let his staff hand loosely in one hand, the appearance of unbalance. He let her see a treasure trove of openings she could exploit – too many openings, shed find if she was as well trained as he assumed, enough openings to be suspicious of a trap. “You sure are a cocky one.” He winked at her.

“I’m not cocky, I’m assured.” She insisted, her voice steady and unwavering. “I was designed to be the best; I see no worthwhile purpose for your creation.”

“So, do you have a name?” Chat asked, tilting his head slightly, his staff still held loosely in his hand as he sized her up. “’Cause I can’t just keep calling you creepy samurai lady; it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

The woman’s blank visor somehow managed to exude an icy chill, focused on him like a predator about to strike. She gave a slight tilt of her head, as though considering whether or not she would dignify his question with an answer.

“Names are worthless in battle,” she replied coolly, her voice unwavering. “The only identity we need is our weapons.”

Chat chuckled, his stance never wavering. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

She didn’t respond to the light mockery. Instead, her posture shifted slightly as she took a step closer, the tension thickening in the air around them.

“But if you must know the name of your executioner,” She added, her voice low and measured, as she unsheathed her sword with a deadly grace, “you will fall by the blade of Dauntless.”

“Oooh, sounds intense,” Chat quipped, extending his baton with a snap that sent it shooting out to double its length. He spun it once, the motion creating a sharp whoosh in the air. “Let’s see if Dauntless can keep up with meow.”

She didn’t rise to the bait, the expression of her mask remaining eternally stoic, but head lowered slightly, observing him closer, calculating the precise moment to strike.

And then she moved.

Dauntless surged forward with breathtaking speed, her blade slicing through the air in a shimmering arc aimed straight for his chest. Chat parried at the last possible second, his baton meeting her sword with a clang that reverberated like a bell. Sparks flew as the weapons collided, and Chat staggered slightly at the force behind her strike.

“Whoa! Someone’s been eating their Wheaties,” he joked, sliding back and twisting his baton to deflect her next blow.

Either she’s enhanced, or that fancy tech of hers is allowing her to go toe-to-toe with the miraculous’ transformation. Chat noted as he peered over his baton, looking over her keenly. In a moment of reprise, he allowed himself to glance over to Marinette, realizing that his fight was between her and the exit. Wherever her power comes from, it’s dangerous, and I need to deal with her before she hurts anyone else.

“You can’t joke your way out of this,” Dauntless said coldly, pivoting on her heel and slashing again, her blade a blur of light.

Chat ducked under the swing, his baton retracting and then extending again in a rapid motion that sent its tip rocketing toward her exposed shoulder. She spun away with fluid grace, her sword catching the baton mid-strike and redirecting it harmlessly to the side.

“I don’t need to joke my way out,” Chat replied, vaulting over her with a burst of agility that left him perched on a nearby pile of rubble. “I’m just warming up!”

Dauntless glared up at him, her sword held steady as she crouched slightly, preparing for his next move. “You rely too much on your speed,” she observed, her tone still calm. “You’ll tire before I do.”

“Maybe,” Chat admitted, launching himself off the rubble and extending his baton to sweep toward her legs. “But I’ve got stamina for days, so let’s test that theory!”

Truth is, he did not have stamina for days, and she was making him work for every hit he got in; but he couldn’t let her see that. Not just because of his pride, but because he knew that his resilience hurt her more than any of his actual blows did. She was a perfectionist, and every second that this fight drew on was a second she was humiliated.

Dauntless leapt over the sweep with ease, landing gracefully and retaliating with a quick, upward slash that forced Chat to backflip away. The tip of her sword grazed his suit, leaving a faint mark but no real damage.

“Close one!” Chat chirped, using the momentum from his flip to pole-vault higher. His baton extended to impossible lengths, allowing him to manoeuvre above her like an acrobat, flipping and twisting to avoid her relentless strikes.

Dauntless, undeterred, lunged at him again, her blade flashing like lightning as it carved through the air. She wasn’t just fast—she was deliberate. Each strike was calculated, meant to herd him into a vulnerable position.

Chat noticed the pattern. “Ah, you’re trying to box me in,” he teased, dodging left just as her blade sliced through a fallen beam. He dropped to a crouch, his baton retracting, and aimed a sharp jab at her midsection.

She blocked it with her sword, her strength pushing him back. “Observant,” she admitted, her tone clipped. “But observations won’t save you.”

“Oh, come on,” Chat said, spinning his baton so it extended and slammed into the ground, propelling him upward once more. “You’ve gotta give me a little credit for style points!”

Their battle continued to escalate, the sound of clashing weapons ringing through the air like a symphony of chaos. Dauntless’s blade was relentless, but Chat’s baton was unpredictable. It extended, retracted, and twirled in ways that made him impossible to pin down.

Dauntless stopped mid-charge, her blade humming ominously. She held it aloft, her posture stiff with determination, and for a brief moment, Chat thought she might be surrendering.

Then the energy surged.

Her blade began to glow with an intense white-hot light, the edges rippling like a mirage in the heat. She slashed downward—not at Chat, but through the air itself. The motion left a streak of glowing energy in its wake, a slash-shaped shockwave that ripped forward and sliced through the terrain as though it were paper.

Chat had only milliseconds to react. He dove sideways, rolling into a crouch just as the energy blast shattered the ground where he’d been standing. Shards of dirt and rock exploded in all directions, leaving a smouldering trench in its wake.

“Whoa! Okay, that’s new,” Chat said, wide-eyed, gripping his baton tightly as he straightened up.

“You’re still standing,” Dauntless said, her tone more intrigued than frustrated.

Chat shrugged, twirling his baton. “You sound surprised; I’m a bit of a swordsman myself, you know.”

“And yet you fight with a stick,” she said, eyes narrowing as she prepared another strike. “Like a caveman.”

Chat smirked. “You fight to kill. I fight to win.”

Dauntless didn’t dignify the quip with a response. Instead, she slashed again, sending another crescent of energy hurtling toward him. This time, Chat extended his baton and pole-vaulted high into the air, the blast ripping through the space he’d just vacated.

It was then he saw it. As her blade pulsed with energy, the faint glow illuminated something almost imperceptible—a series of thin, nearly invisible wires running down her arm and leading to a strange device strapped to her hip.

“Interesting,” Chat muttered to himself, landing lightly on a crumbling ledge.

“You can’t dodge forever,” Dauntless called, her blade humming again as she prepared another attack.

“Oh, I don’t plan to.” Chat’s voice was light, teasing. It made Dauntless pause, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Her body language hardened, her grip tightening on the glowing sword.

Her response was another slash, sending a faster, sharper wave of energy directly at him. Chat sprang into action, his baton retracting as he flipped and twisted through the air to avoid the attack.

As the shockwave carved through a crumbling pillar behind him, Chat re-extended his baton to full length, vaulting high into the air and aiming for her right side. He jabbed the baton downward, forcing her to block with her blade, the impact sending sparks flying.

“Careful there, the ‘stick’ almost clobbered you.”

“Silence!” Dauntless growled, shoving him back with a burst of strength.

There were many things Chat Noir could do; shutting up was not one of them. The only silence she got was a brief refocus on her next attack, two energy slashes barrelling towards him in quick succession.

Ducking low, Chata spun his baton outwards, waiting until just the right moment to unleash its length into the wall behind him, allowing his end of the extension to carry him forward and through the attack in killer spin. The climax of his little routine had his body slamming into Dauntless’ legs, wrecking all hopes of balance and pulling her body down to crumple over his shoulder.

With on last move he flung her off his shoulder, flipped himself over to fall on his back and kicked upward in one powerful strike that sent her spiralling through the roof.

“Hold please!” He called out to her as he got to his feet. She was incapacitated and her goons weren’t programmed to attack him yet; if his father was in this situation he’d say that this was an opportunity to eliminate distractions.

He hoofed it over to Marinette and Dutch, arriving just in time to hear Dutch groan at him. “Where’d all you crazies come from?” The man growled, sounding almost breathless in his exasperation. “The Velenci are bad, but at least all they do is shoot and steal our money.”

Instead of a snappy come back, Chat Noir sunk into a respectful bow. “Sorry about this, I’ll clean up my mess, you guys need to start running.”

After all, this was his fault. It was… He froze, the realization sinking in like a cold dagger. They came to this warehouse tracking his miraculous that he stupidly dropped; everyone who died here died because of him. His childish eagerness to see Dutch in action brought this upon everyone. It was his mess, his responsibility.

The closest thing to an excuse he could muster is that Dauntless would have most likely ended up going for the Bee miraculous, and thus the Freedom Fighters, anyway.

Another reason why he needed to end this and swipe the Bee miraculous stat. When it was just his team and Ladybug’s, there wasn’t a question of casualties; the two group had defined rules and expectations of how their battles played out. But now there were other people after the miraculous, people who didn’t care who got hurt; his failure to retrieve a miraculous meant more than just delaying his mother’s resurrection.

If he lost to Ladybug, he’d just have to try harder next time. If he lost to Dauntless, people could die.

Dutch looked up at him confused, arms raised as if bracing for an attack. “Wait, why are you saving us? You’re a criminal too.”

For the sake of not breaking down right there, Chat pushed the weight of his realization to the back of his mind and plastered on a fake smile. “Hey, I’m a gentleman thief with a very dramatic director; that doesn’t mean I like watching innocent people get murdered.” He crouched down beside Dutch, urging the man to his feet. “Especially when I’m such a big fan of your work.”

Dutch was wobbly to start, committing to multiple double takes at Chat Noir being helpful. “Uh… Yeah. Thanks. I guess you’re not the rotten cat the news says you are.”

Chat’s brow quirked up, but he didn’t comment. He knew that he was the super villain here, but come on, it’s not like he had a reputation for being a backstabbing monster-

Okay, well, he wasn’t a monster. Right?

When it finally sunk in for Dutch that this was really happening, he rushed to the door, throwing back one bout of  ‘Give those rust buckets hell.’ before disappearing.

That left Chat with Marinette, who hadn’t budged an inch. Though, instead of glaring at him or narrowing her eyes in suspicion like she usually did with Chat, she just looked unsure; almost frightened. “You gotta go too, Marinette.”

He moved to hold his hand out to her, but she seemed to register it as a threat, stumbling back with her hands up. Her eyes darted back and forth, but before Chat could try to reassure her, she spoke. “What about Adrien? Have you seen him?” Her voice cracked under the pressure building up behind her eyes. “He ran back in all by himself out of some stupid plan that’s probably gonna get him killed.”

Chat couldn’t help but feel a warm smile reach his face. Behind it was crushing guilt for realizing how much he must have worried her, but the smile won through. Of course, Marinette was thinking about his safety while all the dangerous action was happening right in front of her.

“Saw him off myself!” He lied, jumping up with a pep in his step. “Soon as I told him I’d handle the hero duties for now, I dropped him off far from here and doubled back.”

Smoothly, he slid past her, gently pressing his hand against her back and moving her along. Her head and his moved in synch, never breaking eye contact no matter how uncomfortable. “You’re the last loose end, Princess.”

Her hand came around to grab his arm, her eyes not enflamed or sceptical, just desperate. “How do I know you’re not lying? Or planning something worse?”

Chat stilled, his playful façade slipping as he answered with quiet sincerity. “Because you know me.”

“Urg, fine, I’ll believe you,” Marinette huffed, her voice laced with warning. “But if I find out that you touched even one hair on Adrien’s head, I will personally throw you into the nearest woodchipper.”

“Noted.” Chat placed a hand over his heart, as though her threat had touched his soul. And some level, it did. Mostly because she was threatening him to protect him. “I’ll be sure to tell him what a good friend he has the next time I see him. Speaking of which...” He tilted his head toward the crumbled roof, where the distinct sound of footsteps and clanking armour began to grow louder. “Looks like our good friend Dauntless is coming back for round two.”

He stepped back, flashing her a grin. “Now would be a really good time to run.”

Marinette hesitated for just a second before pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Cat.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied, his grin turning roguish. Then, with a dramatic hand gesture, he added, “But perhaps a kiss would help me focus...”

Marinette rolled her eyes, folding her arms with a scowl. “You can kiss my knuckles.” She spun on her heel and tossed a hand over her shoulder, her middle finger prominently displayed as she stomped toward the exit. “And my rapidly retreating rude finger.”

Chat’s laughter bubbled up as he stood his ground, watching her leave. “Lovely as always, Princess!” he called after her.

Before he could savour the moment, the clanking grew louder, and the rubble of the roof shifted, unravelling and crashing back down into the warehouse. Dauntless emerged, her armour glowing faintly from the energy coursing through her blade. She was scraped and dented, but the fire in her eyes was brighter than ever.

Dauntless stepped forward, her armour illuminated by the eerie glow of her charged blade. She stared him down, and he could see a smirk burning through her mask, one that was equal parts confidence and fury. “Did you think one cheap shot would kill me?”

Chat twirled his baton lazily, pretending to inspect it with exaggerated care. “I told you, I’m not here to kill anyone.” His eyes flicked up to hers, his playful grin daring her to make the next move.

“Still,” Dauntless continued, her voice sharp and biting, “you had an ample opportunity to take me down while I was incapacitated. Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “I could have, but that doesn’t sound very fair, does it?”

For a split-second, his response gave her pause, before being swallowed up by a growl.

“Such honor is worthless to a criminal,” she spat, her grip tightening on her weapon. “And it will spell your end tonight.”

Chat’s grin widened, but his eyes hardened, the playful gleam dimming as he shifted his stance. “I guess I’ll have to throw on my serious face then.”

Dauntless didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, her blade slashing in a glowing arc that sliced through the air with a hiss. Chat narrowly sidestepped, the energy grazing past him and leaving a searing heat in its wake. He extended his baton and used its reach to vault over her head, landing lightly behind her.

“You know,” he quipped as she whirled around, her blade humming with power, “you could have just let me take a nap instead of dragging me into all this.”

Dauntless didn’t respond, instead launching another slash of energy in his direction. This time, Chat used his baton like a pole vault, springing upward and letting the energy strike the wall behind him. The impact left a deep gash in the metal, and he couldn’t help but wince.

“Okay, I’m gonna say it: That’s excessive.” He landed on a stack of crates, crouching low as he observed her movements.

“You’re stalling,” Dauntless accused, pointing her blade at him. “You know you can’t win, so you prattle like a fool to distract me.”

Chat smirked, raising a brow. “Maybe I’m stalling. Or maybe I just want you to keep talking so I can figure out how that shiny sword of yours works.”

Her shoulders narrowed in place of eyes, and she charged again, her strikes faster and more aggressive. This time, Chat was forced to block with his baton, the impact sending shocks up his arm. Sparks flew as energy clashed with reinforced steel, and he couldn’t help but notice how much force was behind her blows.

Dauntless pressed forward, her strikes relentless, each one more precise than the last. Chat narrowly evaded a downward slash that sliced cleanly through the metal crate beside him. He extended his baton to parry her next attack, but the sheer force of her blade made him skid backward.

“You have a semblance of training behind your movements,” Dauntless remarked coldly, her voice steady even as her blade whirled with deadly precision. “But you lack the proper discipline to make use of it.”

Chat twirled his baton, using the momentum to block another strike as he ducked low. “I like to think keeping myself loose allows me to be more unpredictable.”

“It’s sloppy,” she countered, stepping back briefly to reassess him.

Chat shrugged with an infuriating grin. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

Dauntless straightened up, gripping her blade tighter, but before she could retort, a sudden flash of light pulsed across her armour. Her visor flickered from blue to red, the shift casting an ominous glow over her helmet. For a moment, her confident stance faltered, and she hesitated, pulling her clenched fist to her face.

Chat tilted his head curiously as her voice softened, now timid and restrained. “Not now, Mother, I’m about to—” Dauntless froze, listening to the voice on the other end. Her shoulders sagged slightly. “Yes. I understand. You’re right, as always. My apologies.” She lowered her hand, and when she turned her gaze back to Chat, her confidence was shaken, replaced by a simmering frustration.

Chat blinked, leaning slightly on his baton. “Did you seriously just have your mommy call to scold you for getting into a fight?”

Her jaw clenched, her hand tightening on the hilt of her blade. “I was foolish to allow you the privilege of a duel,” she spat, her voice sharper now, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You are neither worthy nor important enough to justify an honourable bout.”

Chat pouted dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded. “Ouch. You know, words hurt more than swords sometimes.”

Dauntless didn’t dignify his quip with a response. Instead, she raised her blade, the hum of energy intensifying as arcs of power flickered along its edge. The shift in her posture told Chat everything he needed to know: she wasn’t playing around anymore.

The wrist device lit up as she called out. “To me, my legion!”

All of the previously stationary androids shot up to their full stature, blades coming out in sync. “Aw, cra-” Chat didn’t even get to finish his quip before several dark blurs converged on him with lightning speeds.

He barely jumped back in time to miss an instant decapitation, the blade instead cutting through one of his blonde spikes. Which, in his view, was equally as distressing. Two more dropped down beside him, one slicing high while the other stabbed low, forcing him to tuck his knees into his chest and jump into a side-ways spin. His high-pitched yelp only got louder as he saw his eyes reflected in the blade that came inches from cutting him.

There was no time to slow down, hitting his landing with precision to roll away before they tried a follow up finisher. The roll took him to resting on his heels, still tucked in enough for his body to look like a ball, a ball that sprung forth on the fierce thrust of his heels to pounce on the nearest android, tearing through its chassis and smashing it into the ground with enough force to make it come apart.

“Boo!” Chat hissed. He didn’t even have time to glare at Dauntless before he was on the move again. “Sicking your backup dancers on me is cheap!”

Dauntless stood back, watching with a cold, calculating aura as her androids converged on Chat Noir, their movements mechanical but alarmingly coordinated. She didn’t even flinch as one of them lunged forward, nearly beheading the cat-themed hero. Instead, she nodded, a smirk hidden beneath her visor. “Cheap? No, it’s strategy. Something you clearly lack.”

Chat’s heart raced as he rolled out of the way of another android, its blade narrowly missing his torso. “You know,” he called out between frantic dodges, “if you wanted to tire me out, you could’ve just suggested a dance-off! I do a mean tango!”

A blur of metal sliced through the air, forcing Chat to jump into a backward flip. The blade grazed his suit, leaving a faint scorch mark. “Whoa!” He landed unsteadily, his baton extended defensively. “But I don’t like this choreography—too stabby for my taste.”

Another android charged him, its blade aimed straight for his chest. Chat twisted, using the momentum to lock his baton against the android’s neck and force it sideways into the path of its companion. Sparks flew as their bodies collided, their internal circuits shorting out in a flurry of violent sputters.

“I’ll admit,” He panted, backing away as three more androids closed in, “your little army’s got moves. But I’m more of a solo act.”

Dauntless tilted her head, unimpressed. “A solo act doomed to fail.”

As if on cue, the three androids lunged at once, their synchronized attacks leaving him no room to manoeuvre. Chat crouched low, his baton spinning like a propeller, deflecting two strikes before vaulting himself over the third. Mid-air, he extended the baton to full length, slamming it down onto one android’s head with a metallic crunch. “One down—uh, how many of you are there again?”

In response, more androids stepped forward, their red-lit visors glowing menacingly.

Chat groaned. “Of course, it’s the never-ending chorus line.” He spun his baton into a defensive stance, sweat trickling down his temple. He could feel his energy waning, each dodge and counter taking more out of him. It didn’t help that Dauntless was just standing there, watching, as if this was all beneath her.

“You’ll break before they do,” she called out coolly, her blade now resting at her side. “They don’t tire. They don’t falter. And soon, you won’t have the strength to fight me.”

“Thanks for the pep talk!” Chat quipped, barely avoiding another swipe aimed for his legs. “But I’m more of a glass-half-full kinda guy.”

Desperation set in as the androids closed ranks, boxing him in. He lashed out with his baton, the extended length striking one android in the chest hard enough to send it flying into another. But before he could capitalize, two more were already on him, one grabbing his arm while the other swung its blade toward his neck.

Thinking fast, Chat used his baton to vault upward, twisting mid-air to kick the blade out of the android’s hand. He landed awkwardly, stumbling back into a defensive stance. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, “just gotta keep moving… and stop thinking about how completely outnumbered I am.”

Dauntless finally stepped forward, her blade humming ominously. “Tired yet, thief?” she asked, her voice carrying a smug satisfaction.

Chat gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his baton. “Tired? Nah,” he shot back, even as his knees buckled slightly under the strain. “I’m just getting warmed up. How about you join the dance floor instead of letting your metal minions hog all the fun?”

Dauntless nodded. “Gladly.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she signalled the androids to part, giving her a clear path to him. Her blade shimmered with energy as she stepped into the fray.

“Aw, cra—” Chat didn’t have time to finish before she was on him, her blade slicing through the air with precision that made the androids look like amateurs.

The fight was slipping out of his hands fast. Chat Noir found himself launched through the air yet again, Dauntless’ glowing blade slamming into his side and sending him careening into a squad of waiting androids. Their metallic arms caught him like a net, tossing him back toward Dauntless with brutal precision.

“Really? We're doing the ping-pong the cat routine now?” Chat groaned, only for Dauntless to leap forward, her sword slashing upward and sending him crashing through a nearby wall. Dust and debris fell around him as he collapsed onto the ground, coughing and wincing at the rapidly forming bruises. His limbs felt heavy, his usual agility faltering as he pushed himself back up.

“This is getting out of hand,” he muttered, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead as he staggered backward. Dauntless advanced with slow, calculated steps, her army of androids encircling him like wolves. “I gotta shut her down, but how?”

He vaulted onto a nearby crate to buy himself a second of breathing room. His eyes scanned her armour, and then his gaze landed on that device on her hip—the one he’d noticed earlier, now faintly glowing and trailing sparking wires up her arm. “Hmmm…” he stroked his chin, forcing his battered brain to focus. “By the law of video games, I think I see a weak point.”

Before he could act, the androids charged. They swarmed him, their mechanical limbs a blur of relentless strikes. One sliced at his shoulder, tearing his suit, while another knocked his baton from his grip, sending it skittering across the floor. He barely managed to duck under a blade aimed for his neck, only to be tackled to the ground by two more.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re mad!” Chat yelped, his voice cracking as they pinned his arms and legs. Another android strode forward, its blade humming ominously as it lined up a strike meant to end him. Chat struggled, twisting and turning, but the androids held him firmly in place.

The blade hovered over his chest, poised to drop. His fingers twitched, brushing against his fallen baton, which one of the androids had carelessly left just within reach. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his fingers around it, struggling to twist the handle.

“A little… more…” he muttered under his breath, his muscles straining as the blade inched closer. “Oh, come on… almost…”

With a final desperate push, he turned the baton. “Go-Go Power Pole!” he shouted.

The baton extended with a burst of energy, its length shooting past the shoulder of one android and smashing directly into the device on Dauntless’ hip. The impact ripped it from her armour and sent it hurtling across the room, where it slammed into a wall and exploded in a shower of sparks.

“Gah!” Dauntless screamed, her body jolting as the sparks travelled up and down her frame. Her movements became jerky, her glowing sword fizzling out as the blade flopped uselessly, more like a rubber prop than a weapon now.

The androids immediately released Chat, their glowing eyes flickering as they froze in place, their programming thrown into disarray. He collapsed onto his knees, gasping for air before springing to his feet and staggering backward, baton still raised defensively.

“What have you done?!” Dauntless shrieked, clawing at the wires sparking from her armour. Her visor flickered wildly, her voice crackling with static.

“Hit a nerve, hopefully,” Chat shot back, grinning despite the ache in his ribs.

“You wretched little…” she growled, taking an unsteady step forward as the androids around her began to glitch and twitch. “How dare you sabotage my equipment?!”

Chat twirled his baton with a cocky flourish, his grin widening. “I’m a cat. I break things,” he said, tilting his head with mock innocence. “You really should’ve seen this coming.”

Dauntless took a shaky step back, her fingers still frantically trying to steady the sparking wires trailing from her ruined device. Her visor flickered between red and blue, the faint glow in her blade sputtering into nothing. She scowled at Chat, her voice colder than before but laced with forced composure.

“I will tactically retreat for now,” she spat, venom dripping from every word. “But mark my words; this isn’t over.”

“Unfortunately, I know that,” Chat replied, straightening his posture despite the soreness creeping into every muscle. He flicked his baton back to its compact form, spinning it once before slipping it into his belt. “You Demons have a real knack for holding grudges. I’ll be sure to pencil in our next fight. Maybe add snacks this time?”

Dauntless didn’t respond, her body shimmering faintly as she activated a retreat protocol. A drone swooped down from the shadows, scooping her up and whisking her through the shattered remains of the roof. Her glaring red visor locked onto him one last time before disappearing into the night, her voice echoing faintly through the warehouse.

“This humiliation will cost you dearly, Chat Noir.”

Chat let out a long exhale, his usual playful grin faltering as the weight of the situation sank in. His gaze shifted to the remains of the android army, now lifeless piles of scrap littering the floor. It wasn’t much of a victory; this was just one skirmish in what was shaping up to be a long, grueling war.

“Yeah, yeah. Add it to my tab,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

But then his chest tightened as the bigger picture clicked into place. His gaze flickered toward the horizon, his mind racing. The Bee Miraculous. The Freedom Fighters’ hideout.

“It’s only a matter of time before their little device picks up the Bee Miraculous back at the Freedom Fighters’ hideout,” he realized aloud, the words tasting bitter. He’d barely managed to fend off Dauntless here, and now she and her squad would be heading straight toward Dutch, Marinette, and the others.

He clenched his fist, his knuckles whitening. “I have to get back there and swipe it before the Demons do.”

Without wasting another second, Chat bolted for the exit, his baton in hand. The battle wasn’t over yet—not by a long shot. As much as his body screamed at him to rest, he couldn’t stop now. Lives were at stake, and for once, he was determined not to let his mistakes make things worse.

In his rush to exit, he didn’t take note of the figure that lingered by the entrance, watching the whole fight unfold. Dutch didn’t know what possessed him to stick around and see how things played out, maybe it was fear that he’d be hunted down if he didn’t make sure Chat was the victor, maybe he just wanted closure. Whatever compelled him didn’t matter, what did matter to him was what he just so helpfully overheard from the cat who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

A miraculous? In his hideout? How could one of those things possibly have wound up in his home without notice? They were clearly fancier than anything his community would usually carry around, it would stick out like a sore-

Ah. He thought with a grin. Darcy.

“Well, well, well. That does sound interesting.”

---

Marinette didn’t like the idea of hitching a ride on the trucks again, but she was stuck in a part of town she’d never been to, and this was the closest thing she had to a mode of transportation. So, with a growing sense of dread bubbling in the pit of her stomach, she rushed over to the one remaining truck in the courtyard and scrambled to slide herself in the back.

It wasn’t long, though it felt much longer when all she could hear was the explosive sounds of distant battle roaring through her ears, before she heard someone rush to the head of the truck and slide into the driver’s seat. It had to be Dutch considering he was the only person left unaccounted for, which only added to the feeling of being trapped in a cage. This time, if he discovered her back here, there would be no more Chat Noirs or androids to interrupt whatever threatening scheme he had in mind.

Shuffling her way through the container was a more complicated task this time, not just because she was bruised and scared, but because there were now crates piled up high that were so close to falling over and giving her presence away. It turned out to be a tight fit, the walls of boxes turning the wide truck bed into a narrow hallway that she had to tuck her legs in tightly to stop herself from being thrown against the shutter.

The truck took a sudden turn, throwing Marinette against the wall of crates. A muffled yelp escaped her lips before she clamped a hand over her mouth, heart racing as she froze in place. She stayed like that for a moment, barely daring to breathe, waiting to see if Dutch had noticed anything.

When the truck continued on without pause, she exhaled shakily and pressed on.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “The one time I decide to leave Tikki at home everything goes to hell.”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustration bubbling up as she whispered to herself. “I mean, what were the odds, really? One day of not being Ladybug, and suddenly I’m hitching a ride with the most suspicious guy in the city.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of a crate as she continued crawling forward, the wobbling boxes threatening to topple with every movement. “I should’ve expected this, though, right? Of course, there’d be more people interested in the Miraculous. As soon as they’re public knowledge, it’s not like Hawkmoth would be the only guy out there trying to get his hands on them.”

She paused, glancing around the dim truck bed as if expecting some epiphany to jump out at her from the shadows. “And if those demon guys are really looking for Miraculous... that means the Freedom Fighters are gonna be under attack soon.” Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Marinette slumped against the nearest stack of crates, groaning quietly. “But how am I supposed to protect anyone without Tikki? I don’t even know where they’d start looking! And even if I did...”

She snapped her fingers, her face lighting up with a sudden idea. “Duh, of course! The police.” Her voice gained a spark of hope as she fumbled for her pocket. “I’ve been a superhero so long I’ve forgotten that there’s an actual point to them. I mean, I don’t think they’re equipped to deal with the miraculous, but I’m sure they’ll make enough noise to get Volpina’s atte—”

She froze.

Her phone wasn’t there.

Marinette’s hand darted from one pocket to the next, patting down her jacket and jeans frantically. “No, no, no. Where could it—” Her eyes widened as realization dawned. “Dutch. Oh, that guy. He’s really making his way to the top of my shit list.”

She leaned back, exhaling sharply through her nose. “What now, Marinette? You’re in the back of a truck with no phone, no Tikki, and no plan.”

Marinette clenched her fists and let out a frustrated huff. "No phone, no kwami, no clue what I’m doing..." Her words trailed off as she lashed out with her foot, kicking the nearest crate with a satisfying thud.

The crate, already battered from stray gunfire and rough handling, splintered slightly under the impact. Marinette froze, her irritation giving way to curiosity as she caught a faint gleam of something smooth through the crack in the wood.

Her instincts told her to leave it alone. This was Dutch's shipment—the supposed "medicine" he had been so desperate to protect. But her gut churned uneasily, a quiet voice whispering that something about this whole situation didn’t add up. The shipment of completely legal medicine that Dutch was using Audrey’s trucks to cover up.

"Hmm... I wonder," she murmured, hesitating for a moment before crawling forward. Slowly, she reached out and tugged at the broken wood, widening the hole just enough to slip her hand inside.

Her fingers brushed against something cool and hard. Not plastic. Not cardboard. She carefully pulled it free and held it up to the dim light filtering through the truck’s slats.

It was a sleek inhaler, its design far too polished and ornate to be standard medical equipment. The contents, visible through a small, reinforced window, shimmered like molten gold. Marinette frowned, turning it over in her hands, her thumb tracing the smooth surface.

Her heart sank as a memory surfaced—Adrien’s voice describing an inhaler very similar to this in the hands of the Velenci.

“Ambrosia,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Her grip on the inhaler tightened as she stared down at it, the pieces clicking into place. "Medicine, huh?" She shook her head, her jaw clenching. "The man’s a damn drug dealer, using vigilantism as a cover."

There was no doubt in her mind anymore in regards to Dutch’s behaviour. She could delude herself before, she was really good at convincing herself that she was the problem, that she was seeing things that weren’t there; but there was no denying that the drug dealer was threatening her for getting too close to his operation.

Were the rest of the Freedom Fighters in on this? Many of them were vulnerable teens or good-natured and struggling people; but was that all a front? No. She didn’t believe that, if only because she didn’t want to believe it. They were getting strung along, or threatened into compliance; and Dutch was tugging Adrien and Alya along with it.

She may not be Ladybug. She may not have Tikki right now. But even Marinette Dupain-Cheng was capable of blowing the lid off of this operation.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the truck slowed to a stop. Marinette pressed herself against the stack of crates, her heart in her throat as she heard the faint sound of Dutch stepping out and slamming the driver’s door shut.

Marinette’s heart pounded as she strained to hear. She couldn’t make out his words—if he was even speaking—but the faint shuffle of his footsteps outside the truck sent her mind racing. No way I get home and back on foot before it’s too late, she thought grimly. I need my phone.

Her eyes darted around the cramped truck bed, looking for an opening, a plan, anything. Sighing, she pulled the shutter open and slipped back out into the cold of the Freedom Fighter’s car park. She knew where her phone was. She knew where Dutch most likely was. She knew where his office was.

She muttered under her breath, the words coming out shakier than she intended. “...Stealth mode activate.”

---

The strain sunk into Chat’s bones the moment his feet touched the ground. He sunk to one knee, managing breaths between hissing out the pangs of exhaustion he managed to numb pole-vaulting back to the compound. Even without wasting his cataclysm, the night was pushing his miraculous to the limits, and he didn’t have any cheese on him to recharge.

A quick glance told him enough: No carnage, no sound, nothing to suggest the Demons had reached the compound yet. He didn’t know how long his damage to Dauntless’ device would delay her, and he didn’t know how long it would take for them to get the bee miraculous’ signal – for all he knew it could take them days, but he couldn’t chance the timing here.

“Good, made it in time.” He uttered to Plagg, even if he assumed Plagg could already hear his thoughts while merged. “I just need to sneak into Darcy’s room, swipe the miraculous… And hopefully not have to talk to her.”

Chat crept forward, sticking to the shadows of the compound’s labyrinthine layout. The silence was eerie, almost unnatural, but he brushed it off as the exhaustion playing tricks on his mind. His legs felt heavy, his muscles tight, but he forced himself onward. Every step felt like an eternity, the stakes weighing on him as much as his own dwindling energy.

“Alright, Darcy,” He muttered under his breath. “Let’s hope I remember the directions you gave.” His lips quirked into a weak grin at his own joke, though it didn’t lighten the tension gnawing at him. He remembered enough of the compound’s layout from his last visit to have a vague idea where Darcy’s sleeping quarters were. He just hoped she wasn’t there—or worse, someone else wasn’t there waiting for him.

As he turned a corner, he spotted a metal door, its surface glinting faintly under the sparse light filtering in through a high window. Something about it felt... off. Chat approached cautiously, his tail flicking as his instincts prickled at the back of his mind. He reached for the handle, gripping it tightly, and gave it a firm push.

Nothing.

He pushed again, harder this time, but the door didn’t budge. It didn’t creak, didn’t jiggle—nothing. The handle was icy to the touch, a chill that seeped through his glove and bit into his skin. “Weird…” he murmured, leaning his weight into it. “Did someone freeze this thing shut?” He stepped back, frowning, and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

Plagg’s voice echoed faintly in his mind. Maybe it’s a sign to keep moving, kid. You’re wasting time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chat grumbled, giving the door one last reluctant shove before backing away. “Fine. You win, mysterious frozen door. But you’re going on my list of weird things to investigate later.”

As he moved on, the uneasy silence seemed to stretch, pressing down on him like a weight. He rounded another corner and froze, spotting a figure in the distance. A man, hunched over, his head tilted down as if inspecting something on the ground.

Chat dropped into a crouch, his muscles tensing as his eyes darted around for cover. He ducked behind a crate, his tail curling tightly around him as he peered out cautiously. The man hadn’t moved. Not even a twitch.

Chat’s fingers drummed lightly on his baton, debating whether to risk a closer look or simply slip by unnoticed. He waited, watching for any sign that the man had spotted him. But the figure remained still, utterly motionless, like a statue.

Chat squinted, his brows furrowing. “Okay, buddy, whatever you’re looking at must be really interesting,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Not my business. Stay weird, my dude.” Shrugging it off, he carefully slipped past, staying low and quiet.

Finally, after what felt like an endless maze of turns and corridors, he reached the part of the compound where he remembered Darcy’s quarters being. His pulse quickened as he approached the door, scanning his surroundings for any sign of movement.

He reached for the handle and- Damn, same as the last door. The night was cold, but not that cold. He was sure that his enhance strength could get through it, but he wanted to exercise some subtlety here. After a few moments of wondering gazes, he doubled back, sliding out through the nearest window and locking his eyes on the floor up above, where could see light trickling through the gap between Darcy’s curtains.

Twirling his baton in his hand, he made a quick hop over the window frame, extending his baton into the ground and propelling himself up to Darcy’s window. “I’ll just take the thief’s classic entrance.”

Since becoming a professional criminal, Chat had practised his hand at locks, safes and reinforced doors; a mere window lock was nothing his claws couldn’t pop off. Rolling into the room silently, sliding into a smooth and soft landing on his feet without disturbing anything, it was second nature by this point. It really made the difference between Adrien and Chat in just base reflexes and grace stand out.

The room had seemed empty on Chat’s limited view from the window, but he still remained cautious as he prowled through it. It wasn’t a large room, a desk and a vanity mirror stuffed beside the door took up most of the space, which, while he peered from behind the cover of a folding screen, helpfully reflected the rest of the room for him.

Just beyond the screen was a small coffee table piled with cosmetic products and magazines – all of which had his face on them, but he elected to ignore that. To the side was a large bed with thin curtains hanging around it as a make-shift veil, thin enough that he could make out the vague shape of a woman within. Crap, Darcy was in the room, and most likely indecent; if he got caught, he’d never hear the end of it.

Finally, his eyes zero’d in on the safe. It was tucked under the bed, blending in with such ease and sheltered under a loose cover that he only had his enhanced vision to thank for pointing it out.

Chat took one breath, one mental pep talk and one prayer to Tikki for luck, then he dropped down onto all fours and started crawling.

Chat inched closer to the safe, his heart pounding against his ribs as he moved on all fours, staying as low and quiet as possible. His eyes flicked between Darcy’s bed and the safe. The bed curtains were thin enough to see her vague silhouette, motionless beneath the sheets. Eerily still.

"She’s probably just a heavy sleeper," he reassured himself, though the hair on the back of his neck prickled at the stillness. Darcy hadn’t stirred once, not even with the faint creaks of the floorboards under his weight. He shook the unease away and focused on the task at hand.

Finally, he reached the safe tucked under the bed. It was more discreet than he would’ve expected from someone who seemed like she’d enjoy flaunting her secrets. Running his claws along the edge, he prepared to work on the lock.

“Okay, let’s see if I remember the technique,” he whispered to himself, pressing the tips of his claws to the safe door. But before he could begin, the door gave way at the lightest touch, swinging open with an anticlimactic creak.

His stomach sank. The safe was empty.

“What?” he hissed, leaning closer, as if the miraculous might be hiding in some hidden compartment. But no, it was completely bare. He stared at the emptiness, his thoughts racing.

“She’s taken it out of the safe…” he muttered, a sense of dread growing in his chest. “Which means the miraculous has to be—"

RINGGGGGG!

The loud, sudden ring of a phone shattered the silence, making Chat nearly leap out of his skin. He yelped, twisting around to find the source of the noise. The phone sat on the floor, just by his feet, vibrating with an obnoxious rhythm. The screen flashed with the name Dutch in bold letters.

Chat’s ears flattened as he looked up, his heart still racing from the scare. And that’s when he noticed.

Darcy.

She was sitting upright in the middle of the bed, her head tilted slightly forward, the veil open just enough for her to stare at him. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her gaze fixed directly on him.

“Oh!” Chat forced a nervous laugh, waving awkwardly. “Darcy! I didn’t, uh, I didn’t see you there.” He stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his suit in a lame attempt to appear casual. “Now, I bet you’re wondering why I’m in your bedroom. And, uh, why I know your name. But I assure you, there is a perfectly fine explanation for this that I haven’t thought up y— I mean, uh, that’s way too long for explanations!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying desperately to think of a way to salvage this. “Actually, wait, why would I explain myself? I’m a thief. Yeah! I’m here to steal your fancy stuff. So, uh… hand it over. Easy.”

The silence that followed his rambling was deafening. Darcy didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She didn’t react at all.

Chat’s grin faltered. “Uh… Darcy?” He leaned slightly to the side, her gaze remaining locked forward. It didn’t follow him. “You okay there?”

His ears twitched, his tail curling anxiously behind him. “Oh, that’s not creepy at all,” he muttered, stepping back cautiously. “Totally normal for people to just… freeze in place like that.”

He crouched back down, peeking up at her from a new angle, but her eyes stayed fixed on where he had been. The longer he looked, the more he noticed—she wasn’t breathing, and her hands rested unnaturally stiff in front of her.

In her open palm rested the bee miraculous.

He didn’t know what was going on here, but it didn’t sit right at all. So, Chat Noir stood back, thought over it and decided to call in an expert. “Claws Out.”

There was an immediate ache as the transformation peeled off of him, pangs echoing the pain that Chat Noir kept numb during his battle with Dauntless. It was enough to make Adrien groan, stumbling back into the wall just for something to lean on. When he focused his gaze, he found Plagg ahead of him, hovering over Darcy and…

WAP!

Delivering harsh slaps across her face.

“Plagg!” Adrien yelped, lunging forward to snatch the kwami out of the air.

“What? I’m just checking.” Plagg pouted.

Adrien shook his head, letting go of Plagg and depositing him back into the air. It’s not like Adrien could restrain Plagg even if he wanted too. “I think I made her faint or something.”

Plagg poked at her cheeks, showcasing how they didn’t so much as hollow under the pressure of his paws. It was like Plagg was prodding a stone wall. “She’s not knocked out, Kid.” He dropped down to run his paw across the miraculous. “She’s paused.”

“Huh?”

Plagg floated up to Adrien’s eye level, crossing his tiny arms. “The Bee Miraculous lets its wielder subjugate anything. Body, mind, gravity…” He jabbed a paw in Darcy’s direction. “I remember one user who could paralyze time.”

Adrien’s stomach churned at the thought. He crouched next to Darcy, waving a hand in front of her face, but her eyes remained locked forward, unblinking. “So… she’s just stuck like this? Completely helpless?”

“Yup,” Plagg said nonchalantly, floating down to examine the miraculous still resting in her palm. “It’s the bee’s thing. Dominate your enemies, keep them from moving, and make them watch while you take control.” He shuddered. “Creepy little trinket if you ask me. Not my style.”

Adrien took a step back, trying to piece it all together. “Wait, so… did she activate it? Or did it just go off on its own?”

“Beats me,” Plagg said, giving the miraculous a light poke. “Sometimes these things act weird if they’re not bonded to a proper wielder. A bee without a queen doesn’t know what to do, so maybe it just went haywire.” He floated up, squinting at Adrien.

Adrien barely had time to process Plagg’s words before the bee miraculous resting in Darcy’s palm flared to life. A sudden burst of yellow energy erupted from it, radiating with an intensity that made Adrien’s heart skip a beat. His instincts screamed at him to move, to do something, and without thinking, he grabbed the nearest chair and thrust it out in front of himself like a shield.

The energy struck the chair, dissipating in an instant with a sharp crackle. For a moment, Adrien thought he’d been lucky.

Then he noticed the chair.

It wasn’t just frozen in the air—it was suspended perfectly still, its legs no longer resting on the ground but hanging in place, as though time itself had stopped around it. Adrien blinked, releasing the chair, and watched as it defied every law of physics he understood. It didn’t so much as wobble or tilt, remaining rigidly in place.

Adrien’s lips twitched into a brief smirk before his brow furrowed again. “Wait, what does this mean for her? How do we undo this?”

“Relax, kid,” Plagg said, waving a tiny paw dismissively. “Pollen’s venom is only temporary. Don’t worry, the old lady will be ready to creep on you in like an hour or something.”

Adrien shot him an exasperated look. “Geez, Plagg, she’s in her forties.”

“Details, details.” Plagg shrugged. “Anyway, just grab the damn miraculous so we can get outta here.”

“Right, right,” Adrien muttered, securing the bee miraculous in his hand. He gave Darcy’s still form one last glance, feeling a pang of guilt despite himself. “Let’s get out of here before the demons show up. Maybe we can lead them away—”

“Hold up!” Plagg interrupted, zipping around to face him with a sudden burst of urgency. “We’re missing an important step here.”

Adrien froze, tensing up immediately. “What?” he asked, turning to follow Plagg’s gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Plagg didn’t answer right away. He was too focused, his tiny body hunched in concentration as he hovered in front of Darcy’s frozen face. Adrien leaned forward, trying to see what had the kwami so fixated, and all he could muster was disappointment when he realized what Plagg was doing.

“…Plagg,” Adrien groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I know, I know,” Plagg replied, not even looking at him as he carefully added the finishing touches to a crudely drawn moustache and goatee on Darcy’s face using what appeared to be a stolen eyeliner pencil.

“I’m a genius.”

---

He knew she was staring. Mayura must have thought she was being oh-so subtle about the glances, but little did she know that everyone felt like a needle at the back of his mind. Every look came with a torrent of unreadable emotions prickling at his miraculous, so strong that he didn’t even need to go out of his way to sense it.

It didn’t matter how she tried to hide it by keeping it short, breaking her gaze to find solace in the ever-talkative Sir Ronald as her cover. He was aware of her; some part of him was always aware of her. Hawkmoth reasoned that it was him being on guard with the potential threat, but Gabriel still sneered at the necessity of having any sort of connection to this woman as distasteful.

If he focused, which he couldn’t afford as they drew ever closer to their destination, he could pull out some legible chords in her heart. The most poignant one to pull upon was a sense of longing. Yes, her desire was palpable when her attention centred on him. A longing to stab him in the back and kidnap Nooroo no doubt. Their situation was as much a chain around her throat as it was for him, but even she must be growing restless. Restless enough for the desire for catharsis to override her sense of self-preservation? Maybe.

That’s why he had to remain aware and keep her dancing on the backfoot at a distance.

“You keep staring.” He stated plainly, sharpening the edge of his voice with distain.

She tensed up for a moment, her mounting emotions tightening under one little bundle. Ordering herself, she plastered on that false confidence and took his accusation head on. “I like looking at pretty things.”

He had to resist the urge to gag. She was so obvious, so sloppy with this fem fatal routine. Initially, it was merely a persona to lull him into a false sense of security, foolishly assuming he’d lead with his libido and his desire for companionship instead of his dedication; an age-old con he could see from a mile away. But, to his utter disgust in his own failure, she had managed to spring it on him so suddenly that he’d revealed to her a different weakness to poke out.

Now she performed this ruse because she was equipped with the knowledge that it got under his skin, kept him agitated and distracted when she snuck up on him. She may have been a novice when it came to the miraculous, but she knew how to take advantage of a festering wound and dig the dagger deep. Either from calculation or instinct, she knew every nerve to hit to keep him off balance, and when he was off balance she could truly kick him down.

“Do you have to keep up this charade?” He growled through the tense, thin line of his lips.

“I have no control over my flirting.” Mayura smirked, tilting her head coyly. “I’m being 100% honest. I’m not like this in real life.”

Hawkmoth straightened his posture, his frown deepening. He could feel Nooroo’s quiet, almost amused presence in his mind, as if the kwami were watching his irritation unfold with some sense of satisfaction.

She continued, her voice dropping into a low, melancholy tone. “Without the miraculous, I’m quite boring.”

He scoffed, which sounded both like offense for her trying to sound so pitiable and or distaste for her thinking so low of herself. “I don’t think a boring person would steal a magical artefact and plan to pull a heist on the local police station.”

In that moment, he knew she wore a small, embarrassed and probably adorable smile at that. He didn’t turn around to check. He didn’t dare.

“The Peacock… Well, it was kind of a sporadic moment for me.” She admitted. “I guess this is me trying to reclaim the adventurous days of my youth. I didn’t flirt back then either, but I at least felt powerful.”

“Ah, so I am but one of many targets for your flirtations, then?” He asked dryly, his words sharper than intended.

“You almost sound hurt there, Handsome,” She teased, her tone light and easy, as though she were fully aware of the power she held over the conversation.

“I’m just making sure you’re not wasting your effort on me alone.” His voice turned more pointed as he added, “I’m married, after all.”

“No,” She said simply, her tone soft yet deliberate. “I only look at you, Mr. Moth.”

He froze for a moment, his steps faltering ever so slightly before he quickly masked it, regaining his composure. “Why?” he asked, unable to keep the suspicion entirely out of his voice.

“You remind me of another man I know,” She said, her voice quieter now, carrying a weight he couldn’t quite place. “One I fell in love with. He’s married too.”

“Do you perhaps have a preference for married men?” He retorted, his words quick and defensive, though a flicker of curiosity lingered beneath the surface.

“I don’t have a homewrecker hobby, thank you very much,” She said, rolling her eyes, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I just happen to find your dramatic flair rather charming.”

Hawkmoth’s steps faltered, just for a moment. Nooroo’s presence buzzed faintly at the back of his mind, a soft hum of amusement that only grated further on his nerves. It was as if even his kwami found Mayura’s antics to be entertaining. The idea was maddening. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus.

“You let yourself be a silly man sometimes despite being so stalwart and domineering,” she continued, her voice soft but unwavering, as though she were picking apart his very essence and presenting it back to him. “I find something… enchanting about that, I guess.”

He scoffed sharply, shaking his head. “What, you enjoy me being childish?”

“No,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice, faint but teasing. “I enjoy you having fun and pulling crazy stunts just to prove you can.”

He almost stopped walking at that. The memory of Emilie’s embarrassed laugh echoed faintly in his mind, followed by the sharp sting of regret. Fun? No, that couldn’t be right.

“It’s not childish to embrace your inner goof sometimes,” she continued. “It’s only childish if you don’t know how to get serious when the situation calls for it. And we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t knuckle down and come after me like you did.”

Her words seemed to hang in the air, soft but cloying, impossible to ignore. He felt his teeth clench, a thousand protests forming in his mind. She had to be mocking him. She had to be.

His so-called “inner goof” had always been a source of friction in his life. Emilie had tolerated it, perhaps even loved it at first, but by the end… Gabriel’s brow furrowed deeply.

She hadn’t loved it when he interrupted her colleagues on set, bursting in with extravagant flowers and clumsy poems that made her the subject of whispered jokes for weeks. She hadn’t loved it when he embarrassed her at galas, pulling her into a poorly timed waltz because the music “demanded it.” And she certainly hadn’t loved it when he’d donned a ridiculous costume one Halloween, insisting on matching outfits, only for her to be stuck explaining his antics to every guest at the party.

“Gabriel, why are you doing this to me? No one’s ever going to take me seriously as an actress if you make me a laughingstock.”

“I just wanted to remind you that I love you, even when you’re traveling far from me.”

“Dear, we’re married; we already know we love each other, you don’t need to keep showing it.” Her sigh would echo in his head for eternity. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you’re not the server and mascot at your mother’s diner anymore, you’re one of us now; you have to act like it.”

No, there was no world in which a woman like Mayura—no matter how odd or unpredictable she was—could find that part of him enchanting.

He spun around on his heel, leaning close to sneer at her. “Your attempts to distract me, Temptress, are quite, quite foolish.” Gritting his teeth, he gestured behind him. “We’re almost to our destination…”

Almost to the destination. Almost out of this hellhole. Almost back to safety, where we can finally kill each other.

Unfortunately, Mayura was a quick shot, tilting her head curiously as she pulled the trigger. “Does ‘Temptress’ imply that I’m tempting to you?”

“Y-You efforts are meaningless. I’m married, remember?” He spluttered, immediately tearing himself away from her and trudging up ahead, unaware of why his heart raced so.

She addressed herself next, speaking so low she probably thought he wouldn’t catch it, but catch it he did. She murmured, dejected and ashamed. “I wish that would stop me from loving you.”

---

The last time Marinette had snuck through the Freedom Fighter’s base, it had been tense; but a different kind of tense. Back then she was still unsure of it all, holding the expectation that, if she was caught, it’d be more awkward than anything and she’d end up getting kicked out at worse. But now she was certain, she knew that, if Dutch caught her prowling about, the worst that could happen was her being dragged to some dark corner and never being seen again.

It felt like everything against her as she tailed the man through the hallways. Every corner she bumped into. Every footstep was too loud. Every little trinket seemed to gravitate into the path of her feet, just waiting for her to kick it aside and alert Dutch.

She tightened her grip on the edge of her jacket, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t have her yo-yo this time, didn’t have her suit or Tikki’s quiet assurances to fall back on. All she had was her wits, her determination, and the hope that Lady Luck wouldn’t forsake her entirely.

Marinette clung to the shadows like a second skin, trailing Dutch with a focus that sent adrenaline pulsing through her veins. Her footsteps were deliberate, her breaths shallow and quiet, but every little sound in the otherwise silent corridors felt amplified—an echoing betrayal that might give her away. Twice, Dutch slowed his pace, and Marinette had to duck into nearby alcoves, holding her breath as he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the area.

The first time, she hid behind a stack of crates, biting down the panic when her elbow bumped into a loose wrench that clattered to the floor. Dutch paused, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound. Marinette’s heart thundered in her chest, and she prayed he couldn’t hear it over the silence. After what felt like an eternity, he gave a dismissive grunt and continued on his way, muttering something under his breath.

The second time, her shoelace snagged on a sharp edge of the floor, causing her to stumble. She barely managed to catch herself before falling. Dutch hesitated again, his posture stiffening as he scanned the corridor behind him. Marinette froze, wedged tightly into the shadow of a half-open doorway. She didn’t move a muscle, her entire body trembling as his gaze swept dangerously close to her hiding spot. Eventually, he snorted, shook his head, and walked on, mumbling about "paranoid idiots."

Finally, they reached the door to his office. Dutch pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it with a sharp click, stepping inside. Marinette edged closer, positioning herself by the small window on the door. Peering in, she saw him stride to his desk and toss her phone down on it carelessly.

Just as she began to plan her next move, Dutch’s own phone rang. He snatched it up with an impatient growl.

“What is it?” he barked, pacing in a tight circle. His expression shifted subtly, irritation giving way to a mixture of apprehension and forced calm. “Yeah... yeah, I’m in the office. He’s arriving soon? Fine. I’ll be there.”

He ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. With a glance at the desk, he muttered something unintelligible before heading for the door. Marinette ducked out of sight just as it opened, pressing herself against the wall as he stepped out, his heavy boots clomping against the floor as he disappeared down the corridor.

She peeked around the corner to ensure the coast was clear before slipping into the office. Her heart pounded in her ears as she slinked toward the desk, her every movement slow and deliberate. Checking over her shoulder once, twice, three times, she finally reached her phone. Her fingers brushed against the edge of it, the smooth surface a comforting reminder of what she’d come for.

But just as her hand wrapped around it, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Her stomach dropped, and she froze, her mind racing. No, no, no—not now!

Without thinking, she dove behind the desk, clutching her phone tightly to her chest. She pressed her back against the wood, trying to make herself as small as possible. The door opened, and Dutch’s voice rang out.

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

Marinette held her breath as multiple sets of footsteps entered the room. She peeked out from the side of the desk, just enough to see polished black shoes and dark trousers stride into view.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Dutch grunted, his tone a mix of irritation and unease.

“Well, I couldn’t pass up the invitation,” replied a smooth, deep voice with a distinctive accent, dripping with a sinister charm. The man who spoke stepped into view, and Marinette’s stomach twisted. He was impeccably dressed, his pinstripe suit fitting him like a glove, complete with a fedora tilted just so over his brow. He looked as though he’d stepped straight out of a 1920s mobster movie.

The man stalked the room with a disdainful sneer. “You invite the big boss of the Velenci over and you ain’t even got a drink prepared?”

Wait, is he serious? Marinette’s eyes widened, taking a good long look at the man, trying to remember if Alya showed her any pictures during her ramblings about the Velenci organisation. But the Velenci are Dutch’s enemies, aren’t they? They keep attacking his operations. Why would he let the big boss into the heart of his base?

If she’d heard about this in passing she’d assume the Velenci boss was being lured into a trap, but there’s no way he’d be dumb enough to show up before his enemy without protection; and in context she knew that Dutch was no coming off of the demon attack thinking that it was time to set up an assassination in the next hour.

Marinette shrunk into the shadow of her hiding spot as she watched Dutch slink over to the desk, setting himself up against it. “We don’t have time for drinks, Lou.”

Lou scoffed, “You don’t have time for respect?”

“Oh yes. You’re right. How rude of me! I haven’t even properly greeted you.” Dutch mockingly gasped. “Hey there, Lou. How ya doing?”

Lou rolled his eyes, sinking into an arm chair with a loud huff. “I got not complaints.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Marinette heard Dutch clap his hands together, his teeth practically groaning as they were pressed together. “Wanna know how my day’s been?”

Dutch snapped his fingers, ushering one of his henchmen to shuffle over, handing him over a stack of photos. While Marinette couldn’t see the photos, she had a pretty good idea what was on them when Dutch threw them in Lou’s face. “I’ll give you a hint; half my guys are lying face down in your fucking warehouse.”

The sound of Dutch jumping off from sitting on the desk was as loud as a gun shot, the smoke still settling in Marinette’s ears as he shot forward to tower over the mob boss. “Mind telling me why I got no warning about the little welcoming party at the warehouse?”

Thumbs hooked under the suit’s collar, airing it out as Lou glanced away from Dutch’s glare. A criminal he may be, but a good liar he was not. “I dunno what you’re talking about, my guys never even got th-”

“Bullshit, you didn’t know.” Dutch ripped the hat off of Lou’s head, revealing a younger looking man with make-up now smeared across his cheek, and dark hair shining with excess gel. “We found your guy dead on site, you got wind of the demons coming after us and decided to dip.”

Lou snatched back his hat, teeth bared and shoulders bulging. “Watch your tone, Dutch. Pops ain’t around anymore to tolerate your attitude problem.”

“Problem?” Dutch threw his head back to laugh, dancing around Lou’s attempt at aggression. “My problem is that we had an agreement, a plan, and the Velenci haven’t been holding up their end of the deal. And frankly, Lou, I’m tired.” He held one arm crooked at his hip, the other smoothing out his hairline. “I don’t need an attitude adjustment, I need results.”

Uncertainty ruined any chance Lou had at carrying out his intimidation, it muddled and softened his every feature. No matter how sharp he dressed or how much he puffed out his chest; he was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. “What? Is this still about my boys knocking around some of your grunts?”

A sharp inhale from Dutch was enough to get Lou antsy, a prelude to a growl, one that managed to retain all the mounting frustration without losing Dutch’s natural smooth delivery. “It’s about you not fulfilling your duties. Getting my men killed, making too many public plays, blowing up my equipment; you’re costing me resources and you’re drawing too many eyes to the Freedom Fighters.”

“You’re risking our false-flag operation, Lou,” Dutch continued, his voice as sharp as a blade. He threw his arms out, one finger thrusted forward. “Faking a war between my guys and your guys only works by maintaining the image of a back and forth, if your guys keep making a ruckus in my territory, it’s gonna look like my guys can’t hold crap.”

That finger, joined by a hearty chuckle, came down to poke at Lou’s forehead. “And if we want our ambrosia smuggling operation to be kept out of the police’s crosshairs, we don’t want to sceptical draw eyes to the district we’ve tried so hard to paint as protected.”

“Look, I don’t think-”

The desk shook as Dutch’s fist came down upon it. Marinette was lucky that her squeal was drowned out by the volume of Dutch’s roar. “That’s the beauty of it, you don’t need to think. I’m the schemer here, you just follow my directions, and don’t fuck it up, and you get everything you want.”

There was silence after that, a cooling period of Dutch letting his restrained rage drip out in small bursts of air. When the heat was down, when he could stand without the events of today weighing down upon him, he continued, almost gently. “Our success hinges on keeping up the status quo.” He slid down beside Lou, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder and wielding a fake smile. “Not too many wins and not too many losses, a perpetual image of resistance that keeps everybody happy.”

“Fine, I get it.” Lou snapped, his shoulders tense. “What are we doing about these ‘demons’ then? Are they really as scary as my boys have been saying?”

“I saw them get their heads blown off, get up and then slice through a metal wall.” Dutch’s voice dropped to a low growl, filled with blunt certainty. “They’re some next level sci-fi wackos.”

“How are you gonna beat them then?” Lou asked, leaning forward in his chair, his tone not sceptical, but curious. Marinette got the impression that he was used to Dutch having all the answers.

Dutch smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he straightened his jacket. “We give them what they want.”

“Huh?” Lou blinked. “You’re just gonna roll over for them?”

Dutch chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “I eavesdropped on an interesting nugget of information,” His voice kicked up a notch as he made a pinching motion. “Turns out Darcy accidentally picked up one of those magical artifacts these demons are so desperate for. The… Miracle-whatszit.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “I see. So, they pull up on your base, and you trade the thingy for peace. That’s your big plan?”

Dutch tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Well, yes… eventually.”

“Eventually?” Lou repeated, his brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dutch’s tone turned light, almost casual, as he began pacing the room. “I was thinking… the Freedom Fighters could do with a little free press. And a few dead bodies could really pull on some heartstrings, don’t you think?”

Marinette’s blood bubbled. What?

Lou’s chair creaked as he leaned back, his expression a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “Weren’t you just ranting about losing too many guys?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about the goons that actually matter,” Dutch said dismissively, waving a hand so casually it made Marinette’s mouth dry just out of disgust. “Besides, I’ve got a sucker in mind who I’m sure would love to throw his daddy’s money at us after such a tragic and monstrous attack.”

Adrien. That rat bastard was talking about Adrien, gloating about how easily he’d manipulated and exploited that wonderful boy. If Mainette’s blood was a fearful cold before, it was a raging heat now.

Lou’s found himself laughing at Dutch’s proposal. “You always were the rotten brother, Dutch.”

Brother, huh? That made all the familiarity between the two fall in place.

Dutch stopped pacing, turning to face Lou with a grin that was equal parts charm and malice. “I’m the one that wins in the end, Lou,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk and twice as deadly. “That’s all that matters.”

The meeting ended shortly after, and the moment Lou was out of earshot, Dutch lobbed the nearest breakable item at the wall. Marinette didn’t see what it was, but she did find herself flinching at the sound it made when it shattered.

“Bastard.” Dutch hissed, stalking back over to the desk. “I still can’t believe Pops handed the Velenci over to him, after all I’ve done for the family.”

He sighed, drawing his hand over his features, trying to smooth it all back to the calm, charismatic mask he wielded so well.

And then he grabbed hold of the desk.

“You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop, Marinette.”

She didn’t have time to react before Dutch ripped the desk from the ground and flipped it over. She didn’t have time to move before hands descended upon her, fingers digging into every inch of her and violently yanking her up to her feet. She didn’t have time to scream, to cry, to squeal before Dutch’s amused expression told her it was useless.

“H-Hey! Stop that!” She pleaded. “Let go of me!”

Dutch’s face twisted into a smug, mocking grin as he stepped closer, towering over her. “What did I tell you, boys?” he drawled, tilting his head in feigned amusement. “This one is such a nosey little shit.”

Marinette’s heart raced, panic clawing at her throat as her mind scrambled for a way out. She couldn’t afford to be caught—not now, not when she had so much to report. But Dutch’s grip on the situation—and on her—felt unshakable.

Dutch’s men tightened their grip on Marinette, their hands like iron vices around her arms. She squirmed against them, her breath quick and shallow, her mind racing for a way out.

“I-I-I didn’t hear anything, I swear,” She stammered, her voice. “I just got here. Please, let me go.”

Dutch chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a chill through her. “A pity,” he said, leaning closer, his grin cold and calculating. “Such a strong mind. And yet, no damn guts.” He straightened, his voice hardening. “Sorry, kid. You gotta understand: there needs to be consequences for actions. Otherwise, you people start thinking you can just do whatever you want.”

Marinette swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs as the words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. “Was anything about the Freedom Fighters true?” She demanded. “Or was it all just a cover for poisoning Paris?”

Dutch’s smirk widened, his expression pure condescension in the face of a foolish child. “What can I say?” he said, spreading his arms as if he were delivering some grand confession. “I like being successful. But after my time in the Velenci, I found out I loved being adored even more.”

Marinette’s nails dug into her palms as she glared at him, anger burning through her fear. “Adrien trusted you,” she spat.

Dutch didn’t even flinch. Instead, he let out a mocking laugh. “Oh, I really appreciate him,” he said smoothly, his tone insincere. “And all the good press and money he’s gonna bring me? Couldn’t ask for a better sucker.”

“Like you’re gonna get a cent from him,” Marinette snapped, her voice rising despite the danger. “His father controls all his money, and let me tell you—Gabriel Agreste won’t fall for any of your shit.”

Dutch’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it grew sharper. “He doesn’t need to,” he said with a sinister edge. “Maybe I’ll get the kid to steal some funds. Rich bastards like Gabriel won’t notice a few paltry amounts getting skimmed every month.”

Marinette’s stomach churned as he continued, his words growing darker with every sentence. “Darcy’s very good at wrapping guys around her finger,” Dutch mused, his voice taking on a sickly-sweet tone. “And lucky for me, she’s at her best with the... Younger crowd.”

Horror etched itself into Marinette’s face. She’d been angry at people before. Annoyed by Chloe. Hated Lila. She wouldn’t shed a single tear if misfortune befell them. But Dutch? Dutch was the first person she wanted dead.

“Or,” Dutch continued, his tone turning almost playful, brainstorming aloud, “maybe I can have the Velenci take the boy hostage. Throw out a nice juicy ransom. And then—oh, here’s the best part— They still keep the kid after they take their cut.” He grinned, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’d look real good on camera, wouldn’t it? Me going all one-man army, ‘breaking out’ the poor boy myself, with all that ransom money mysteriously going missing.”

Marinette’s hands trembled at her sides, rage coursing through her veins like molten fire. “Your brother’s right,” she said, her voice low but steady. “You’re a monster.”

Dutch’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight. “And you’re at the mercy of that monster, sweetheart,” he said, his voice reflecting mock sympathy. “Now, tell me—who’s better off?”

“What… What are you going to do to me?”

“I thought it through a lot.” Suddenly, she felt the cool tip of a gun pressed against her forehead, Dutch’s grinning face taking up all corners of her vision. It burrowed into her scalp, cutting itself on her skull, pulling all the tension to rest in her brow. “And it’s real tempting to kill you and use your corpse as a nice little prop down the line.”

The gun was pulled away, but the tension remained. Dutch had no regard for gun safety, casually waving the gun around in sync with his gestures.

“But then I realized something.” He hummed. “A gal like you can be oh-so useful to me, in keeping little Adrien under control.”

“I-I’ll never help you hurt Adrien!”

“Oh, I think you’ll change your tune soon enough, little lady.” The gun was dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, drawing Marinette’s eyes to Dutch’s fingers as he moves away, crouching down to retrieve some just out of view from the desk.

His turns on her and, in an instant, his shadow consumes her. She tries to pull away, but someone kicks out her legs, and another grabs a fistful of her hair and slams her down. Little Marinette could offer nothing but fruitless pawing in the face of a room of adult men with no sympathy.

Dutch crouched down low, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. They almost looked like a pale gold, flashing bright with a breathless pleasure. He was soaking in her fear, brushing his thumb over the new red mark across her cheek from her rough handling, pressing a nail into her flesh until she involuntarily hissed. “In fact, I’d go as far to say that you and I will be the closest of friends over the next few months.”

“W-What are you doing?” She whimpered, eyes desperately flickering to where he hid his prize behind his back. “What is that!?”

He ignored her pleas, pulling her face around in different direction to get a better look at the state of her. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Model student, loving daughter, community sweetheart; always loyal, always helping, always proper.” Laughter was barely restrained behind his mad smile. “You’re a real good girl, Marinette. I bet your parents are so proud of you.”

The split second when his arm moved, between his hand being hidden and it being revealed, stretched on long enough in her head for her to feel the pressure building in her chest. She was already fit to burst by the time he held his hand out under her nose, letting her gaze be dominated by the nifty, but horrifying little implication he held in his palm.

An ambrosia inhaler.

Dutch clicked his tongue, ringing out disappointing tsks as he drew his gaze down to the offending item. “Who would have thought you’d be a worthless junky?”

Marinette’s heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear Dutch’s taunting voice over the blood rushing in her ears. She stared blankly, tears falling freely from her eyes in hot streams. She knew exactly what he was planning. Her body trembled, every instinct screaming at her to get away, but the iron grip of Dutch’s men held her firmly in place.

“S-Stop it! Get that away from me!” she whimpered, her voice cracking as her eyes darted between Dutch’s manic grin and the inhaler in his hand.

Dutch leaned closer, his breath warm and rancid against her face. “Oh, everyone is gonna be so… Disappointed in you.” he purred, his tone mocking yet unsettlingly smooth.

“Please… don’t…” she begged, her voice cracking under the weight of her terror.

Dutch cocked his head, his grin widening. “Don’t worry,” he said, his tone almost soothing in its mockery. “It isn’t painful. You won’t remember what happened anyway. Ambrosia has this delightful little side effect—short-term memory loss for first-timers. It’s what made it so easy to dig up all kinds of dirty little secrets from Audrey’s competition.” He chuckled, a low, self-satisfied sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Just sit back and relax. Trust me, I’m an adult. And you’re in for the happiest ride of your life.”

“Sure, it’ll break you eventually,” he whispered, his voice a chilling mix of amusement and certainty. “You won’t even remember why you broke. But don’t worry—you’ll always remember that only I can help you pick up the pieces.”

The inhaler hovered before her face, its cold, metallic gleam catching the dim light. Marinette’s eyes widened in pure horror, and a strangled cry escaped her lips as she struggled harder, twisting and thrashing against the hands that held her down. But it was no use. Dutch was in control, and he knew it.

Ladybug would wipe that grin off his face.

Ladybug would fight.

Ladybug would never be so pathetic.

Marinette was not Ladybug.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried one last desperate plea. “I... I won’t… I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

Dutch raised an eyebrow, feigning consideration as he rolled the inhaler between his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he said finally, his grin returning in full force. “I believe you.” His voice dipped, almost tender, but the malice behind his words was unmistakable.

Dutch’s hold moved, gripping Marinette’s jaw with a crushing force as his thumb dug painfully into her cheek, forcing her lips apart. Her muffled screams filled the room, raw and frantic, each one cutting at her throat as her voice cracked. She tried to twist away, to close her mouth, to do anything, but her body was pinned by the vice-like grip of his henchmen. Her vision blurred with tears as Dutch leaned closer, his face splitting into a monstrous grin.

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice slow and taunting, every word dragging her further into despair. Then, with a sickening deliberation, he brought the inhaler to her lips. The cold metal pressed against her teeth, and despite her best efforts to resist, he forced it past her clenched jaw.

“No—!” she tried to scream, but the sound was drowned out as Dutch pressed down on the inhaler.

The rush was immediate. The warmth spread through her like liquid fire, melting her muscles into a numb, heavy haze. Memories—not quite hers but eerily familiar—danced at the edges of her vision, soft and shimmering, coaxing her into a false sense of comfort. A warm bakery on a rainy day. The laughter of friends. Her parents’ proud smiles. Each one wrapped her in a cocoon of false security, pulling her deeper into a sickening euphoria.

Her body slumped forward against the desk as her limbs turned to lead. The world around her flickered, fading in and out like a broken projection. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a tiny ember of resistance still burned. She clung to it desperately, her mind clawing against the drug’s grip, refusing to give in completely.

“Oh, she’s going to look perfect for the news crew, isn’t she, boys?” Dutch jeered, straightening up as he tucked the inhaler back into his pocket. He gestured at her limp form, an artist admiring their latest masterpiece.

The room erupted in laughter.

“I can’t believe those Demon bastards assaulted and drugged a little girl, Boss,” one of his henchmen said with mock indignation.

“The lengths these low lives will go to,” another chimed in, shaking his head.

Marinette’s mind was a battlefield, her instincts screaming at her to move, to fight, to do something. Her body, however, felt disconnected, like her brain was sending messages to dead stumps. But that ember inside her refused to die. Her ragdoll limbs twitched, then jerked awkwardly as she somehow managed to push herself off the desk. She swayed on unsteady feet, her head spinning, but she stood.

“Well, I gotta be honest, Boss,” one of the men said, pointing at her wobbling form. “She doesn’t exactly look the part.”

Dutch turned to her, his expression shifting from smug satisfaction to thoughtful amusement. He studied her with the air of a man contemplating his next cruel joke. Then, he nodded. “You know what? You’re right.”

He stepped closer, cracking his knuckles. “We just need to give her some make-up.”

The punch came fast, the power behind it unrelenting. Marinette barely registered the motion before his fist connected with her eye. She could struggle all she wanted, but at the end of the day, she was a frail teenager, and he was a full-grown man. The impact sent her reeling, her small frame flying across the room. Time seemed to slow as her body twisted in the air, her mind struggling to catch up with the delayed, agonizing sensation. She hit the ground with a sickening thud, pain blooming across her face as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Her vision swam, the world a distorted mess of colours and shapes. She could feel the warmth of blood dripping down her face, the sharp sting radiating from her swelling eye. The ember of resistance inside her flickered, dimming under the weight of her battered body and the drug coursing through her veins.

Marinette’s breath hitched as the warmth of the ambrosia began to overshadow the pain. Her mind grew foggy, the edges of her thoughts blurring into a hazy, distorted lull. Every ounce of her will screamed at her to fight, to hold on, but the drug was relentless. It coaxed her, lulled her, until her battered body couldn’t resist any longer.

“You see,” Dutch said, his voice ringing out mockingly as he sauntered toward her, “I did warn you about being a nosy little bitch.”

And finally, with the taste of blood and bitter defeat heavy on her tongue, Marinette let go.

Notes:

Mayura: "I think you're pretty neat."
Hawkmoth: "Somehow, this is a trap."

Adrien: *Panicking*
Marinette: *Living her villain origin story.*
Lila: *Vibing somewhere*

Next Time - A Shared Resolve:

Chat Noir wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. Really, in hindsight, it was a blur. He just knew, looking down at Marinette, his thumb hovering over that putrid, dark colour of pain that claimed her right eye, it awoke something within him. Something primal. Something savage. Something angry.

In the moment, he set her down gently and rose to his feet with a dark weight settling in his stomach. His claws instinctively flexed, eager to sink into something warm and squishy and wet their tips with blood. The green in his eyes seemed to burn particularly bright, crackles of aggressive energy escaping his eyelids and grazing his chair, as if Plagg was setting a paw on his back, pushing him forward, equally and furious.

His gaze fell on Alya, who fell on her back, breathless and afraid under the glare of a predator. He drew forth his claws, positioning them just under her head from his point of view. “Who did this?”

Chapter 32: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: A Shared Resolve

Summary:

Hawkmoth and Mayura fight a gluttonous beast for the horse miraculous while Chat contends with Dauntless over the bee.

Notes:

This chapter is longer than usual. Mostly because I couldn't find a place to split it into two chapters that I liked, plus I wanted to get the climax of this 'arc' out of the way.

Mayura never expected a burger king to look so threatening. It was a quint little building at some point, probably ripped from some service station and tucked in between it’s competitors. Now, all that remained was a build melted down until all it’s corners pointed inwards, placed precariously on the edge of a cliff. The inside was clean, but stained. None of the usual litter or grime were in sight, what tainted the image was the slime that dotted the corners, leaking in from the windows and bubbling like a boiling pot.

And then there was the mascot set up behind the counter. First time Nathalie had ever seen the burger king… Well, king. Scariest fucking thing she’d ever seen. Why were his eyes so lifeless? Why was he smiling like that? That was the smile of a man who had bodies in his basement.

She shook herself from her thoughts in time to join Hawkmoth in ducking down under the windows, carefully avoiding the trails of slime that seemed to gurgle at their presence. Hawkmoth pressed his back to the wall, gesturing for Mayura to be quiet, silently telling her that he glimpsed something beyond the window.

Cautiously, he took Sir Ronalds’ head and held it up to peek over the edge. “Is that our beast?” He whispered.

A clanking sound announced Ronald’s attempt to nod and made the whispering quite pointless. “I am afraid so, Curr Moth.”

Mayura shuffled over, joining the window-side scouting party. She only realized when her and Hawkmoth turned to each other at the same time just how close they were. There was no backing out now thought, so she gulped back her doubts, prayed to God that her cheeks weren’t flushing, and followed Hawkmoth in slowly rising to get a view of the car park.

The car park was a grotesque nightmare, the pavement coated in a sickly greenish-black slime that seemed to pulse faintly, as though it had a heartbeat of its own. Trails of ooze slithered across the lot like sluggish rivers, bubbling and hissing softly in the silence. At the centre of the chaos loomed the monster they had been tracking, a bloated, hulking mass of slime and refuse.

Mayura had never seen anything quite like it. The creature, which they had decided to call Gluttony, was a hideous amalgamation of organic and inorganic parts. Its body was primarily composed of thick, gelatinous slime, within which random pieces of junk—tires, broken furniture, shards of glass, even a rusted shopping cart—floated and shifted as though carried along by an invisible current. The junk seemed to occasionally fuse into its form, creating jagged, irregular protrusions that jutted out from the otherwise amorphous mass.

At its centre was something more solid, a vaguely head-shaped structure of rocky texture that jutted upward like a grotesque statue. The "head" was dominated by a massive maw, filled with sharp, uneven teeth that glistened wetly, looking more like shards of jagged stone than anything organic. The mouth stretched obscenely wide, and even from their position behind the window, Mayura could hear the wet, guttural sound of it breathing—or maybe it was growling.

Her breath hitched when she caught a glimmer of something inside the creature’s maw. It wasn’t immediately obvious, hidden behind rows of mismatched, razor-like teeth, but there it was: the Horse Miraculous. The shades perched precariously within the slime-coated cavity, glowing faintly, almost taunting her with their proximity.

Sir Ronald’s helmet caught the pale, sickly light of the car park as Hawkmoth raised it for another cautious peek. The faint glint danced across the cracked window, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, Gluttony moved.

The creature’s hulking form shifted with an unsettling, liquid grace, the slime sloshing and rippling like a tidal wave. The rocky "head" tilted, its massive maw creaking open, rows of jagged, mismatched teeth parting to reveal a cavernous, black abyss. And then it saw. Or maybe it sensed—the helmet, the glint, the trespassers.

Mayura froze, her breath catching as the air grew heavy, like the world itself had stopped to watch the monster's next move.

The miraculous inside the creature’s maw glowed brighter, its energy activating in response to the growing tension. A faint, otherworldly hum filled the air, vibrating in their bones. And then the maw opened wider—impossibly wide—and a swirling portal, shimmering with a strange, oily light, appeared in its gullet.

“Oh no,” Mayura breathed.

The portal pulsed once, and in an instant, something shot out of it with terrifying speed.

A lamp post, torn clean from its foundations, burst through the air like a spear hurled by an angry god. The metallic screech of it flying through the Burger King window was deafening, the force of it shaking the entire structure. It pierced through the building’s interior, the sharp end burying itself into the opposite wall with a violent crunch, missing Mayura by mere inches.

She stumbled back, her heart racing as shards of glass and chunks of plaster rained down around her. “It can use the miraculous!?”

Hawkmoth grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet as another portal began to swirl in the monster’s maw. “Apparently, yes. Move!”

The creature let out a guttural roar, the sound vibrating through the ground and walls, as more debris was sucked into its body. The miraculous pulsed again, and another object—a mangled car door—shot out of the portal, crashing into the far end of the room.

“It’s using whatever it’s absorbed!” Hawkmoth shouted, dragging Mayura toward the back exit.

“That thing has no idea how to use it properly!” Mayura snapped, barely keeping up as her heels skidded across the slimy floor.

“Improper or not, it’s going to level this building if we don’t get out!”

Behind them, the creature shifted again, its massive form oozing closer to the ruined building. Its rocky "head" tilted toward the shattered window, and the maw began to widen once more. The hum of the miraculous grew louder, the portal inside its mouth swirling faster.

“We can’t leave it with the Horse Miraculous,” Mayura hissed, glancing back at the grotesque figure looming closer. “It’s already too dangerous!”

“And we won’t,” Hawkmoth growled, his voice steely as he pulled her into the back alley. “But we won’t get it if we’re dead, either.”

The two barely managed to clear the building before another object—a section of a streetlight—crashed through the roof, sending debris and slime splattering into the night air. The Burger King trembled under the assault, its already precarious structure groaning as if threatening to collapse.

They ducked behind a dumpster, catching their breath as the creature’s roar echoed through the lot once more. Hawkmoth wheezed as he slumped down beside her. “Well… Silver lining; we know the portal’s in there.”

Mayura peeked around the corner, her eyes narrowing as she watched the monster's massive form slither further into the building, its slime bubbling and consuming everything it touched. “Any ideas how we’re gonna get the miraculous out of that thing?”

“I warned you both, this is a fool’s errand.” Ronald chirped. “There is no slaying that putrid creature.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m capable of.” Hawkmoth hissed. His breath regained, and his pride wounded, he pulled himself to his feet, tucking his cane under his arm and taking the stiff stance of a drill sergeant. “Nooroo, Duusuu; I require your aid.”

Duusuu zipped up to eye level, dragging a struggling Nooroo in tow. She slapped her paw over her forehead in salute. “Reporting for duty Mister Hawkmoth Sir!”

Nooroo yanked his paw free of her grasp. “Duusuu, I did not consent to being dragged into this.”

Hawkmoth decided to continue onward like Nooroo hadn’t spoken at all. “The plan is simple; if me and Mayura keep the creature distracted, you two can just phase through it and grab the miraculous.”

A strangled gasp escaped Nooroo, the little kwami tugging on Hawkmoth’s coat. “You want us to let that thing eat us!?”

Hawkmoth glowered down at the kwami, unimpressed. “You can literally become untouchable; that thing is of no danger to you unless you’re making suicidally stupid decisions.” He paused, considered it and waved his hand. “…On second thought, maybe this should be Nooroo’s solo mission.”

Before Nooroo could protest, Duusuu launched herself into Hawkmoth’s chest, bouncing off with a squeak as she zipped to hover in front of him. “Hey! I can do this! I’m a top-tier scavenger! Nobody retrieves a lost treasure like Duusuu!” She threw an exaggerated flex of her tiny arms. “You want that miraculous? I’ll get it for you!”

“Nooroo…”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t let her out of my sight.” Nooroo sighed, his antennae drooping. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.” He muttered to Hawkmoth, though there was no stopping Duusuu now. She had already bolted to the edge of the dumpster, peeking out at the monster like a predator sizing up its prey.

Hawkmoth crossed his arms and smirked, a glimmer of amusement breaking through his frustration. “See? That’s the spirit. Learn from her, Nooroo.”

Mayura leaned closer, lowering her voice as she glanced between the monster and the eager Duusuu. “You’re putting a lot of faith in her.”

“Duusuu thrives on spontaneity,” Hawkmoth replied with a shrug. “Besides, if it works, it works.”

The two kwamis disappeared around the corner, and Hawkmoth rose to join them, only for Mayura’s hand to shoot out instinctively to grab him by the arm. She knew hurting his pride was never going to end well, but nothing about letting him act as bait sat well with her. “Are you sure you don’t need to hang back, Handsome?”

Hawkmoth tilted his head, his expression unreadable behind the cracked mask, but there was a flicker of amusement in his voice. “And let you hog all the bragging rights? Fat chance.”

Her lips twitched at his response, but she wasn’t about to let it slide that easily. “I don’t mean to knock you here, but the butterfly isn’t exactly made for a strong offense without a champion to empower,” she pressed. “All you’ve got is your cane, and I don’t think sharp objects are going to do much against a sludge monster.”

Hawkmoth let out a low chuckle, his tone dipping into mock indignation. “The ignorance of the amateur,” he said, lifting his cane slightly as if to make a point. “Trust me, Mayura, there is far more to the butterfly than just making akumas. I’ve been in worse situations.”

Mayura raised a skeptical eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Still,” she insisted, “let me take the lead. With my sentiboard, I’m by far the most versatile target here. I can draw its attention without getting pinned down.”

He exhaled sharply, clearly wanting to argue but holding back. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “If you must. Just be careful.”

She smirked, giving his arm a light squeeze before letting go. “Careful now, Handsome. I might just start thinking you care.”

Hawkmoth turned his gaze toward the wreckage of the Burger King, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing the faintest trace of color creeping up his neck. “Don’t make me regret letting you take point,” he muttered.

Mayura’s smirk widened as she summoned her sentiboard beneath her feet, stepping onto it with a practiced grace. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave enough glory for you to get your share,” she teased, kicking off and gliding silently toward the corner where the kwamis had disappeared.

Hawkmoth followed a few steps behind, shaking his head with a muttered, “She’s incorrigible,” though there was a grudging admiration beneath the words.

As they crept closer, the sounds of the creature grew louder—a grotesque symphony of gurgles, grinding teeth, and wet sloshing. Mayura crouched on her board, signaling for Hawkmoth to stay low. She peeked around the corner, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the sludge monster.

The creature remained where it had been, its massive, oozing form pulsating like a grotesque heart. Random pieces of debris—trash cans, car bumpers, even a shattered shopping cart—jutted out from its slimy body at odd angles. At the center, the gaping maw loomed, its jagged, stone-like teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.

Mayura’s gaze locked onto the unmistakable glint of the Horse Miraculous, still nestled deep within the creature’s mouth. The kwamis were nowhere in sight, but she trusted Duusuu’s boldness and Nooroo’s caution to balance each other out.

Behind Mayura, she could faintly hear Ronald's muffled voice. “I must admit, despite your wretched nature, you have much courage, Craven.”

Hawkmoth let out a sharp scoff, gripping his cane tightly. “My attitude may be uncouth and my actions black-hearted, but I assure you that my cause is as righteous as any knight’s.”

“And what is it that you fight for, Sir Villain?” Ronald pressed, his tone dripping with an almost theatrical curiosity.

Hawkmoth straightened slightly, his voice gaining an air of defiance. “My lady love has been taken from me,” he said firmly. “I intend to use the power of the gods themselves to rescue her.”

Ronald paused, his tone softening with a surprising note of sincerity. “You fight for love? Then allow me to aid you in your escape.”

Hawkmoth cast a skeptical glance at the disembodied helmet. “No offense, but… you’re still just a head.”

“Ah,” Ronald admitted with what might have been a nod if he had a neck. “Right you are. That does complicate things, doesn’t it?”

“Actually…” Hawkmoth paused, his brow furrowing as he turned the idea over in his head. “You might still be able to help. How are you at insults?”

Ronald’s tone instantly perked up. “Well, I do not dare polish my own helmet, but many hearts have been slain by my barbed tongue.”

“Good,” Hawkmoth replied, his voice growing more resolute. “I need you to lay into me.”

Mayura, who had been focused on the creature, nearly stumbled off her sentiboard. She turned her head sharply, one eyebrow raised in utter disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?” she blurted, her voice a mix of incredulity and annoyance.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand either,” Ronald said, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Insult me,” Hawkmoth clarified, waving his hand impatiently. “Annoy me. Berate me. Push all my buttons. I need to get proper mad.”

Mayura opened her mouth to demand clarification but snapped it shut again, deciding she didn’t want to know what insane scheme he was brewing. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Handsome,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

Ronald, however, didn’t hesitate. “Very well, Craven. Prepare yourself, for my tongue is as sharp as Excalibur itself!” He cleared his non-existent throat and began, his voice dripping with theatrical venom. “Thou art but a worm in a moth’s clothing, scuttling through the shadows with all the grace of a drunkard! Thy schemes are more convoluted than a minstrel’s tall tale, and thy fashion sense is a tragedy to behold. That mask, sir, is an affront to both art and decency!”

Hawkmoth’s grip on his cane tightened, his jaw clenching as a vein twitched in his temple. “Keep going,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Ronald, encouraged, continued with gusto. “Thou doth strut about like a peacock in mourning, clutching thy ridiculous cane as though it might compensate for thine utter lack of—”

“That’s enough!” Hawkmoth snapped, his voice like a crack of thunder. He took a deep, steadying breath, glaring at Ronald with barely concealed irritation. “Good. That’ll do.”

Mayura watched with silent curiosity. Hawkmoth drew forth his cane, revealing the bladed end and holding it up to his temple. He closed his eyes shut; iron tight while his face morphed into multiple tense knots. For a moment, it was just him sweating and shaking as he concentrated on something. And then, the magic happened.

It started as what looked like a pimple growing on his forehead, a dark, squishy pimple that was growing at an excessive weight. Just when the pimple was big enough to be notable, it bursts, and from its depths leaked dark, crackling energy that reminded Mayura of the energy Gabriel pushed into his akumas before sending them out.

The energy locked onto his blade and surged down to the hilt.

Hawkmoth ripped the blade away, and she meant ripped. There was an invisible, palpable weight to the motion and the energy that came with it that made her imagine a bone being ripped from its socket. And from the wound spluttered putrid blood that gushed into the air, but did not falter to gravity. The purple blood pulsed and stretched, but could never find a shape, just floating around Hawkmoth’s head as misshaped sludge.

He coaxed them into his palm, holding them to his cheek with a dramatic sigh. “My poor akumas; hungry, desperate, but without any butterfly to call home.” The hand shot up, returning them to the sky, but this time buzzing with malicious energy. “Go my children and wreak havoc on this glutton!”

The akumas swarmed toward the creature, their chaotic energy cutting through the air with an unnatural hum. Their impact was no less unusual, hitting their target at high speeds only to bounce off the sludge harmlessly. A second of silence passed before the akumas sparked, rattled and them imploded with a booming echo of a distorted voice crying out ‘UNGREATFUL’.

As in, the very word itself materialized in front of the explosion and stabbed Glutton in the side. The word speared through the creature's side, carving deep into its oozing mass. Gluttony bellowed, its distorted roar shaking the ground beneath them.

Mayura clutched her sentiboard to steady herself, her eyes wide as she took in how much training Gabriel had apparently been up to in private. “What… Did you just do?”

Hawkmoth smirked, lowering his cane with the air of someone who had just proven a point. “An akuma is a bad experience filed down to a fine point.” He paused, holding up a finger for emphasis. “But without a form to contain it, the negative energy can be… Manipulated.”

“You just turned bad memories into missiles?” Mayura’s tone was incredulous, a mix of admiration and disbelief.

“I believe the kids would call it trauma dumping.”

---

Now, Hawkmoth wasn’t intending to try and impress Mayura at all. She was dead the moment this alliance of theirs ended.

But… He did like the electrifying feeling of capturing that amazed stare he managed to draw from her. And that was just from some mundane use of his akumas with brute force; imagine how she’d react when he tested some of his more (self-proclaimed) genius theories.

W-Which he wouldn’t. Because, again, he didn’t care what she thought. At all. She was simply the only audience he had right now.

Mayura’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Alright, Hawkmoth,” she said, her tone half-challenging, half-teasing. “What’s next? You gonna give it an existential crisis?”

He smirked again, brushing off the distraction in his head. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said smoothly, twirling his cane. “The blunt trauma was just to create ourselves an opening.”

Mayura rolled her eyes, but he caught the faint curve of a smirk on her lips before she turned away, readying herself for the next wave. And maybe—just maybe—he let his smirk linger a second longer than necessary.

Because, again, it wasn’t about her. It was about the artistry. Obviously.

He drew forth his blade, raising it high into the air with a flick of his wrist and cleaning it of what little memory remained to stain it. The tip pointed into the thick of the writhing mass that made up Glutton, indicating that, the beast’s roaring response to his attack had left that gaping maw wide open.

“Nooroo, Duusuu; now!” He cried out.

The two kwami appeared over his shoulder. Nooroo was the definition of uneasy. “I don’t know about this, Duusuu…”

Unfortunately for Nooroo, he was at Duusuu’s mercy as she snagged one arm around his shoulder and pulled him along as she charged forward at full power. “Don’t stop until we see the whites of their eyes!”

“It doesn’t have any eyes!” Nooroo's voice was lost to the wind as Duusuu, and by consequence him, dove head first into the creature's mouth.

“Alright, now time for the hard part.” Mayura called out as she shot upward on her sentiboard, narrowly avoiding a rusted shopping cart that came flying out of the beast’s mouth like a cannonball.

The projectile slammed into the ground beside Hawkmoth, who sidestepped just in time, his blade still held aloft. “Keep moving!” he barked. “It’s targeting us now. Let’s make sure it doesn’t notice them.”

As if to punctuate his statement, another piece of debris—this time what appeared to be a shattered bicycle frame—shot out from the creature’s maw, spinning wildly toward Hawkmoth. He blocked it with his cane, the impact sending a jarring vibration through his arm. He gritted his teeth, refusing to falter as he shouted at the beast. “Over here, you oversized mud puddle! Or are you too slow to catch me?”

Mayura rolled her eyes as she zipped through the air, dodging what looked like an entire park bench. “You’re really leaning into the taunting thing, huh?”

“It works,” Hawkmoth shot back, his tone clipped as he narrowly avoided yet another projectile. “Besides, I’m enjoying myself.”

“Of course you are,” she muttered under her breath, her attention turning back to the creature. The maw of the beast pulsed ominously, the sludge surrounding it bubbling as if in anticipation of its next attack.

The sludge began to churn violently, rippling outward in a sickening display of movement as if Glutton was gearing up for something big. Hawkmoth held his ground, bracing himself against the vibrations rippling through the air. “It’s getting angry,” he muttered, his grip tightening on his cane.

“Gee, you think?” Mayura shot back, circling above him on her sentiboard. “It’s almost like screaming insults at it worked a little too well.”

Her eyes widened as she saw the beast’s maw surge open, and something massive and gleaming began to emerge from the sludge—a rusted car bumper, the sharp edges glinting ominously in the dim light. It rocketed out of Glutton’s mouth like a bullet, aimed directly at Hawkmoth.

“Hawkmoth, move!” she yelled, but he was too focused on drawing the creature’s attention to notice the deadly projectile. Without thinking, Mayura swooped down, hooking an arm around his waist and yanking him out of the way just in time. The bumper slammed into the ground where he had been standing, kicking up a spray of dirt and slime.

Hawkmoth stumbled as Mayura deposited him further back, his pride clearly bruised. “I had that under control,” he grumbled, straightening his coat.

“Sure you did, Handsome,” Mayura quipped, unable to resist a smirk as she hovered just above him on her sentiboard. “Is your grand plan to tank the hits now? Because if so, it’s a bold strategy.”

He shot her a glare, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—gratitude, maybe? No, surely not. “I don’t recall asking for your assistance,” he retorted, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “If you’d just stick to your job, I wouldn’t have to—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mayura interrupted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Was me saving your life not part of the mission? I’ll be sure to let the giant sludge monster eat you next time.”

“I’d prefer you focus on distracting it,” he snapped, his tone haughty. “Not babysitting me.”

Not distracting me. A small part of him dared not to add.

“Babysitting?” She let out a sharp laugh, spinning her sentiboard in a playful loop. “You’re the one who froze up like a deer in headlights, Partner.”

“That’s Hawkmoth to you,” he bit out, his face flushing slightly—whether from irritation or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell.

“Whatever you say, Handsome.” She winked at him before zipping back into the air, narrowly avoiding another projectile—a tattered office chair this time.

Hawkmoth watched her for a moment, scowling, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the grudging admiration building in his chest. “Show-off,” he muttered under his breath before turning his attention back to Glutton.

He noted that, as the assault continued, Glutton was only getting bigger, the creature’s mass spreading into, and ripping apart, the burger king behind them. Now Gabriel had to consider the possibility that this thing might become a giant if they take too long.

Another wave of debris launched from the creature’s mouth, this time in rapid succession: a cracked mirror, a stack of broken pallets, and what appeared to be a refrigerator door. Hawkmoth ducked and weaved through the onslaught, his cane flashing as he deflected what he could. Above him, Mayura was darting through the air like a dancer, her movements precise and fluid as she taunted the creature with wild loops and sharp dives.

“Master, I’ve located the miraculous,” Nooroo’s voice crackled through the telepathic link, faint but triumphant.

Hawkmoth’s face lit up, a rare expression of relief crossing his features. “Excellent job, Nooroo! Now get out of there!”

A streak of blue shot out of the creature’s side as Duusuu emerged, slightly disheveled but grinning ear to ear. “Piece of cake!” she chirped, landing on Hawkmoth’s shoulder with a dramatic little bow. “Told you I was a top-tier scavenger!”

But Hawkmoth’s eyes darted back toward Glutton, narrowing. “Where’s Nooroo?”

Duusuu blinked and spun in place, looking over her shoulder. “Huh? He was right behind me…”

“Nooroo,” Hawkmoth called out, his tone edged with impatience. “Where are you?”

There was a long pause before Nooroo’s voice came through again, shaky and faint. “…M-Master…”

Hawkmoth stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t phase,” Nooroo stammered, the fear in his voice unmistakable. The kwami were gods, they were invincible; they shouldn’t be capable of real fear. “I’m stuck.”

“What?” Hawkmoth’s grip tightened around his cane, his jaw clenching. “That’s impossible. You’re a kwami!”

“I know!” Nooroo squeaked, his voice rising in panic. “But the creature’s absorption ability—it must be interfering with my kwami powers. I can’t phase through its sludge!”

Hawkmoth swore under his breath, his eyes narrowing at the writhing mass of Glutton. “Duusuu,” he barked, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch. “Go back to Mayura.”

Gabriel prided himself on being in control, both in an out of costume. He wasn’t the one to charge in without thought, he moved with purpose and logic as his wings even when that logic dictated an extreme reaction. But right now, he threw it all out the window when his body instinctively jerked forward, charging headfirst into the fray.

Mayura’s voice hit is back, but his legs kept pumping. “What are you doing!?”

“That monster has Nooroo!” His voice was raw, filled with an emotion he didn’t care to name.

Many would say that a bladed weapon would be of little use against a creature made entirely of barely solid matter that didn’t react much to being cut, but such logic eluded Hawkmoth’s raging instincts. His blade sung his cries of anger as he cut through the air, slicing into the sludge as he jumped into the thick of it.

“Master! Get away—it’ll eat you too!” Nooroo’s voice crackled through their link, desperate and pleading.

Again and again, he chopped, lashing out at the gunk sinking in around him like he was cutting through a jungle. It was all rushing towards him, he cut out openings to stand in, but every second he wasn’t slicing those openings were shrinking.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Gabriel barked, his tone sharp, but there was a frantic edge to it that sounded so pathetic on his ears.

“But Master—”

He roared, the vibration traveling down his blade, crackling with that rageful energy and generating a shockwave upon impact that parted the sludge into a large hole surrounding Hawkmoth.

“I said don’t tell me what to do!” He snapped again, louder this time, as though the force of his words alone could drown out his warnings.

The ground beneath his feet trembled as Glutton let out a guttural roar, the beast’s massive form undulating with fury as it sensed him approaching. He barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the creature, on the faint, flickering connection he still had with Nooroo. He could feel the kwami’s fear, his struggle, and it was like a dagger twisting in his chest.

I’m not losing him. Not today. Not ever.

Unfortunately, Glutton had other ideas, one of it’s new openings sparking with the power of the horse miraculous. Before Hawkmoth could respond, a blue portal walloped him with a church bell. He was punted across the sky, body crumbling and ears only hearing the bells of his demise chiming as he broke through several walls and objects during his flight.

Suffice to say that when he came to a sudden halt, his costume torn to rags and stained with his own blood, he was feeling the consequences of his actions; yet still his pride overturned anything to learn. He stared up at his savour, Mayura having caught him by the ankle, through a swollen lip.

“Let me go!” He snapped. “I wasn’t finished with it yet!”

Her eyes flickered between fear and anger, unable to decide how much she worried for him and how much she wanted him to shut up, hoisting him up onto the sentiboard with one yank. She decided on frustration by the time he shuffled onto his knees, scoffing. “You got knocked off the island.”

He was bleeding, shaking and neither would get in his way. “I was waiting for my second wind.”

Hawkmoth made a wobbling motion to move and, in that moment, Mayura probably legitimately thought he was about to jump off the sentiboard and pretend he could fly. She lunged forward, grabbing his shoulder with a vice-like grip and conjuring up a scowl that could melt him if he wasn’t careful.

“What is wrong with you?” She cried.

“My kwami is in danger!” He huffed, limply slapping away at her hand. He didn’t know what he was going to do or what it was going to accomplish, but he couldn’t do nothing. He wasn’t powerless this time, he didn’t have to watch this time; he was Hawkmoth, that meant he could do something this time. “We have to act quickly.”

Nooroo was in danger because of him.

They were going to lose Nooroo because of him.

He didn’t realize how much he had been struggling to breathe until Mayura pulled him flat against her body, the motion so sudden and heavy that it had him gasping out that last breath that got stuck in his lungs. Later, he might look back on this moment and realize that she was hugging him from behind.

“We have to act carefully.” It wasn’t flirty, or cold, or vicious; it was just a soft sound escaping her as she squeezed him tight. Squeezed him like he was precious, like she was desperate. “Flying off the handle isn’t your style, Handsome. You work best when you’re leading with that big brain of yours.”

He expected himself to struggle against her embrace, to throw out whatever vile insult came to mind, to do everything in his power to push her away. Yet, under the sway of her voice, the fearful stumble of her breath, and the thrums of her heart all lashing out at his ear, all he could do was sink.

He really hated Mayura, she made him feel so weak.

“Damn it.”

---

The light was blinking.

In the darkness of the room, where the enforcers sat motionless in their slumped, deactivated state, the flickering red light was all she could see. It burned with contempt, angrily ripping her attention to it and drowning out the rest of the world. Yet, if she leaned just enough away, she couldn’t feel the heat.

Yes, the cold was a deathly chill, but it was out of the light’s reach. If she closed her eyes and let the darkness become all that she could see, there was nothing in her way, nothing keeping her down, nothing guiding her. She could be free to breathe.

But that was not how she was designed, so she drew the helmet and the light that blared from the corner of it up to her eye, staring into the light long enough for the darkness to be blurred out by a burning pain. She allowed herself one last breath before she secured the helmet over her head.

There was nothing but light in Dantless’ world. There was no escape, no reprieve—only the unyielding pressure that crushed her beneath its glare. She was designed for this, built to withstand it, and she would shoulder the burden no matter how suffocating.

“Explain yourself, Daughter.” The voice hissed through the helmet.

Dauntless swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I… I-…”

“No miraculous. No glory. And you allowed a clown in a cat costume to damage my enforcers.” The words struck like a lash, precise and painful. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It won’t happen again, Mother,” Dauntless said calmly. There was a storm of emotions inside her, a potent mix of fear, anger and humiliation; but she said it calmly. Anything less than poise would be disrespectful.

“And how can we be sure of that?” Her mother’s voice wielded Dauntless’ nerves with ease, tugging on them hard enough to make Dauntless’ heart feel squeezed. “Perhaps I discharged you from the lab too early. Some more modifications should—”

“The night isn’t over yet, Mother.” Dauntless said quickly in a forced, calm whisper. Idly, her fingers ran down the length of her back, a story of many bad memories told in invisible scars. She was designed to be perfect, she didn't need any more upgrade, no more... Experiments. “I still have a cat to skin.”

There was a pause, then a derisive hum. “Hm, you’re implying that you still have a chance of finding him.”

Dauntless’s mind raced as she formulated her response, keeping her tone calm and measured. “Chat Noir was at that warehouse tonight for a reason.” She’d come to this conclusion and readied it in her head long before she answered the call, but even saying it out loud made her sound like she was desperately grasping on the spot. “Stealing smuggled goods doesn’t match his profile. He’s working with the Freedom Fighters. Either we find him at their base, or we make them call him in.”

There was no response. There was calculation and her mother scowling at the screen, searching for idiocy to pick upon. It took a full minute of Dauntless lost to the silent abyss until her mother had enough mercy to pull her to shore.

Her mother’s voice dropped, almost a growl now. “One more chance tonight, Daughter. Bring me the miraculous, and you will prove yourself to be a worthy creation.”

“The cat ambushed me and was blessed with luck, Mother.” Dauntless’s voice grew colder, sharper. “Our next bout won’t end the same way.”

“Luck,” Her mother repeated, disdain dripping from the word. “Luck is for the weak. Do not fail me again.”

---

“Alright, Plagg, let’s do this.”

Chat Noir always found a certain rush to any fall, no matter how small that moment of stretching his legs to their full length to launch him from the edge with no way to go back was a high that couldn’t be replicated. But this fall upped the ante, fuelled by the latent curiosity and intense anticipation of a new horizon, a new ceiling being achieved.

He dived over the edge as Chat Noir, but he would land with the grace, charm and power of…

“Bee me!”

He slammed face first into the ground.

“Ugh…” Chat groaned, lifting his face from the concrete and spitting out a stray blade of grass. His ears flattened in irritation as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Plagg’s voice in his head gave him a few moments to let the pain and humiliation sink in before he decided to speak. “…What?”

“You know, um… Uh…” Chat groaned as he propped himself up on his elbows, his tail twitching irritably behind him. “Didn’t Dad mention the other day that we could combine Miraculous?”

“Oh, right. That.” Plagg drawled, his voice carrying an air of indifference that only made Chat’s irritation grow.

“Well, go on. Do it!”

“Right.” There was a pause before Plagg hesitantly admitted, “I don’t know how.”

“Seriously?” Chat sat up, glaring into space and where he imagined Plagg’s physical form would be.

“There’s some special phrase you’re supposed to use!” Plagg shot back defensively, floating in lazy circles around Chat’s head.

“Bee Fuse!” Chat called out, his voice echoing into the night air.

An instinct prickled at the back of Chat’s neck, but he paid it no mind, lost in the fog of desperate ideas.

Plagg, on the other hand, knew the sixth sense ‘bad shit’ detector quite well. “Uh, Kid—”

“Merge!”

“Kid!”

“Become cat!” Chat said desperately, throwing his hands in the air.

“Will you-”

“Bee and Cat: Double Up!”

“LOOK UP, YOU MORON!” Plagg suddenly yelled, his tone snapping from amused to panicked.

Chat only had enough time to whip around and pull his arms together to block the coming blow, the air fizzing and dissolving to reveal his attacker in the aftermath of the impact, the familiar visor of Dauntless’ enforcer staring blankly back at him. The attack didn’t break him, but the shockwave of his heels digging into the floor cracked the environment apart.

With great effort, Chat managed to thrust his arms forward, forcing the android back to land with flawless grace into a smooth crouch. More androids dropped down beside it just to really rub it in Chat’s face.

“God damn it.” He hissed.

It’s time to run.

“I don’t run!” Chat snapped, gripping his staff tighter as he sized up his new opponents.

We’re low on energy, and those things have stamina for days.

Chat’s eyes darted between the three androids, his brain working overtime. The enforcers moved with mechanical precision, their motions too sharp, too fast for him to predict. But there was one thing they didn’t have—creativity.

“Infinite stamina, huh?” Chat muttered, spinning his staff and shifting into a defensive stance. “Let’s see if these tin cans can keep up with me.”

The lead enforcer charged first, its metal fist cutting through the air like a missile. Chat dodged to the side, barely avoiding the blow, and retaliated with a sweep of his staff that caught the android in its midsection. Sparks flew as the impact knocked it back into its companions, sending them staggering.

“Seriously? Already? Didn’t we just finish our last fight?” Chat barked, vaulting over the androids as they recovered. He landed a few feet away, his tail swishing behind him as he prepared for the next wave. “Damn, you guys don’t waste any time.”

The enforcers turned in unison, their blank visors glowing faintly in the dim light. Chat knew this fight wasn’t going to be easy, but if there was one thing he excelled at, it was improvising under pressure.

The clash of metal rang out in the courtyard as Chat Noir danced around the relentless strikes of the android enforcers. Each swing of their limbs was precise and calculated, designed to overpower and dismantle him with efficiency. He spun his staff, deflecting a blade-like arm away from his chest, then ducked low to avoid another strike aimed at his head.

But as he blocked an incoming kick and retaliated with a sharp strike to the enforcer’s leg, a thought crossed his mind: Where’s Dauntless?

The androids were more than enough trouble on their own, but Dauntless herself was the real threat. She never let her creations fight alone. Her absence set him on edge, making him feel like he was playing into a larger trap.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, though. One of the enforcers suddenly slashed its blade through the wall beside them, sending chunks of concrete and dust flying. Screams erupted from the other side, jolting him out of his focus.

Chat froze, his eyes darting to the gaping hole the android had created. Beyond it, dozens of faces stared back at him—wide-eyed and terrified. Civilians. Families. The people who had built this base into their home.

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath. His grip on his staff tightened.

This wasn’t like a typical fight in Paris. Ladybug wasn’t here to clean up the mess afterward. If the enforcers tore this place apart, there wouldn’t be a lucky charm to rebuild it. These people didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. Alright, Chat, keep your head on straight. You’ve gotta keep these tin cans busy.

“Hey, Ro-Bros!” He called, flipping backward to put distance between himself and the civilians. The enforcers turned toward him, their blank visors locking onto his movements. “Why don’t you pick on someone who can actually fight back?”

With that, he charged forward, spinning his staff and aiming a series of quick, precise strikes at their joints. The enforcers stumbled slightly under the barrage, their mechanical limbs jerking awkwardly as they recalibrated.

“C’mon, keep up!” he taunted, leaping over one of their heads and landing behind them. He swung his staff low, sweeping their legs out from under them. One of the enforcers toppled into another, creating a domino effect that sent sparks flying.

But just as he started to feel like he had the upper hand, he caught sight of another problem—a small group of people frozen in place by the bee miraculous. They stood like statues in the middle of the chaos, completely oblivious to the destruction around them.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kitten me,” Chat groaned.

One of the enforcers shifted its focus toward the frozen civilians, its blade-arm gleaming as it prepared to strike.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Chat shouted, diving forward and planting himself between the enforcer and its target. He deflected the blade with his staff, then turned and scooped up the nearest frozen figure—a young boy—before sprinting to a safer spot.

“Sorry, Ro-Bros,” he called over his shoulder, carefully setting the boy down against a wall. “But I can’t fight you yet. I’ve gotta make sure my friends here are all seated for the show.”

He darted back into the fray, grabbing another frozen civilian and dragging her out of harm’s way just as an enforcer’s blade slammed into the ground where she’d been standing.

“W-What’s going on?!” A familiar nasally voice reached Chat’s ears, which meant that Louie was way too close to the action for comfort. “What did you do to her?”

Robot attack with everyone screaming is not the best time for 20 questions, but okay.

He turned to Louie huffing his way through a strained smile, seeing the boy dishevelled and horrified. He reminded himself that Louie had been at the warehouse too and, from his perspective, was seeing Chat bring the robots all the way back home.

“Can’t explain the details now, Lou- Uh, strange person I just met.” He cleared his throat. Get the essentials down, he told himself, no time to dawdle. “The base is under attack and people like your buddy here are temporarily paralyzed. Spread the word, get people to evacuate and let the adults handle this, okay?”

Louie’s eyes widening was the only signal Chat needed. He heaved a heavy sigh, spun around and, without even double checking with a glance, thrusted his staff into the attacking enforcer’s already damaged armour and gutted the robot apart from the inside. He was sure that if this was a human this would be a rather gruesome kill.

He wheezed slightly on his return turn to Louie, smoothing out his hair and offering a tired grin. “Uh… We clear?”

“Whoa!” Louie gasped, vigorously pointing at the robot corpse. “You just shredded that guy.”

Chat nodded. He looked past Louie, to the people fleeing, to the pieces of the building he couldn’t save; and most importantly, to the people he couldn’t save. Some were wounded, some were limping, and some weren’t moving. All because he didn’t get out fast enough.

He couldn’t be everywhere at once, but he only needed to be in one place to have everyone’s attention; wherever Dauntless was hiding.

“Yeah,” He growled. “And I’m gonna do much worse to the one behind all this.”

---

Alya Cesaire was not ready for today.

It started with her being rudely awoken from her dreams by her sister lobbing her phone at her head. And, considering that Nora was a 6-foot-tall beast of a woman with biceps that could squash a human head like a grape, she turned that palm-sized little device into a high precision bullet that very well could have taken out Alya’s nose.

Her sister didn’t explain much, just that Alya needed to answer her damn phone before it woke up the entire house. Nora could have simply put the phone on silent, but hey Alya was willing to do that unbearable thirty seconds of work for the sake of her family.

It was when she switched the phone on in the process of putting it to silent that she saw the dozens upon dozens of missed calls and texts from Marinette. If that wasn’t alarming enough, the few she could glance at first were all in caps lock and plagued with bad grammar and spelling; and if Marinette wasn’t taking her time to be pointlessly literate in a text to her friend, shit was going down.

Suffice it to say that this was the tensest bike ride of Alya’s life as she repeatedly tried and failed to get a hold of Marinette’s phone.

That brought her back for the rest of this day; and she was most assuredly not ready for this after her beauty sleep, much less so in the dead of night.

It was chaos, a chanting of screams and distant booms welcoming her to the familiar site. The gates of the compound had been flattened by a stampeding army of bodies, all vying against one another to escape to the streets. No one paid any attention to the lone girl badly fighting the elements in her winter coat, they simply parted to avoid her path, leaving her a convenient line to chase through it all.

“What the hell is going on!?”

She’d just broken through the gate boundary when the universe decided to answer her. A man was thrown into the wall just as she entered the compound, his body making a sickening thud as it landed. A figure, plated in dark colours, crept towards him with no mind to the non-threatening teenager beside it. She could almost mistake it for just a tall, well-built human if it wasn’t for the gaping wound in its chest that revealed the circuitry underneath.

Thankfully, the man may have been bruised, but he wasn’t done for. He quickly fumbled for the shotgun at his side, which he managed to bring it just in front of him and- Bang! The android’s head was turned to molten metal and the body collapsed to the floor.

The full-grown man armed with a shotgun and standing triumphant over the robot threat promptly got the hell out of there as soon as possible. The teenage girl with only a taser to defend herself with? She sighed, but she still pressed on deeper into the lion’s den.

“Was that a robot ninja?” She hissed under her breath. “Damn it, Mari, what did you get yourself into?”

She didn’t get so much as five feet further before the universe slapped her with the truth again, this time knocking her to the floor as another body collided with her. At this point, she had to wonder if this was karma for not picking up the phone the first time. Rubbing her aching head, Alya sat up to see her attacker, recognising Louie bundled in a scarf and flat cap, looking as red as a bruised apple.

“Hey, Louie.”  Alya groaned, accepting the hand he offered to pull her to her feet. “You okay?”

He let out an exhausted whistle, taking off his cap to wipe off his forehead. Breathlessly, he shrugged off her concern. “Alya, what are you doing here?”

Alya held up her phone with a tired, dead stare. “I got a bunch of texts from Marinette. I guess I’ve found out why.”

The moment he got his wind back in him, Louie was bursting free with a mixture of excitement and terror. “These weird robot things are attacking, and somehow they’re making people freeze!” There was a half-frown and half-grin. This was either the end of the world or the start of the coolest day ever for the boy. “Dutch and the others are fighting back, but Chat Noir told me to help everyone evacuate.”

She stroked her chin. “Freeze, huh?” Or more like stunned, if she had to bet. The Bee miraculous must have become active without a holder, firing blindly at anyone and everyone.

It took her a good minute to catch onto the other important piece of information. “Wait, did you say Chat Noir!?”

“I know, right?” Louie threw his hands behind his head, snorting through half-lidded eyes. “It was so cool, he just punched one of the robot’s head off; one punch! And he, like, diss-erm-bowel-led another.”

Now, Louie struggled to pronounce ‘disembowelled’, but Alya got the gist.

On one hand, she wanted to question his excitement considering the situation, but she had a feeling that a reality check would only make things worse. And, maybe there was a bit of her that realized how hypocritical that question would sound coming from the story-hungry teenager who regularly charged head first into certain death just to get views for her blog.

But that was different for her, she was journalist, she had a free pass to be crazy.

Still, she found herself grabbing hold of his shoulders just to keep him focused on her. “Does that mean Hawkmoth and Ladybug are here too?”

His movements came to a stop, tilting his head curiously as he tried to think. Which, really, was already answer enough. Hawkmoth was not the type of man you needed to think if you saw or not; he liked to ensure that everyone saw him.

“I haven’t seen any super villains, but I didn’t really have time to look.” He replied with a shrug. “And I know I didn’t see anything spotted, just the cat guy.”

Chat Noir was on the scene, androids were invading, the bee miraculous was wild and active, everything was going to hell, and, for some reason, Marinette wasn’t transforming. That couldn’t mean anything good.

Alya took a deep breath, both to order her thoughts and to push aside the fear of the answer her question could bring. “Have you seen Mari at all?”

Louie shook his head, looking down at his feet shamefully. “No, I thought she went home with you guys.” Silence passed between them, a new, unsettling weight pressing down upon Alya’s shoulders. It was broken when Louie’s head snapped back up, hi eyes uncertain but blazing as he gripped her shoulders right back. “I can help you look for her.”

A sigh of relief escaped her. She didn’t know how happy she was to hear that. “Thanks.”

Alya and Louie crept through the crumbling halls of the compound, their footsteps muffled by the chaos surrounding them. The once-abandoned factory, retrofitted to house Dutch’s gang, now looked like a warzone. Scorch marks from plasma slices marred the walls, shattered crates spilled their contents across the floor, and the faint glow of malfunctioning lights flickered ominously overhead.

The two stuck close to the shadows, sneaking past several firefights between Dutch’s gang and the advancing androids. The sound of gunfire and shouts echoed through the halls, making every corner they turned feel like walking into the unknown. Louie peeked around one such corner, spotting a trio of android enforcers locked in a heated battle with some of Dutch’s crew. A pair of gang members fired wildly, their bullets sparking harmlessly off the robots’ reinforced armor.

Alya tugged on Louie’s sleeve, gesturing toward an alternate route that led them through a side corridor. They moved quickly, ducking between frozen figures. People struck in mid-run, some with terrified expressions etched onto their faces, lined the hallway like eerie statues. The golden glint of the Bee Miraculous’s venom still sparkled faintly across their bodies, a grim reminder of what had been unleashed.

“I really hope this wears off eventually,” Alya whispered, sidestepping a man frozen mid-scream. “Mari, what mess did you land in this time?”

Louie gulped, “This place is gonna need a miracle to fix.”

“Or a Ladybug,” Alya muttered under her breath.

They pressed on, narrowly dodging another patrol of androids stomping down the hallway. Alya held her breath, clutching her taser tightly, while Louie hovered at her side, doing his best impression of a statue. Once the patrol passed, they hurried on, weaving through debris and more paralyzed bodies.

At the very least, it brought some measure of comfort and hope that the androids had no interest in the victims, nor the civilians. They were here for the miraculous, and Chat Noir. They only engaged with Dutch’s men because they were an active threat. At least, that’s what Alya told herself to quell the guilt of leaving those people there.

Finally, they reached Dutch’s office, the wide steel door hanging crooked on its hinges. Alya pushed the door open carefully, her heart sinking as she took in the state of the room. The once-cramped office was now a disaster zone. The desk had been split in half, papers scattered everywhere. Metal shelving units lay overturned, their contents littering the floor. Worst of all, part of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving chunks of concrete and rebar strewn across the space.

Louie shuffled nervously behind her. “Do you think Dutch is okay?”

“Focus,” Alya said firmly, stepping further into the room. Her eyes scanned the destruction, searching for any sign of Marinette. The tension in her chest grew with every second of silence. Where was she? Had she—?

Then, beneath a pile of debris near the collapsed ceiling, Alya caught sight of something small and pale. Her breath hitched as she stepped closer, leaning down to get a better look.

A hand.

“Oh my god, Marinette!” she cried, dropping to her knees. She reached out, frantically brushing away the smaller pieces of rubble that covered her friend’s limp arm. Louie crouched beside her, his hands trembling as he joined her effort.

“Hang on, Mari,” Alya said, her voice shaking. “We’ll get you out. Just hang on.”

The weight of the larger debris made the task difficult, but adrenaline and sheer determination fueled them. Bit by bit, they cleared the wreckage, revealing more of Marinette’s still form. Her face was pale, her body completely still, her clothes dusty from the destruction. Alya’s heart clenched painfully, choking back a gasp at the swelling black eye Marinette was sporting.

“Is she… frozen too?” Louie asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alya hesitated, then placed her hand on Marinette’s cheek. To her relief, it was warm, but unresponsive. “No,” she murmured. “She’s not frozen… but she’s out cold.”

“Do… Do you think she’ll be okay?” Louie asked, panic starting to creep into his voice.

“She may look little, but my girl’s a tough one.” Alya bit her lip, glancing toward the shattered remnants of the office. She pressed her fingers to Marinette’s throat, looking for a pulse, for movement, anything to indicate life. After a moment of silence, she sighed. “She’s breathing.”

---

He stumbled through the dark corridors in almost a daze, blood and oil mixing together as they dripped down from his head to his shirt. It had been a slight miscalculation on his part, he hadn’t expected Dauntless to up her gang of enforcers to an entire army after she easily cut through the warehouse with only a small cluster of numbers. But it wasn’t lost, it just meant he had to get his hands dirty and take a few of the metal bastards down himself.

Still, he could do without the headache, or the new bruise along his throat. Damn bot had spent it’s final moments – before his pistol shot it’s way through whatever counted as a heart for robots – trying to strangle him. He’d live. He always did. He was a survivor, and a survivor’s best tool was the ability to adapt.

He retraced his steps, the newly minted halls and clutter dominating the base making the layout feel like a whole new building, trying to find his way back to his spot before the ambush. Luckily, there were voices that pulled him in the right direction, looking for the same person he was at this time.

He crept up the steps as quiet as a mouse, which he would note was pretty impressive while he was nursing a bloody wound and a pounding head. On the final step he crouched down, slumping up against the side of a new hole made in the office wall, sneakily peering inside.

Alya cradled a slumped over Marinette while Louie stood over them, hopelessly lost. For a minute, the girl was murmuring small prayers and pleas to the unconscious girl, begging Marinette to wake up, reminding her of how much stuff she needed to finish before she died.

However, soon enough it became clear that such soft words were falling on no ears at all. Alya grew impatient.

So…

She slapped Marinette.

“Get your ass up, Mari! We don’t have time to sleep in today!”

The sound of the slap echoed through the room, startling Louie and even Dutch, who flinched slightly from his hiding spot.

Marinette groaned softly, her head tilting slightly to the side.

“Oh my god, it worked!” Louie exclaimed, his voice filled with equal parts relief and amazement.

Alya leaned closer, shaking Marinette’s shoulder gently. “That’s right, girl. Wake up. You’re not leaving me to deal with this mess alone.”

Marinette’s eyelids fluttered; her gaze unfocused as she slowly came to. “Al… Lee… Yaaah…?” she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible.

Alya grinned, tears of relief brimming in her eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.” She wasted no time yanking Marinette up into a hug. “Oh, thank God. You almost gave me a heart attack, girl.”

Dutch had originally planned to watch this play out from afar. There was a perfect spot in the next room over that he could use to listen in without being seen, to make sure he was there when Marinette was woken up and he could ensure just how well her memory held up without his presence making her think to lie.

That plan got delayed when the androids ambushed him and ripped him through a wall. But no matter, he found his way back, and at the perfect time too.

He narrowed his eyes as he studied Marinette. Even though she was awake now, he knew she wasn’t fully herself. The ambrosia was still coursing through her veins, painting her reality with its sickly sweet distortions. She might seem coherent, but the drug would linger, making her thoughts slow and foggy, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

And then there was the forced positivity—that unnerving side effect of ambrosia that turned even the most horrifying memories into bright, sunny lies. Dutch had seen it in others before: a smile that didn’t belong, laughter at the wrong moments, and those hauntingly dreamy echoes of past joys. Right now, Marinette’s mind would be flooded with fractured snippets of her happiest memories, replaying on a loop with just enough realism to keep her hooked.

It was a cruel trick of the drug—giving its victims a taste of euphoria, making them feel like everything was okay, even as their bodies betrayed them. Dutch smirked darkly. He couldn’t help but wonder what scenes Marinette was reliving now. Was she remembering a lazy afternoon sketching designs, her parents baking in the background? Or maybe a moment with her friends, laughing and teasing each other over something ridiculous? Whatever it was, it was keeping her docile, unable to fully grasp the danger around her.

He watched as Marinette tried to move around, every attempt delayed and limp, making her look more like someone tossing around limbs on a doll than anything else.

“Whoa, easy there, champ,” Alya said, her voice a mixture of amusement and concern. “You’re not running a marathon just yet.”

Marinette blinked slowly, her gaze unfocused as she looked at Alya. “I… I’m okay,” she murmured, though her slurred speech betrayed her. “I just… I had the nicest dream. You were there, and Louie was there… and everything was… perfect.”

Dutch chuckled quietly to himself. Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea where you are right now.

Alya frowned, clearly unsettled by Marinette’s odd tone. “Yeah, well, hate to break it to you, but this isn’t a dream. We’re in a mess, and we need to get you moving.” She glanced at Louie. “Help me get her up.”

Louie hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, slipping an arm under Marinette’s and helping Alya lift her to her feet. Marinette swayed unsteadily, her head lolling to the side as she let out a soft, giggly sigh.

“It’s so… warm,” she murmured, a dazed smile spreading across her face.

Alya’s brow furrowed deeper, her worry now edged with a rising frustration. Marinette wasn’t just woozy—she was completely out of it. “Mari, snap out of it,” Alya urged, her tone growing firmer as she grabbed her friend by the shoulders and gave her a light shake.

Marinette’s smile faltered, and her dreamy expression shifted into something darker, a flicker of anger clouding her features. “Stop it,” she muttered, her voice low and trembling.

Alya blinked in surprise but didn’t back down. “I’m trying to help you, girl. You’re not okay right now, and we need to get out of here!”

But Marinette’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, her voice rising in anger and desperation. “Why are you doing this?” she snapped, trying to shove Alya’s hands away with clumsy, uncoordinated movements. “You’re ruining everything! Everything was fine until you—”

She choked on her words, her anger crumbling into something more fragile. Her breaths became rapid and shallow, her chest heaving as panic set in. “No, no, no… stop… please stop,” she whimpered, curling in on herself as her hands flew to her head. “Why… why does it hurt so much?”

Ah, Dutch mused, the come down is always a bitch.

Alya’s frustration melted into alarm. “Oh, Marinette… No, no, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice softening as she knelt down to Marinette’s level. Gently, she placed a hand on her friend’s back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. “It’s okay, Mari. You’re okay. I’m here, alright? Just breathe with me. In and out, nice and slow.”

Louie hovered nearby, his hands twitching nervously. “Is… is she gonna be okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s just overwhelmed,” Alya said, though the tightness in her throat betrayed her worry. “She’s probably been through a lot, just look at the state of her face. But she’ll pull through. She has to.”

Marinette’s breathing gradually slowed under Alya’s calming presence, though her shoulders still trembled. After what felt like an eternity, she finally lifted her head, her eyes glassy but more focused than before. Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

“W-Where am I?”

Alya exchanged a glance with Louie, then turned back to Marinette, her expression gentle but serious. “In a whole lotta trouble.” She admitted, trying to keep the mood light. “The Freedom Fighters are getting attacked by ninja robots, and I am not even joking.”

Despite her clear distress and exhaustion, at seeing Alya’s face Marinette managed a small smile. “So, just an average Tuesday?”

A relieved sigh. Marinette wasn’t 100%, but she was there. “Now is not the time to be cute.” “Can you stand?”

“I can-” Marinette tries to push herself up. It goes better than last time, but she still stumbles back into Louie and Alya’s arms. “I can manage.” She croaked.

“No offence, but you look terrible.” Alya said, hooking her arm around Marinette’s hip and letting the smaller girl rest against her. “What happened to you?”

Marinette squinted through the pain, murming. “I… I was… Attacked.”

“By the robots?”

“No.”

Dutch’s hairs stood on end, the beam of light dripping in through the broken ceiling perfectly angled to catch his wolfish grin and the glint of his pistol as he raised it up.

“Maybe?”

Three defenceless teenagers. One of them practically a cripple. None of them know he’s here. It would be a cakewalk to silence them all. He had enough bullets.

“I don’t know.” Marinette eventually admitted, groaning. “My head hurts like hell.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Alya asked softly, her voice calm but coaxing as she kept Marinette supported. Louie glanced at her nervously, his own unease mounting with each passing moment.

Marinette’s brows furrowed as she tried to dig through the haze in her mind. “I was… in the warehouse,” she murmured slowly, each word dragging out like pulling a heavy weight. “And… Adrien… Adrien was…”

Her voice hitched, her confusion deepening. “And Chat Noir was there. And… And…” She groaned, her hands clutching at her head like the pressure of her own thoughts might split it apart.

Alya tightened her grip on Marinette’s waist, cutting her off gently. “Okay, chill the brain activity for now,” she said firmly, a forced casualness to her tone as she tried to ground her friend. “You’re in no state for it.”

Marinette looked up at her, bewildered and vulnerable. Alya offered a small smile, brushing some stray strands of hair from Marinette’s face. “Let’s get you out of here, huh?”

Louie nodded quickly, shifting to Marinette’s other side to help. “Yeah, let’s… let’s get moving,” he said, glancing nervously toward the distant echoes of metallic footsteps.

With a barely restrain, but satisfied chuckle, Dutch holstered his weapon. She didn’t remember any of her revelations about Dutch, which meant she was free to live long enough to be a useful, controllable asset.

Ah, he did love coming out ahead.

---

For a time, there was bliss. Marinette was lifted up by the softest clouds where her body was allowed to rest, to relax.

Her world was a swirling haze of colours and sensations, each one fighting for dominance in her fractured mind. The weight of her own thoughts was unbearable, like struggling to swim through syrup while the echoes of past conversations and memories stuck to her limbs, willing her to stay submerged. The effects of the ambrosia clung to her like a second skin, twisting her reality until she could barely distinguish what was real from what was a phantom.

She felt like she was moving underwater. Every step Alya and Louie coaxed out of her felt delayed, her limbs responding seconds too late as if her body wasn’t her own. Her breathing came in shallow gasps, her chest tightening with the strain of trying to keep up with the world around her.

And the memories—God, the memories. They didn’t just play in her head; they surrounded her, pulling her into a kaleidoscope of sensations. She could feel Adrien’s hand brushing hers, the warmth of his smile so vivid it made her chest ache. But then it twisted—his smile turned sharp, his touch cold, and his figure shifted into Chat Noir’s shadowed silhouette. She blinked hard, but it was like closing her eyes only made it worse.

Snippets of voices, distorted but familiar, reverberated in her skull: Alya’s laughter, Tikki’s reassurances, even Gabriel Agreste’s cold, clipped tone from some distant memory. They overlapped and looped, fragments of conversations that made no sense. The worst were the dreams, though—the stolen echoes of happiness that felt so real she almost wanted to stay in them.

Marinette stumbled, her knees buckling, and Louie’s steadying hand was the only thing that kept her upright. Her fingers dug into Alya’s arm as her chest heaved. She didn’t know if she was crying or just gasping for air; all she knew was that the reality in front of her felt paper-thin, and the edges of her vision were crumbling.

Her lips moved as she muttered incoherent snippets of her memories: “… Adrien… warehouse… Chat Noir…” The words felt foreign even as they left her mouth. A sharp ache lanced through her skull, and she whimpered, clutching at her head as Alya’s worried voice cut through the chaos.

Alya’s hand brushed her cheek, grounding her just enough to pull her back to the present. Marinette’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on her best friend’s face. The kindness in Alya’s expression anchored her for a moment, even as the warped positivity of the ambrosia tried to whisper that everything was fine, that none of this was real, that she could just float in this dream forever.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, through the haze and chaos, a single question clawed its way to the surface. It broke free from the swirling storm in her head, trembling and uncertain: “W-Where’s Adrien?”

“Marinette, thank God you’re alive.” Dutch’s voice hit her like a cigarette burn on her skin, a sudden surge of fight-or-flight instincts ripping her from the dizzy haze and back to reality.

Why she had this instinctual reaction to Dutch’s arrival… Huh, she didn’t know. Well, it must be just him taking her by surprise when danger was already knocking at their door. Still, she found herself instinctively leaning into Alya, propping up the girl as a shield across her front.

She found Dutch limp against the door frame as if he’d just thrown himself against it, one hand clutching a fresh wound on his right arm. His face was a mess of sweat, blood and oil as he staggered forward, weak and weary. “I almost thought I was too late.”

Louie scrambled up to meet him half way, gasping. “Dutch, are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

“Never mind that, just a few scratches.” He patted Louie on the shoulder. “How is Marinette holding up?”

Alya smiled at Dutch and Marinette felt herself grip her friend tighter. “Woozy, but stable.” A comforting hand came to rub soothing circles into Marinette’s back.  “Did you see what happened?”

Dutch’s face scrunched up, brows trembling as if they were fighting tears before he ripped his gaze way. “I was there.” He answered bleakly, hiding his face under the shadow of the collapsed ceiling. “One of the robots ambushed us and- And…”

A beat passed as Dutch turned his back on the group, leaning forward with quiet, retching motions like he was choking something back. A few times he tried to speak, but no words were allowed to leave before his breath gave out to a shudder.

Eventually, pinching the bridge of his nose and bringing his chin up, he sighed. “I wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough.” He moved to the wall for support, resting his head against his forearm. “The metal bastard nailed me through a wall and just started wailing on the poor girl. I’m sorry, I failed to protect her.”

Marinette shook her head, fighting against every bone in her body screaming for her to stay way in order to push off of Alya and make her way over to Dutch. She felt unsteady with every step, but she stayed on track until she was close enough to rest her hand on his back.

She smiled. She didn’t know why it hurt so much inside to smile, but she managed it. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure you did what you could.”

She may have had her suspicions about Dutch, but if he was willing to go through all this just to protect her, he couldn’t be that bad, right? Maybe she was just being overly paranoid.

Alya joined her with a firm nod. “What’s important is that we keep her safe now.”

Dutch hesitated, but eventually he turned around, placing his hand over Marinette’s and bowing his head. “You’re absolutely right.” He patted her hand one more time before pushing it away, his usual grin returning as he rounded on Louie. “Louie, do you know how the rest of the base is faring?”

Louie straightened up, glancing between Dutch and the girls before nervously answering, “Anyone who’s armed has stayed to fight, but me and the others managed to get everyone we can to safety.”

Dutch’s grin sharpened like the edge of a blade. “Fantastic. I’m so proud of my boys. Always know how to prioritize.” He tapped Louie lightly on the shoulder. “But tell me, has anyone seen Darcy?”

Louie’s brow furrowed as he thought back. “Not really, but I think she’s fine.” He hesitated, glancing at Dutch’s face as if gauging his reaction before adding, “I saw Chat Noir jumping out of her room when the attack started.”

The name hit like a gunshot, though Dutch didn’t let his reaction show beyond a flicker of interest. “Chat Noir, huh?”

Louie’s nervousness broke into something more eager, a faint grin forming. “Yeah, it’s super cool, isn’t it?”

Dutch tilted his head, his smile pulled tight, though his voice remained calm. “It’s… Perfect.”

Dutch clapped his hands together, breaking the tension like snapping a twig. “Alright, everyone get behind me. I’ll make sure we get out of here in one piece.”

Louie nodded, clearly relieved to defer to Dutch’s leadership. “You got it, boss.”

As Dutch started leading the way, Alya murmured to Marinette, low enough that Louie wouldn’t hear, “I know you just got out of a concussion, but I think this would be a good time to bring in Ladybug.”

Marinette blinked, still dazed but managing a weak, “Yeah… You’re right. The transformation will make me feel good as new anyway. Hand me Tikki.”

“…Huh?” Alya froze mid-step, glancing at Marinette like she’d just spoken in another language.

Marinette sighed, her patience paper-thin in her current state. “Give me the earrings? The ones you took from my house?”

Alya’s expression quickly morphed from confusion to sheer panic. “Wait, you don’t have them?”

“Why would I have them?” Marinette shot back, her tone sharpening despite her exhaustion. “You’re the one who told me not to involve Ladybug!”

“Yeah, that means don’t transform, not leave your only line of defence at home!” Alya whisper-yelled, throwing her free hand up in exasperation.

Marinette glared at her best friend, her weak frame trembling more from frustration than her lingering injuries. “Alya… If I had my Miraculous, why exactly did you think I was calling you into a warzone for?”

“Moral support?” Alya suggested, her voice small but earnest, as though she truly hadn’t thought this through.

Marinette groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Alya, I swear—”

---

Chat figured he’d find her on the roof, commanding from a vantage point where she could oversee everything. However, while he did find Dauntless on the roof of the factory, she didn’t look like she was taking charge of anything. She sat cross-legged, perched on a smokestack’s rim, head bowed; almost as if she were sleeping.

No care given to the chaos around her, just a gentle calm, grounding herself in the moment, and when she stirred at his approach, Chat realized that she’d been waiting for him to come to her.

“Call your goons off.” He snarled, driving his staff into the roof. “Now.”

Her helmet rose to meet his gaze, and despite not being able to see her eyes, he could feel her matching his narrowed stare. A moment of withheld action passed, a silent challenge waiting for Chat to rise up and make the first blow, but when he stood his ground, she relinquished her pause and made a simple gesture over her wrist-device.

While Chat didn’t take his eyes off her, his enhanced hearing managed to pick up to many little buzzes of movement as the androids pulled their metal frames up to whatever rooftop they could find to surround the fight. He didn’t count them, but he was sure this was more bots than he fought back at the warehouse. And he knew Dauntless wasn’t above sicking them all on him.

Dauntless rose to her feet in one limp movement, a puppet being pulled up by strings. An affirmative ‘hm’ voiced her sneer before her words hit him. “You don’t look so good, Cat.”

Chat let his eyes wonder downward, finding that the device he smashed previously was no longer on her hip, in it’s place was thin seams suggested she’d managed to add a compartment of her suit to hide it inside. “You’re looking better, Daunty.” He allowed himself to grin, cupping his hand over his eye and squinting, as if trying to get a real good look at her. “Don’t worry, your horrible personality balances it out.”

“Make your feeble jokes count while you still can.” One smooth click and flick of her wrist and her blade was held aloft, unfurled to full length and back to its burning blue glow. “I assure you that you will not be leaving this encounter alive.”

“You lose one fight and you’re already making death threats. You are such a sore loser.”

The sound of her decent, her metal armour grinding the metal of the rooftop under her heel, was loud enough to drown out any frustrated growl she might have made.

Dauntless’s helmet tilted slightly, a subtle motion that somehow radiated disdain. “You really think you’re clever, don’t you?” she said, her voice carrying a dangerous calm as she stepped forward, the glowing blade humming softly in her hand. “Hiding your fear behind bad jokes and overconfidence. Typical.”

“And you’re hiding behind a bunch of tin cans and a fancy light show,” Chat shot back, his grin never wavering. “We all have our defense mechanisms.”

Her steps slowed, stopping just a few paces away. The androids around them shifted slightly, adjusting their positions like wolves circling prey, but none made a move to attack. Not yet.

“Tell me something, Cat,” Dauntless said, her blade lowering slightly but still at the ready. “Why do you even bother? You’re just delaying the inevitable. You can’t win, not against me, not against us. You’re outnumbered, outmatched, and frankly, out of your depth.”

Chat straightened, his grin softening into something more serious, though his eyes still gleamed with that unmistakable spark of defiance. “You talk a big game for someone who keeps losing to a guy with a pun problem.”

Dauntless’s hand tightened on her blade, the faintest tremor of irritation betraying her calm facade. “This time will be different.”

However, before either could make the first move, Dauntless froze, her head tilting slightly as if processing a new visual cue. “You’re hiding something,” she accused, her tone sharp.

In a very conspicuous manner, Chat moved his right hand behind his back, fingers squeezing tight to cover the golden glow of the Bee Miraculous.

“What?” Chat Noir replied, cocking his head in mock confusion.

“In the hand you’re stuffing behind your back,” Dauntless snapped, pointing with her blade. “You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not,” Chat said innocently, cocking his head casually.

“I can literally see you doing it.”

There was some shuffling around.

“Nu-uh.” He held up his right hand, fingers spread wide. “See? This hand is free.”

“That’s because you very obviously passed it off to your other hand!” Dauntless barked, her blade flaring brighter as she took a step closer. “What are you hiding, Cat?”

Chat shrugged with an exaggerated nonchalance. “Are you sure that you’re all there, Metal Head? Maybe the helmet’s overheating.”

Dauntless’s body stiffened, her voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “Are you trying to gaslight me?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be delicate about your problem with seeing things that aren’t there,” Chat replied, his grin now teetering on the edge of smug and nervous.

Dauntless’s hand rose in a slow, deliberate motion. “...Seize him. Now.”

“Crap!” Chat muttered under his breath as the androids surged forward. His staff extended with a loud snap, and he leaped into action, flipping over the nearest bot and landing on a higher ledge.

The rooftop erupted into chaos as the androids lunged toward him, their mechanical limbs clanging against the steel surface. Chat Noir bolted, vaulting over pipes and leaping onto higher platforms with his staff propelling him upward. The Bee Miraculous burned like a guilty weight in his grip as he clutched it tightly.

“Gotta keep moving,” he muttered to himself, ducking beneath a low beam as a bot’s arm swiped at his head. “And gotta keep this thing away from her!”

The first bot pursued him relentlessly, its legs pounding across the rooftop like a machine on a mission—which, to be fair, it was. Chat glanced back, his grin momentarily resurfacing.

“You’re gonna have to do better than—whoa!”

A second bot came out of nowhere, cutting him off as it slammed down in front of him. Chat pivoted, diving between its legs just in time to avoid its grappling claws. The move sent him sliding across the rooftop, grease and grime coating his suit. Before he could recover, the first bot barreled straight into its companion, the impact sending both of them tumbling into a tangled heap of sparking limbs and flickering lights.

Chat couldn’t help himself. “Now that’s teamwork!” he quipped, starting to laugh—

Until a shadow fell over him.

The third bot came crashing down with the precision of a falling anvil, its massive arm raised to strike. Chat, still prone, could only brace himself as his muscles refused to cooperate. His staff was just out of reach, leaving him vulnerable and wide open.

“Guess I’m about to get pancaked,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

But just as the blow was about to connect, the Bee Miraculous pulsed in his hand, releasing a blinding wave of golden energy. The light surged outward, striking the bot and freezing it mid-swing. Its glowing eyes dimmed, and its body locked in place, like a statue caught in a moment of fury.

Chat blinked, stunned by his miraculous rescue. “Okay… that was cool. Thanks, magic bug thing.”

He scrambled to his feet, sliding away from the immobile bot with a mix of relief and renewed panic. However, as he moved, the Bee Miraculous slipped from his grip, bouncing against the rooftop with an almost taunting clink, clink, clink.

“No, no, no—!” He reached for it, but it skittered just out of reach, rolling precariously to a stop between him and Dauntless.

Chat’s heart sank as his gaze met hers. Dauntless’s helmet tilted slightly, her stance shifting like a predator who had just found the perfect opportunity.

“Well, well, is this for me?” She hummed. “The Bee Miraculous. Looks like this mangy stray has some uses after all.”

It felt right in that moment or Chat to extend his baton and punt the bee miraculous off the roof like it was a golf ball.

“The Bee Miraculous?” He cried out in shock. “Where?”

A strangled cry escaped Dauntless at the audacity of this idiot. “For God’s sake…” she growled, immediately diving for it.

Not one to let her take the prize without a fight, Chat leapt after her, colliding awkwardly against her side. The two tumbled in a heap, legs and arms tangling as they scrambled for the miraculous.

“Aha!” Chat crowed triumphantly, managing to elbow Dauntless just enough to force her back. “That’s what you get for underestimating the—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Behind Dauntless, her army of androids swarmed like an unrelenting tide, leaping effortlessly from nearby rooftops. They surged over the edge and dived toward the miraculous as if tethered to it by an invisible string.

“Right,” Chat muttered under his breath. “Army. Forgot about that part.”

Dauntless seized the opening, shoving him off of her with a forceful kick. She slashed at him with her blade, which crackled with blue energy. He barely blocked the strike with his staff, the impact sending vibrations up his arms.

“Just give up already, you insufferable pest,” Dauntless hissed, her strikes relentless as they traded blows.

“Pest? I’ll take that as a compliment from the walking bug zapper!” Chat retorted, sidestepping her next swing and countering with a jab of his staff. Their weapons clashed again, sparks flying as they battled their way across the rooftop.

The Bee Miraculous made a loud clatter when it reached the ground, the threatening hum of it’s abilities charging up again even audible to Chat. The leading bot had the unfortunate fate of the next surge of miraculous power being unleashed on him, freezing his form mid-air and turning him into a make-shift floating platform for the next bot.

Dauntless and Chat fought in a dangerous dance atop the growlingly unstable perch, trading insults as much as strikes that tore up the roof’s panelling. A kick sent Chat colliding with the base of the smokestack, leaving a crack in his wake as he bounced back to narrowly dodge Dauntless’ attempted stab. Every movement sent the smokestack wobbling beneath their feet, its structural integrity strained under their weight and the ferocity of their battle.

“Just admit you’re outmatched!” Dauntless snarled, swinging her blade in a wide arc.

“You first!” Chat quipped, ducking under her swing and landing a solid kick to her midsection.

But Dauntless wasn’t one to stay down. With a growl, she slashed horizontally, the searing energy of her blade cutting through the smokestack like butter. A horrible, metallic groan echoed as the structure gave way, splitting in two. Either Dauntless was losing it, or she simply wasn’t thinking, because that girl had no hesitation in then tackling Chat Noir into the plummeting structure, ending with them stuck on its narrow side as it sunk.

“Not good!” Chat yelped as he scrambled to his feet, just in time to block Dauntless’ sword.

Gold energy fired off in a mad rain of chaos, shooting past their make-shift arena and striking falling debris, fires and even the rain drops. Luckily for Chat, this included several of the androids going for the miraculous. They froze in mid-leap, golden energy encasing their frames as they crashed uselessly to the rooftop below.

However, no matter how wildly the bee miraculous’ magic shot, it always conveniently missed the platform that Chat actually cared was falling. Namely the one with him on it.

The smokestack groaned and creaked beneath their feet as it fell, the wind whipping around them. Chat’s heart raced, each second a balancing act between fighting off Dauntless and not plummeting to his doom.

"You really don’t know when to quit, do you?" he shouted over the roar of collapsing metal, deflecting another strike from her glowing blade.

“Quit? You’re the one out of options, Cat,” Dauntless snarled, her blade swinging downward with a ferocity that almost knocked him off balance. “This ends here!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Chat pivoted, using his staff to launch himself upward onto a slightly more stable section of the falling smokestack. His momentum sent him sliding down its slick surface, sparks flying beneath his boots.

Dauntless wasn’t far behind, her balance impeccable as she leapt after him. “You’re just prolonging the inevitable!” she growled, her blade carving into the metal to slow her descent, leaving a glowing trail behind her.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty good at the whole ‘inevitable’ thing,” Chat retorted, vaulting over a jagged section of the structure. “Comes with the territory of being incredibly annoying.”

The Bee Miraculous continued to pulse wildly, sending golden streaks of energy shooting into the air like errant fireworks. Below them, the remaining androids froze mid-climb, their circuits overloaded by the miraculous’ chaotic power. Each frozen bot became an unintentional obstacle, littering the collapsing rooftop like metallic statues.

The battlefield had turned into a chaotic, makeshift arena, with Chat and Dauntless darting and leaping across frozen debris and immobile androids suspended in mid-action. Each section of debris was a challenge: platforms tilted dangerously, others wobbled under their weight, and the wild, uncontrolled blasts of golden energy from the Bee Miraculous turned the entire space into a deathtrap.

Chat flipped onto a piece of a collapsed air conditioning unit, narrowly dodging one such blast as it streaked past, freezing a chunk of wall behind him. “Seriously, Bee Miraculous, can we tone it down just a bit?” he muttered.

Dauntless wasn’t faring much better. She landed gracefully on a frozen android but had to immediately duck as another surge of energy narrowly missed her. “This thing is more trouble than it’s worth!” she snarled, deflecting a stray bolt with her blade. “You couldn’t just give up and let me handle it?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Let the homicidal maniac handle the super-powered trinket,” Chat quipped, vaulting over a suspended bot and landing a solid kick against Dauntless’ side. She stumbled but quickly recovered, striking back with her blade in a wide arc that forced Chat to retreat onto another precarious piece of debris.

“You’re the last person who should be lecturing about good decisions,” she shot back, firing off one of her ranged energy strikes. Chat ducked just in time, the glowing arc of energy slicing through the air above him.

“You missed, again,” Chat taunted, flipping onto another platform. “Starting to think your aim’s as bad as your people skills.”

Dauntless growled, lunging at him with a flurry of strikes. Their weapons clashed, the sound echoing across the makeshift battlefield. Each blow sent them closer to the ground, where the chaos of the frozen bots and debris continued to grow.

Another wild blast from the miraculous shot between them, forcing both to leap away to avoid being hit. Chat landed on a twisted metal beam, his footing precarious. Dauntless landed on a frozen bot nearby, her blade glowing ominously.

“This thing is going to level half the block before we’re done here!” Chat yelled, his voice strained as he dodged yet another blast.

“Then maybe you should stop playing hero and let me end this!” Dauntless fired another energy strike, her frustration evident in the ferocity of the attack.

Chat moved to dodge, but as the energy arced past him, he saw the trajectory—and his heart dropped. Behind him, a man who had been frozen in mid-run stood directly in the blast’s path, completely unaware and unable to move.

“Oh no,” Chat muttered, his instincts kicking in. Without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, diving into the energy’s path. His staff swung upward, intercepting the blast at the last second and redirecting it into the sky. The impact sent a shockwave through his arms, but he held firm, skidding to a stop as the energy dissipated harmlessly above.

He turned, glaring at Dauntless, who stood frozen in surprise. “Did you see what you just did?! You almost hit that guy!” he shouted, pointing to the frozen man.

“In all fairness, my target was you,” She said icily, her voice regaining its hard edge. “He wouldn’t be in danger if you just accepted your execution.”

Chat’s jaw tightened, his green eyes blazing with fury. “Does this bring you honour?” He snapped. “Hurting defenceless, innocent people who’ve done nothing to you and destroying their homes?”

Dauntless faltered. Chat’s words struck something deep, a crack in the armour of her unshakable certainty. Her helmet tilted slightly, her body stiffening as though she were forcing herself not to look at the frozen man behind Chat. It was a brief hesitation—barely noticeable—but it was there.

Then she straightened, shoving the hesitation aside and sinking back into the cold justifications that had gotten her this far. “My enforcers disposing of criminals means very little to the situation at hand.”

“Leaving the dirty work to your cronies doesn’t make you clean,” Chat shot back. He gestured toward the frozen chaos surrounding them. “But I guess that’s the only logic I can expect from a coward who hides behind her metal thugs the moment things don’t go her way.”

Her grip on her blade tightened, the energy humming more violently as her composure slipped. “Oh, look,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom, “the worthless thief who betrayed his partner to play terrorist has decided to get righteous. The hypocrisy suits you well.”

Chat’s lips curled into a smirk, though the anger still burned in his eyes. “And just about everything looks ugly on you.”

---

Hawkmoth could find no better outlet for his impatient frustrations than grinding his cane into the ground. Before him, Glutton was big enough to swallow a whole shack, it’s body mass consuming the land around them in bubbling pools of a lumpy wet substance he dare not name.

“That thing is only growing bigger.” He noted, a growl ripping through his throat as he fumbled closer to try and get a better look. “I can’t see Nooroo anymore.”

Mayura’s hand shot out to stop his advance, spinning him around and pulling him back to her. He found himself closer than he thought, her hands lightly gripping his chin, the worry in her dark, trembling eyes becoming the only thing he could see.

“Sir, focus on me.” She said quietly, her breath hot and laboured against his throat. “We need a plan.”

Sir, she’d said. For a moment, he could imagine Nathalie there, looking at him the same way, lingering so close to him, waiting for a solution to the problem he made. In that respect, the thought of disappointing Nathalie spawned an even greater abyss in his stomach.

His grip slackened and, if she wasn’t holding him in place, his head would have followed. “And we don’t have one.”

Her thumb dug into his cheek bones, massaging them as the crinkle of a small smile reached her lips. “I know you can make one.”

Her confidence in him, however slight, stirred something both frustrating and empowering in his chest. She believed he could salvage this disaster. And that belief came with its own kind of pressure, one that demanded action.

Hawkmoth closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath as though trying to will his mind into focus. “…That thing was small when we found it.” He murmured, his voice low but steady. His eyes flickered to the pulsating form of Glutton.

“Yeah?” Mayura prompted, her tone calm yet urging him to continue.

“It devours everything it meets, absorbing the material into its mass and thus increasing its size,” He explained, gesturing sharply toward the ever-growing monstrosity. “It’s been here too long to still be that small. Unless... eventually, it disposes of the excess material it’s been consuming.”

“If we feed it enough junk, it might just vomit Nooroo and the Horse Miraculous up for us.” Mayura’s eyes narrowed in understanding, her mind working to keep up with his reasoning. “We’d have to play some real risky bait for that.”

For a split second, there was a flicker of amusement in his expression before it disappeared behind his stern demeanour. “Oh, so you’ve thought of a better plan?”

“There’s my handsome little egotist,” She teased, unable to resist the opportunity to needle him.

“…I am not little,” He muttered.

Mayura shrugged; her smirk unwavering. “Either way, I trust your plan. Let’s give this thing the mother of all stomach-aches.”

Hawkmoth frowned, the lines around his eyes tightening. “Are you sure? As the nimblest of us, you’ll be putting yourself in—”

All thoughts came to a halt when Mayura’s lips pressed against his cheek, spreading a warmness from her touch that Hawkmoth didn’t quite know how to describe.

“There is no one I trust more than you,” She interrupted freely, Hawkmoth frozen in place as he contemplated this strange feeling. She couldn’t help but giggle at his wide-eyed flabbergasted look. “If you think this will work, it’s enough for me.”

He didn’t return to his senses until she’d already hopped back onto her sentiboard. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now—not when the success of this harebrained plan relied on both of them executing it perfectly.

"Right," Hawkmoth muttered to himself, shaking off his bewilderment as his cane extended. He vaulted over a broken piece of debris, landing lightly on a nearby ledge. "Time to make this monstrosity regret its appetite."

Mayura hovered above him, her sentiboard weaving through the air with practiced precision. “We need to start with the big stuff—anything it’ll want to gulp down in one bite.”

“It’s eating buildings,” Hawkmoth pointed out dryly. “I don’t think it’s picky.”

“Then let’s give it something really enticing,” She called back.

Hawkmoth frowned but nodded, calculating his next move. “Fine. You draw its attention, keep it focused on you. I’ll lead it toward the largest cluster of debris.”

Mayura raised an eyebrow but smirked. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Stop flirting and go,” He snapped, though his tone lacked its usual venom.

With a playful laugh, Mayura swooped low, sending a burst of energy toward Glutton. The blast exploded near its mass, causing it to lurch forward with a grotesque roar, its bubbling body rippling in agitation.

“Come on, you oversized sludge pile!” Mayura taunted, twisting her sentiboard in a sharp arc. “Let’s see if you can keep up!”

Glutton surged toward her, its amorphous body sloshing over debris and swallowing anything in its path. Its lumbering mass oozed forward, consuming entire chunks of rubble, abandoned vehicles, and even a toppled lamppost.

Hawkmoth, meanwhile, darted across the battlefield, using his cane to vault over obstacles and redirect the creature whenever it strayed too far. He spotted a collapsed food truck—its contents spilling out in a colourful mess of wrappers and discarded cartons—and quickly kicked a heap of it into Glutton’s path.

“Here’s your appetizer!” He shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. The creature hesitated for a moment before its bulk rippled forward, engulfing the food truck and its scattered remains.

“That’s it,” Mayura called from above, her voice tinged with excitement. “It’s taking the bait! Keep going!”

As Glutton devoured more and more, its body began to ripple and churn violently, its grotesque mass pulsing as if struggling to contain everything it had consumed. The wet, lumpy substance it exuded began to splatter erratically, and for a brief moment, Hawkmoth thought he saw a glint of something familiar within its depths.

“Nooroo,” he murmured, his grip tightening on his cane.

Mayura swooped low again, tossing a broken chunk of metal directly into Glutton’s path. “We’re close! Just a little more!”

But even as the plan seemed to be working, Glutton’s movements grew more erratic. Its body swelled unevenly, and a low, guttural sound escaped from somewhere deep within its mass—a sound that made Hawkmoth’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Hawkmoth kept his focus sharp, his mind racing as Glutton lurched closer to him. He waved his cane, sending shards of debris clattering against the ground to bait the creature forward. Each piece disappeared into Glutton’s quivering mass with sickening ease, its size swelling with every bite.

“It’s reaching critical mass,” Hawkmoth muttered under his breath. “One wrong move, and it—”

The words barely escaped his lips before a garbled, wet splorch erupted from Glutton. Without warning, a large chunk of what looked like twisted metal and rubble shot out from the creature’s heaving form, aimed directly at Hawkmoth.

“Look out!” Mayura’s voice cut through the chaos, but it was too late.

The projectile slammed into Hawkmoth’s chest with brutal force, knocking the air from his lungs. He staggered backward, his cane clattering to the ground as the impact sent him sprawling over the edge of the broken ledge he’d been perched on. He clawed at the air, trying to catch hold of something—anything—but gravity won the fight.

“Hawkmoth!” Mayura screamed, veering toward him on her sentiboard, but Glutton surged forward before she could reach him.

Hawkmoth hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his body as he rolled to a stop just inches from Glutton’s undulating mass. The creature reared up, its grotesque maw opening wide to reveal a pulsating pit of swirling darkness. For a brief moment, Hawkmoth was frozen in place, his heart hammering in his chest as the abyss loomed over him.

Then it struck.

Glutton lunged forward, its massive body engulfing Hawkmoth’s legs and dragging him toward its maw. He thrashed wildly, his hands scrambling for purchase on the ground, but the slick, bubbling substance that made up Glutton’s body offered no grip. Desperation clawed at his mind as he felt himself being pulled deeper, the wet, suffocating mass closing in around him.

With a final, desperate move, Hawkmoth thrust his arm out and managed to grab hold of one of Glutton’s jagged, uneven teeth. His fingers dug into the slimy surface, the only thing stopping him from being fully consumed.

And whether it was fortune or misfortune, he wasn’t alone there.

“Master?” Nooroo’s voice was muffled by a layer of sludge forming a cocoon around him, but Hawkmoth could hear him well enough. The kwami was stuck down by Hawkmoth’s dangling leg, staring up at him with the horse miraculous balanced on his paw.

“This is…” Hawkmoth didn’t find much power in his voice. “All part of the plan, Nooroo.” He reached down and, with one hard yank, ripped Nooroo from his prison and held him up. “No need to fret, okay?”

“No, no, no!” Mayura’s voice rang out again, this time tinged with sheer panic. She was hovering just above the opening now, her sentiboard twisting as she searched for a way to intervene. She swooped lower, her hand reaching out toward him. “Sir! Quick, grab my hand.”

“Don’t be… An idiot…” Hawkmoth croaked, his voice was strained and shaky. His grip on Glutton’s tooth was tenuous at best, his other hand flailing as the creature’s mass continued to pull at him. Fighting the forces pulling his arm back and forth, he thrusted Nooroo out towards her instead. “Get Nooroo out of here.”

Mayura retorted, her voice cracking. “Hold on—I’ll get both of you out of there!”

Glutton’s body surged upward, forcing her to retreat or risk being caught herself. Frustration and fear warred on her face as she circled the creature, desperately trying to find an opening.

“You were right before, I’m wasn’t the heavy hitter here, you can-” Hawkmoth’s arms trembled under the strain, his grip slipping as Glutton’s pulsing mass writhed around him. The suffocating heat and pressure were unbearable, and he could feel his strength waning with every passing second.

“Stop with that past tense bullshit!”

---

It was a long night. Two fights, two long, long bouts; and not a sliver of cheese to keep his energy up. For all of his pep and optimism, Chat Noir was starting to feel the exhaustion creep in. He honestly didn’t know how he was still standing when every clash with Dauntless’ blade left his bones rattling and forced him so far back, he couldn’t even capitalise on her being so close.

His breath was ragged, his speed was cut and with every step his knees buckled under the pressure. He was running out of energy, and kwami knows when Plagg’s actual transformation gauge runs out even without a cataclysm, and there was no hiding it.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself down on one knee, stabbing his staff into the ground for support. Down the length of his arm, he spotted a bright red gash leaking through a tear in his costume. He didn’t even know you could cut through the costume.

Dauntless, betraying not one ounce of fatigue, stalked towards him with her blade raised. “Someone’s getting tired over there.”

“Very tired.” He turned the staff down towards her and extended it, making for a very thin battering ram that caught her in the shoulder. “Of your shit.”

It hit dead on, but it didn’t pack as much punch as he wanted it to. The impact stole a grunt of pain from her, even knocked her back a few feet, but it didn’t break her stance, it just gave her an opportunity to grab onto the end of his pole.

She leaned over it, hissing. “Then why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Can’t give up here.” He laughed. Oh, oh it hurt to laugh. But he continued to laugh anyway until he managed to push himself to his feet. “You just know they’d be making pussy jokes about me for years to come if I let a little tin can girl beat me.”

Strangely enough, Dauntless didn’t advance. She remained still, looking him up and down with a curious energy that Chat Noir did not like. “You’re very fearful of what people think of you, aren’t you?” She finally said, tapping his staff, silently mocking him with how ineffective  a weapon it made.

He frowned. “When did you get so talkative?”

“Since it revealed such a pathetic chink in your armour.”

Without warning she yanked the staff, and by extension him, forward, sending him tumbling face first into the dirt.

Chat Noir groaned as the impact rattled through his entire body, dirt clinging to his cheek as he lay prone on the ground. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t afford to stay down. He planted one trembling hand beneath him, slowly pushing up despite the overwhelming urge to just let exhaustion win.

There was no time to lift his head before Dauntless’s boot slammed into his shoulder, knocking him back into the dirt. The air was driven from his lungs in a wheezing gasp as he clutched at the ground, trying to push himself up again.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Dauntless sneered, stomping on his staff and pinning it to the ground. “You don’t get to crawl away after that little stunt.”

She kicked him again, this time in the ribs, sending him rolling onto his side. Pain shot through him like a lightning bolt, and he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. All she had to do to end this was one clean stab, but she wouldn’t do it, not yet, not now; Chat had made this personal.

“For you to have even managed one blow on me was humiliation enough,” She spat, pacing around him as he tried to regain his footing. “You—of all people! A scrappy, second-rate nothing. You think you’re important? You think you matter? You think you’re clever? You’re pathetic.”

Chat Noir coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He managed a shaky grin despite the pain. That was all it took to send Dauntless into a full-blown rage. She grabbed him by the front of his suit, hauling him to his feet, only to punch him across the face with enough force to send him sprawling back to the ground.

“I was designed by birth to be the perfect warrior,” She hissed, her voice venomous as she advanced on him. “To carry my family’s legacy to eternal victory. Trained by the best warriors. Outfitted by the best engineers. Everything I am was built to be flawless. And you? You’re just a talentless fleabag hiding behind the magic of the kwamis with no skill to back you up.”

Chat’s vision blurred as he stared up at her. He couldn’t even bring himself to sit up now, every bone in his body screaming for rest. She slammed her boot onto his chest, pinning him to the ground, her blade hovering dangerously close to his throat. “You’re nothing,” she growled, leaning down so that her face was inches from his. “A brat fiddling with toys. The worthless son of a clown nobody can take seriously.”

Chat Noir’s body screamed in protest as he pressed his palm against the ground and struggled against her boot. His vision was blurred, his breath shallow, but even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, one thing became crystal clear: this fight wasn’t over yet.

With a shaky inhale, he opened his palm, summoning the dark, swirling energy of his cataclysm. The power of destruction poured into his hand, raw and untamed, crackling with barely restrained force. He could feel it, vibrating through his entire arm, ready to be unleashed with a single swipe.

Just a flash of green was enough for Dauntless to jump back, her blade still poised above him, her visor focused on the deadly glow emanating from his hand. “So, you’re resorting to that, huh? Prove me right, Chat Noir. Show me that you’re just a coward with no skill.”

He gritted his teeth, the searing energy growing heavier in his palm. His breath hitched as the words hit their mark. The truth was, he could end this right here and now. One swipe, and she’d be done—her armor wouldn’t stand a chance against the power of destruction. But then what? He couldn’t control where it would go, couldn’t guarantee her safety. For all his quips and bravado, he wasn’t a killer.

More than that, though, he didn’t want to prove her right.

Blindly relying on kwami magic to win would only validate everything she said about him being weak and unskilled. He couldn’t let her have that satisfaction—not when every fibre of his being was screaming for him to rise above it.

“I’m not proving you right,” He muttered through gritted teeth, forcing his breathing to steady. “I’m proving you wrong.”

His mind raced, recalling something his father had told him—Miraculous magic is only as flexible as your imagination allows. Think beyond its limits. Think bigger.

The destructive energy in his palm trembled, wild and chaotic, but Chat focused, his green eyes narrowing with determination. Slowly, he visualized it—not as a wild, all-consuming force, but something sharper, more precise. A ranged attack. Something he could aim, something controlled. His father’s lessons played in his head like a mantra.

The energy began to shift in his hand, contorting under his will. The crackling orb elongated, its surface distorting until it resembled the jagged swipe of a claw mark. The power thrummed, dangerous and unstable, but it was his.

“Let’s test this theory,” he muttered, lifting his hand.

With a sharp motion, he released the energy. The jagged streaks of destruction shot from his palm in an arc, narrowly missing Dauntless’s head and slicing clean through the debris above them. The world seemed to pause for a moment before the ceiling groaned, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.

Her head darted upward just in time to see chunks of stone and metal breaking free, tumbling toward them in a deadly cascade. She hissed in panic, leaping back with a burst of agility to avoid being crushed. The debris crashed down between them, forming a makeshift barrier that separated her from Chat Noir.

On the other side, Chat stumbled backward, his knees buckling as the toll of the fight and the power he’d just unleashed caught up to him. His hand felt numb, and his chest heaved with effort, but he allowed himself a small, triumphant smile.

She came bursting through the debris with her sword charged up, letting out a mighty battle cry before unleashed an energy slash at him. This time, Chat didn’t dodge or block, he clawed at the air and sent his own energy back at her. The two projectiles clashed in the middle, struggling against one another for a moment before exploding outwards in a flurry of shockwaves.

“How’s that for skill?” Chat called out with a mad, enthusiastic whoop.

It was a flicker of hope in his darkest hour.

Unfortunately, that flicker wasn’t enough to keep the candle lit.

Dauntless emerged from the smoke in a whirl of movement, a dark blur closing the distance between them before Chat could even blink. He fumbled to bring his arms down, but it was no use. She’d already drawn back her sword and, in one decisive stab, ran it through his side.

The pain was immediate and blinding, a white-hot explosion in his torso that stole the breath from his lungs. His knees buckled, and the world spun around him as he fell to the ground, clutching at the blade embedded in his side.

Dauntless stood over him, her expression one of cold, calculated fury. “Lacking,” she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. “Very lacking.”

Chat coughed, blood flecking his lips as he tried to respond. His quip died in his throat, replaced by a strangled groan of pain. For the first time in the fight, he truly felt the weight of his situation. He wasn’t going to win.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” Dauntless continued, leaning in closer. “You’re nothing more than a boy playing dress-up. No training, no discipline, no skill—just a scared little child hiding behind the magic of the kwamis. And now you’ll pay for your arrogance.”

She yanked the blade out, drawing another choked cry from Chat as his vision blurred. Stepping aside, she let his body collapse to its knees. His hand twitched at his side, searching for his staff, for anything, but his strength was rapidly leaving him.

With one wave of her hand, she ushered a bot to her location, staring down at Chat as if he were nothing. “Dispose of this trash.”

---

It hurt to move at all, pins and needles digging into her feet with every step, but Marinette was determined to walk no matter how much Alya complained. Not even because of pride, but because she knew that the moment she relinquished control to Alya, she’d use it to guide Marinette out of here, to safety.

Obviously, Alya was hoping for way too much if she thought Marinette’s suicidally stupid decisions had any limit.

“Marinette, you’re going the wrong way!” Alya groaned from behind her. She’d been the only one of the group to notice that Marinette had wondered off, and had been spending the past five minutes trying to convince the girl to turn around.

The girl who was too shy to stand up to your standard school bully wasn’t going to let the lack of superpowers or robot ninjas get in her way. Did Chat Noir being involved just really turn off Marinette’s self-preservation instincts? Was she so desperate to prove herself to the partner that abandoned her?

Marinette’s voice was sharp enough to overcome her huffing and puffing. “I’m not running away from this.”

“There’s literally nothing you can do.” Alya called after her, reaching for her arm to lightly urge her back. “We need to go.”

“No.” Marinette said firmly, surprising herself with how her voice cracked. “Chat’s all alone out there.”

Alya slipped in front of her, an expression of utter confusion, and a little bit of well-placed frustration. “Who cares?” She almost yelled out the question in exasperation, the silence that followed was filled with every reason Marinette had to not care about the two-bit crook who ruined her superhero life before it had even started. “Mari, he already left you behind, why can’t you leave him?”

Marinette hesitated, her lips trembling as the weight of Alya’s words pressed against her chest. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her resolve faltered. But only for a moment.

“I-I… I don’t care,” She whispered, her voice barely audible at first. Then louder, firmer, she continued, “He’s still… Damn it, he’s still something to me.”

Alya sighed, shaking her head with a small, incredulous laugh. “You’re one crazy chick, you know that?”

“To be fair…” Marinette swayed slightly on her feet, clutching her side as she tried to steady herself. A faint, delirious grin crept onto her face. “I’m pretty sure I’m only half awake right now. My head is swiiiiming.”

It only took them five more minutes to find the heart of the action. The good thing about taking so long was that there were no more people to worry about in the compound, everyone who could get out had gotten out. The bad thing about it… Well, it meant that anyone they did find was someone who’d never get out again.

Under the window looking out into the courtyard, they found a man who laid still in the corner, half of his body shrouded by the shadows. In his hand he once held a pistol, but now it fell beside his limp fingers.

Ignoring what could very well be a corpse, the two girl drew their attention to the scene unfolding outside of the window. Chat and Dauntless were wailing on each other in a much more brutal display than Marinette was useful. When Ladybug fought Hawkmoth or Chat the fights were hard, and she certainly dished out and got served a good amount of pain, but she’d never seen the costume get damaged; she’d never seen anyone bleed.

It reminded her of what her mind would conjure up when Alya described her fight with Mirror Mistress, the aggressive, murderous onslaught that tore through the safety net of their miraculous resilience and reminded her that she was a squishy human behind the mask.

“This fight is looking intense.” Alya gasped. “I’ve never seen you or Hawkmoth wail on each other like this.”

“For better or worse, all Hawkmoth aims to do is win.” Marinette admitted with a dark frown. She’d never really considered the fact that, for all she knew, Hawkmoth was holding back during their fights. Even with her miraculous cure to fall back on to undo the damage, Hawkmoth wasn’t looking to maim her; at least, not intentionally. “This girl wants Chat’s head.”

The fight continued with Chat clearly losing steam, crumbling until Dauntless had him on the floor and was just viciously wailing on the man while he was down. He didn’t deserve this, Marinette thought to herself. She harboured so much of a grudge against Chat for how he made her feel, how much he hurt her with his betrayal; but he didn’t deserve this. She didn’t want this. She wanted him to be safe and sound.

Hope bloomed in her chest when he whipped out his cataclysm, when she saw his hesitation to unleash it. He was a thief and a show off, not a killer. And even if his father wasn’t here to see him pull off his new trick, watching Chat manifest a new way of using his cataclysm without hurting his timer just to prove Dauntless wrong? Marinette couldn’t help but feel a shred of pride for her kitty.

And yet, none of it stopped Dauntless from running Chat through.

“No! Chat!”

Alya’s hand clamped over Marinette’s mouth the second the scream escaped her lips, muffling the sound. “Mari! Quiet!” she hissed, her wide eyes darting toward the hallway behind them, as if expecting a wave of bots to storm in. “Do you want to get us killed?”

Marinette’s hands flew up to pull Alya’s hand away. “He’s dying!” she croaked out, her voice raw and breaking. Tears streamed down her face now, her composure completely shattered as she pointed at the window. “He—he’s dying, Alya, and I’m just standing here doing nothing!”

Alya glanced back out at the courtyard, where Dauntless stood over Chat’s bloodied, battered form. The sword in her hand gleamed under the dim light, and she raised it again, readying for another brutal blow. Alya’s chest tightened. “I know, Mari, but what are you going to do? You can’t just run out there!”

Marinette pulled herself free of Alya’s grip, her trembling fingers clutching the edge of the windowsill as her thoughts raced. Her gaze locked on Chat’s broken form, his trembling arms barely holding him up as blood pooled beneath him. The sight was unbearable. “I have to do something,” she whispered, her voice shaking but resolute. “I can’t just let this happen.”

It was then that Marinette’s eyes fell back on the corpse, where the light streaming in from the window perfectly highlighted the pistol by his side.

Alya’s eyes darted between Marinette and the courtyard, panic rising in her chest. “Mari, you don’t know what you’re doing! That’s not a toy—it’s a gun!”

“I don’t care!” Marinette snapped, her voice trembling as she knelt next to the body, her fingers hesitantly brushing the cold metal of the pistol. “I won’t just stand here and let her kill him!”

“You’ll only get yourself killed!” Alya whispered harshly, lunging to grab Marinette’s arm before her fingers could fully wrap around the weapon. “Put it down! You don’t even know how to use that thing!”

“Then I’ll learn!” Marinette yanked her arm free, her breathing shallow as her gaze flickered toward the window. “I don’t have a choice, Alya. He’s dying, and no one’s coming to save him. If I don’t do something, who will?”

Alya let out an exasperated growl, stepping in front of her. “You are insane, you know that? Guns aren’t like yo-yos, Marinette! You don’t just ‘figure it out’ as you go—”

“I don’t have time to argue with you!” Marinette shouted back, her voice raw with desperation as she grabbed the pistol. Her grip was shaky, her fingers trembling as they closed around the handle. She stood, her eyes locked on the courtyard below.

Alya’s panic hit its peak. She surged forward, grabbing at Marinette’s wrists to yank the weapon away. “No! You’ll just make things worse!”

The two girls wrestled for control, the gun wobbling wildly between them. Marinette’s heart raced as Alya’s grip tightened, pulling her back. “Let go, Alya! I need it—”

“No way! You’re going to—”

BANG!

The deafening crack of gunfire echoed through the room, freezing both girls in place. Marinette’s eyes went wide, her heart lurching as the weapon recoiled in her hands. Slowly, both girls crane their necks to peer out of the window.

Dauntless stared back at them, a bullet lodged in her visor.

With sharp, twitching movements, she reached up and plucked the offending blockage from the visor. In its wake, there was now a hole that gave way to angry, narrowed blue eyes. Her voice was a spiteful hiss, unstable and inconsistent.

“Again, I was ready to seal my victory.”

The air grew thick with tension as she raised her sword, pointing it toward them like a predator marking its next prey.

“Again, I am denied what I have earned.”

Blue energy shot up the length of the blade, drowning it in a sickly glow.

“Again, my foes do not know their place.”

She swiped, letting loose the energy in one fatal swing.

“Begone, interlopers! This is my fight!”

“Alya, ru—” Marinette’s cry was cut off as the blinding streak of energy hurtled toward her. It moved too fast. There was no time to dodge, no time to think. Marinette’s heart stopped as the glow filled her vision, every instinct screaming that this was the end.

Her eyes squeezed shut, bracing herself for the searing pain and the cold finality that would follow. But instead of agony, she felt something else—a rush of warmth that wrapped around her like a shield. A comforting presence enveloped her, solid and unyielding, like a barrier between her and the end.

She gasped as her eyes fluttered open, her face pressed against something soft but firm. The faint scent of leather and something faintly musky, familiar, filled her senses. It took a moment to register what was happening, but when she looked up, her breath caught.

Chat Noir’s chest rose and fell unevenly before her, his arms cradling her in a bridal carry. His body was taut with tension, the remnants of Dauntless’ energy attack still smoking off his back. The telltale black scorch mark on his suit made it clear—he’d taken the hit meant for her.

“Y-you…?” Marinette stammered; her voice barely audible. Her wide eyes searched his pale face, which was twisted in pain but still managed a crooked, weak smile.

“You two are okay… Right?” Chat rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling. His grip on her tightened protectively. “Marinette…”

His voice started out gentle and soft, his head leaning into hers to nuzzle her with his nose. However, the moment he reached her face, got a good look at it, all that tenderness vanished in an instant. Instead, it was replaced with blanket horror hiding a simmering fury. “What… What is that?”

---

The pain was gone. The bruises, the blood, the wound in his side, or the wound in his back; none of it mattered to him anymore. It was all just erased upon catching sight of Marinette’s injuries. These weren’t from the attack or a stray blast, Marinette arrived at this spot with them; somebody had hurt her. Somebody had struck her.

Somebody was going to pay.

Chat Noir wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. Really, in hindsight, it was a blur. He just knew, looking down at Marinette, his thumb hovering over that putrid, dark colour of pain that claimed her right eye, it awoke something within him. Something primal. Something savage. Something angry.

In the moment, he set her down gently and rose to his feet with a dark weight settling in his stomach. His claws instinctively flexed, eager to sink into something warm and squishy and wet their tips with blood. The green in his eyes seemed to burn particularly bright, crackles of aggressive energy escaping his eyelids and grazing his chair, as if Plagg was setting a paw on his back, pushing him forward, equally and furious.

His gaze fell on Alya, who fell on her back, breathless and afraid under the glare of a predator. He drew forth his claws, positioning them just under her head from his point of view. “Who did this?”

Later he would feel guilty about the fearful look that flashed in her eyes and the way it didn’t even make him flinch, but in the moment, Alya didn’t matter in any way other than telling him who his next target was going to be. Alya made a limp attempt to silently nod her head back out the window, back towards Dauntless.

Ah, the robots. Made sense. Obvious culprit. Which meant Dauntless was responsible. Dauntless hurt Marinette. Dauntless had been breathing for far too long.

Marinette reached out for him. “Chat-”

“Shhhh.” He leaned down to take her hand, squeezing it tight and moving in to kiss her forehead before gently forcing her back down. “You’re going to be okay, Princess.”

“But what about Dauntless?”

His grin dissolved easily. Underneath there was no mirth, no jokes, no playfulness, there was just a hunger. He turned away from Marinette, ashamed to let her see him like this, and pulled himself through the window, a dark shadow looming over him.

“She isn’t going to be okay.” He assured her.

---

Dauntless was surprised to see Chat Noir emerge from the window. It didn’t matter, however. He could get back up as many times as he wanted, his body would collapse, he would break, eventually. Whilst she would still be here, standing tall refreshed, protected and with an army of bodies to keep her from overworking herself.

Her victory was an inevitability, even if how long it was taking for her to achieve it was a pain worse than any physical blow.

“I’ll concede that you seem to have the stubbornness of a cockroach, Cat.” She sneered, hoisting her blade up over her shoulder.

There was no response, he simply kept stalking towards her.

Ah, so there was a shift in his behaviour. Had he finally realized that it was hopeless? She watched the dried blood clinging to his suit and concluded that his wounds were starting to take their toll. She waged that, if she had a view of his back, she’d see her slash had cut deep enough to leave him shaken.

Still, there was something unnerving about the silence of a man so desperate to fill it. She tried again, her low growl fishing for an instinctual, snarky response. “But everyone can see that you’re too wounded to continue this duel. It’s over.”

No words. No banter. He just kept moving.

“What? No more sarcastic remarks?” She spat out, waving her sword about, trying to fight that sense of tension that prickled at her throat. That sense that she was missing something here. “No more unbecoming jabs or forced banter? Did that last attack finally knock some sense into you, Mongrel?”

He came to a dead halt in front of her, and for the first time Dauntless noted how he was taller than her. She had to tilt her head up to finally see his face. He had looked at her with humour, with panic and with disgust.

Now, there was only blackened fury.

“You hurt her.” His voice hit an unfamiliar, deep octave that made her chest tighten.

Her mind casted such emotions aside, thinking back to the two girls that had fired upon her. Strange, she was sure that Chat had taken the brunt of her attack. Was the reality that the cat was too slow? Had she wounded one of his fans by mistake? They were just teenagers, around her age, if she looked closer she might have recognised one of them.

Does this bring you honour? Hurting defenceless, innocent people who’ve done nothing to you and destroying their homes?

She found her teeth gritting at the frustrating memory of Chat’s disgusted voice. He had no place to cast judgement upon her, he was scum chasing fleeting pleasures and an adrenaline rush. She had a greater purpose, and she had no need for these distractions. Mother would never hesitate, would never listen to this, so why was she?

“You waste my time with nonsense.” Dauntless pulled back, suddenly feeling a desperation to finish this before- Before what? She didn’t know, she didn’t care.

She charged her blade to the fullest, and Chat stood there and let her.

She poised herself to strike, and Chat stood there and let her.

She charged forward, bringing the final blow down upon his head.

“This is the end for y-”

And he caught the blade with one hand.

He growled. Not his voice went rough, not that he dug into his throat; he growled, like an actual animal. Every word came off unnatural and jagged, coming not from his voice but the very wind lashing out at her. “You hurt her.”

The crackling energy from the blade should have surged through his body, bringing him to his knees. But he didn’t even flinch.

Dauntless’ breath hitched as she struggled in vain to pull her weapon from Chat Noir’s vice-like grip. She tugged, twisting and jerking her blade with frantic, desperate movements.

“How are you—? L-Let go of me!” She hissed, her voice betraying the slightest tremor of fear.

Chat Noir’s glowing green eyes narrowed, his claws tightening around the hilt of her blade.

“Let go of me, you—!”

SNAP.

The sound of metal breaking filled the air as Chat shattered her sword as if it were made of nothing more than brittle plastic. The sudden force sent Dauntless stumbling backward, her balance thrown off entirely by the sheer impossibility of what she had just witnessed.

But she wasn’t given a chance to recover.

Chat Noir’s free hand balled into a fist and drove into the side of her head with a bone-crunching impact. The blow was so powerful it shattered the cheek of her helmet, fragments of metal and glass scattering like confetti. Her visor cracked in jagged spiderwebs before completely giving way, breaking apart to expose her wide, disbelieving eyes.

The force of the strike hurled her across the room like a ragdoll, slamming her into the nearest wall with a sickening thud. The concrete behind her cracked from the impact, sending dust and debris raining down over her.

Dauntless groaned, the world spinning as she tried to steady herself. Her body screamed in protest as she moved to push herself up, her head pounding from the blow.

Whistle.

The sound of something cutting through the air snapped her attention upward. The broken remains of her blade were spinning toward her, hurled with deadly precision. She barely managed to tilt her head to the side, the sharp edge narrowly missing her temple.

Instead, the jagged blade sliced a deep, crimson line from her lip up to her ear before embedding itself in the wall behind her. The pain was searing, the wound deep enough to send blood dripping down her face in rivulets.

Dauntless clutched her face, her fingers trembling as they came away slick with blood. Her vision blurred as she locked eyes with Chat Noir once again.

He was walking toward her, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing ominously in the silent room. His shoulders were hunched, his body coiled with tension like a predator preparing to pounce.

“You. Hurt. Her,” He growled, each word punctuated with venomous anger.

Dauntless’ breath came in short, shallow gasps as she pressed herself back against the wall, her mind racing.

Dauntless clutched her wounded face, her fingers trembling as blood dripped down onto her armor. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, and her mind raced with a mix of anger and fear. For the first time, she felt it—the creeping realization that she wasn’t in control anymore.

“My… my face…” Her voice cracked, shaking with a mixture of fury and humiliation. “How dare you touch me!”

Her gaze darted toward her remaining enforcers, the robotic soldiers who hadn’t fallen victim to the bee miraculous were standing in formation, awaiting her command. Her anger reignited, fueled by the sight of reinforcements.

“Enforcers! Take him down!” she screamed, pointing a bloodied finger toward Chat Noir.

The mechanical soldiers immediately sprang to life, their glowing eyes locking onto Chat. Weapons powered up, joints whirring as they moved into position to surround him.

Chat Noir didn’t flinch.

His claws flexed, the green glow around his fingertips intensifying, wrapping up his arms like streaks of liquid energy. It pulsed with raw power, lighting up his silhouette like an eerie shadow brought to life.

“Your little toy soldiers…” he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble, “…aren’t going to stop me. Not anymore.”

The first enforcer lunged at him, its metal fists swinging with brutal force. Chat sidestepped with inhuman speed, his glowing claws tearing through its torso like it was paper. Sparks flew as the robot’s internal mechanisms were ripped apart, and it collapsed to the floor in a smoking heap.

Another charged from behind, swinging a blade-like arm toward him. Without even turning, Chat caught the blade mid-swing, the green energy coating his hand shielding him from the sharp edge. With a savage twist, he snapped the blade clean off and drove it through the enforcer’s head, sending it crashing to the ground.

Dauntless’ jaw dropped as she watched her enforcers fall one after another.

Chat moved like a predator, his every motion efficient, brutal, and unrelenting. He ducked under a hail of plasma shots, leaping forward to plant his foot against another enforcer’s chest. With a snarl, he drove his claws through its head, pulling back as the glow around his hands burned out its internal circuits.

A group of three charged him at once, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Chat’s grin returned, but it was hollow, almost feral.

“Let’s dance.”

He vaulted over the first, driving his claws into its back as he used it as leverage to kick another square in the chest. The force sent it flying into the third, both of them collapsing into a pile of twisted metal.

Before the last enforcer could even get back up, Chat’s hand shot out, slamming it back to the ground. He plunged his glowing claws into its chest and ripped out its power core, tossing it aside like garbage.

The room fell silent. The broken remains of Dauntless’ enforcers lay scattered around him, sparking and smoking. Chat stood in the centre of the destruction, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing with an eerie light.

Dauntless stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat. For the first time, she saw Chat Noir not as an opponent, but as something far more dangerous.

Dauntless stared at Chat Noir, her body trembling as her mind raced for a plan. The beast in front of her—because he no longer felt human—was advancing, his glowing claws casting an ominous green hue across the shattered remains of her enforcers.

Suddenly, a cold, authoritative voice cut through the comms in her suit, sharp and unyielding.

“The battle is lost, Daughter.”

Dauntless’ eyes widened. “Mother?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she staggered back against the wall. “No,” She snapped, desperation creeping into her tone. “I can still win this. I just need to—”

“Retreat. Now.” The cold voice commanded. “That is an order.”

“But—” Dauntless faltered, her panic building. “How can I escape this beast’s sight? He will pursue me—”

“I will remedy that.” Her mother’s voice lowered, and a chill ran down Dauntless’ spine as she spoke the next words. “Suit override. Password: 10DNT.”

Dauntless froze. Her blood ran cold as she felt the suit stiffen, the control slipping from her grasp. Her body was no longer her own. “M-Mother, what are you doing?” She stammered, her voice trembling with fear.

“Covering your escape.” Her mother replied, her tone devoid of any warmth.

The suit’s systems whirred to life, overriding Dauntless’ commands. Red warning symbols flashed across her visor, and her body moved involuntarily, the suit locking her limbs in place.

“No! No, stop this!” Dauntless screamed, trying to fight the override, but it was no use. She could only watch in horror as her suit’s targeting systems recalibrated—not on Chat Noir, but on the building behind him, filled with at least two convenient victims.

“No! Don’t—!”

Her pleas were ignored.

The energy reserves in her suit surged to full capacity, the glowing core on her chest pulsing brighter and brighter as her mother took full control. Dauntless could only watch as her arm was raised. With no sword to channel the energy into, the power was happy to just come out of the now disconnected socket in one concentrated stream.

“But… But… You’ll kill them.”

“This is necessary,” Her mother said calmly. “He cannot pursue you if he is distracted by collateral damage. Consider this a lesson in sacrifice.”

The make-shift energy blaster fired.

A concentrated beam of energy shot from Dauntless’ suit, tearing through the air like a blazing comet. It streaked toward the building, striking it with devastating force. The explosion lit up the sky, a fiery plume erupting from the structure as debris rained down.

Chat Noir froze, his glowing claws lowering as he turned to watch in horror.

“What did you do?” His voice petered off in horror. “What have you done!?”

---

There was no time to waste, they could only charge ahead blindly into the fire with only thoughts of what they stood to lose leading them forward.

Mayura threw herself into the beast’s maw, acting as a human car jack, prying the teeth apart with her heel digging into the lower sections while her shoulders held up the other.

Chat wasn’t fast enough to sweep Marinette and Alya up in his arms and toss them out of the way, he was just fast enough to throw himself over them, catching the collapsing ceiling on his back.

The cries of their loved ones fell on deaf ears, they refused to entertain the idea of leaving someone behind. Not him. Not her. Not again. Never again. They wouldn’t lose anyone else.

Mayura knew it was foolish to crouch down, to give the monster ay slack, but she was determined. She needed to get low. It allowed her to reach out for Hawkmoth’s collar while the other hand kept her in place.

Every tug on him felt weak and unresponsive, even with Duusuu and Nooroo pulling on him along with her. But she didn’t relent, she kept pulling, letting a pitiful roar escape her when she finally yanked Gabriel free and tossed him out of the creature’s mouth.

Chat wobbled as so many different moving parts converged to press down on him, but one glance at the two girls’ terrified faces was enough to keep him stable. There was no hero to save them, no miraculous cure to fix his mess; he couldn’t fail here, not today, not them.

He managed to shuffle one leg forward, kicking over the piece of debris that was keeping Alya pinned down. She hesitated to move, but he didn’t give her a choice, prodding her with his toe back through the wall he broke through just to get here.

Mayura felt her mistake when she tried to push the mouth back up, to make a bigger opening, only for the jagged teeth to come down on her shoulder. She knew that she screamed, but the white-hot pain that flushed through her from the metal cutting through her caused such sensory overload that she couldn’t hear anything.

Chat faltered for a moment, long enough for the pressure to pile on and cut into him. His biceps strained, the muscles tearing through his suit, his skin bruised and raw from the immense weight as he cried out in pain.

Their bodies shook under the strain, and still, it wasn’t enough. The jaws closed tighter, the ceiling crept lower.

“I can’t…” Mayura whispered, blood dripping down her chin as her shoulders buckled.

“I… won’t…” Chat gasped, his legs trembling, the concrete cutting deeper into his bruised back.

And yet, in that moment, across the city, they were united.

A woman. A boy. Both standing in the fire, refusing to back down, refusing to lose the ones they loved the most.

But the weight was unbearable. The pain was too much.

They could feel themselves breaking. And it wasn’t enough. They only had one shot at making this right.

“Just… One… More time, Plagg.” Chat muttered weakly under his breath. “I know you got one in you.”

“Sentiboard!” Mayura cried out, “Go!”

Chat twisted his body around, fighting against the rest of his body crying out to crumble as he moved his shoulder into position. He had no chance of holding up the building with both arms, and now he was pushing the weight all onto one, leaving his right hand free.

The sentiboard immediately understood Mayura’s intent and broke away from the scene, zipping off into the distance. Hawkmoth stood back watching it, mouth agape. It’d be easy to think that the sentimonster had just abandoned its master.

Not once did he break eye-contact with Marinette, her eyes were the only thing keeping him strong enough to push, to let all that force dig into his flesh and rip into his bones. His free hand curled, channelling all that anguish, pain and desperation down the length of his arm. All he needed to know was that Marinette needed him to win; that made him invincible.

“Cata…” He slurred in a desperate shout. “Cataclysm!”

Mayura cried out, so sure that she was going to pass out from the pain before she could put her plan to the test. She locked eyes with Hawkmoth, with Gabriel, imagining her corpse flopping out in front of him being the way he found out who she was underneath. She imagined Glutton continuing to expand and eat him in the midst of his grief, before he could even think to use the horse miraculous. She imagined Adrien learning of the tragedy her foolishness brought. She would accept any pain to avoid those nightmares becoming reality.

There came a tug on her mental link and- Yes. Over the skyline the sentiboard came back into view. Well, she couldn’t see the sentiboard really, what she could see was the swarm of spiked, beeping objects that was chasing the sentimonster. Within seconds, the board was diving past her, lodging itself inside Glutton’s gullet. The sensation made glutton gag, which meant the teeth came back up, releasing her shoulder from its prison.

Hand engulfed in destructive energy; Chat let out one last scream as he slammed it into the concrete sky.

Mayura threw herself from Glutton’s mouth just as the explosive fauna horde barrelled inside to follow sentiboard. She landed on her bleeding shoulder, tumbling into Hawkmoth’s feet.

For both of them, the world was then swallowed by a burst of light, followed by a release of pressure. For both of them, they were left reeling, the strain too much, their bodies falling limp, but their minds still clung to consciousness. For both of them, somebody caught them.

“What were you thinking you crazy, crazy woman!” There was no venom in his voice oddly enough, though maybe she simply couldn’t hear anything except the fact that there was something to hear.

“Mari, what are you-” Alya’s voice tickled Chat’s ear, followed by the sound of cloth being pulled at.

Suddenly, something soft, something cotton, like a jumper, was wrapped around Chat’s head. “He’s about to de-transform.”

“Kalki! Nooroo! Unify!” No, no, Mayura could hear his tone for certain. This one was a strangled, desperate cry.

“Alya!” Marinette huffed. “Grab his legs, now!”

Everyone was alive. Everyone was safe.

That’s all the two needed before they let themselves give into sleep.

Notes:

Nathalie and Adrien share a mother-son explosive combo across space and time.

Dutch is a sneaky little bastard.

Marinette and Alya have a cat on their hands.

Dauntless is... Not doing well.

Next Time we have 'Loose Ends' to cap this all off:

Dauntless didn't know how she got here. A sewer tunnel was not the place for someone of her status, her design. Stuck down here without her tech, with her suit destroyed, with her own blood gushing down her face; it must have been some sort of cosmic mix up. All because of that damn cat.

In that moment, she lost her footing, plummeting to the floor with none of the grace or poise that had been engraved into her very bones. She became a mangled heap on the dirty, wet floor, barely fighting the urge to vomit under the oppressive odour that only added to her humiliation. And maybe she would have lost that fight if it weren't for her body's immediate tension when two boots dropped down in front of her.

"Dauntless, right?" A smooth voice hid a sleazy edge, the man crouching down in front of her. There was nothing but bad intention in his predatory eyes. "The name's Dutch, and I... Well, I think we can help each other out."

Chapter 33: Miraculous Hunts of the Cat and the Peacock: Loose Ends

Summary:

Dauntless returns to her mother not so empty handed, Adrien wakes up under Marinette's care and Hawkmoth has to make a decision on what to do about Mayura.
Gabriel:

Dauntless was a word that described the fearless, and right now, Dauntless wasn’t living up to her name. She was scared, of her failure, of her weakness, of her mother’s wrath. As she crawled towards the sewer grate, blocking out the wail of police sirens and struggling to keep her suit from falling apart, all she could do was wonder how much better off she’d be if Chat Noir’s throw had struck true.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She should have wiped the floor with that cat, she should have been so ruthless and efficient that her mother would have never needed to intervene, she shouldn’t have had to sacrifice even one of her enforcers. But it all happened, she failed. In a single night, she ruined her mother’s legacy and creations and had nothing to show for it. What was the point in dragging herself back to her mother’s arms? Would it not be better for her too crawl into a corner and let herself bleed out than sully her mother’s home with her weakness?

Feet tearing into the ground made her head snap up. Two sets of footsteps echoing from the other end of the alleyway. They were light, but clumsy, like a drunk’s. Despite her inner turmoil, Dauntless still had enough preservation instinct to press herself flat against the dumpster, hiding under its shadows as the pair passed.

“Why did I have to carry the legs?” Two figures emerged from the corner, with something connecting them together. The taller of the two, and the furthest away, was the one whining. “His junk is right in my face.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry them like that!” A softer, more familiar voice squeaked. These were the two Chat had protected. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you got the lighter end.”

It was then that Dauntless realized that the dark figure connecting them was another body, a body the two were carrying.

“There is no ‘light’ end, Mari! This boy’s got some muscle on him even without the magic.”

Mari?

Dauntless’ eyes widened behind her broken visor, silently shuffling along to peer close into the little alcove where ethe two had stopped to catch their breath. Under the moonlight she could just barely make out the pigtails. Marinette. She knew this girl, was one of Adrien’s friends. He’d introduced them before she had been whisked away to mother’s lab under the guise of a sudden business trip.

As far as she knew, Marinette was… Kind. And underserving of harm. She wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a lowlife. And… And… Dauntless had almost hospitalized her twice.

Her mother would be disappointed that Dauntless saw that as something to feel uncomfortable about.

“Come on, Pigtails, you promised me cheese!” A nsallay voice announced the arrival of a small, furry creature that would have easily blended in with the shadows if it wasn’t for his big, glowing green eyes.

A kwami. It was a kwami. Wait… No… It was Chat Noir’s kwami.

Which meant that the body they were carrying-

“Plagg, it’s been five minutes.” Marinette groaned. “We can’t eat until we’ve hidden Chat at my place.”

Dauntless bit down on her bottom lip just to stop herself from growling. Chat Noir was here, incapacitated with his kwami on recharge, with only two defenceless girls to protect him. It was like destiny was gift-wrapping her opportunity for redemption.

“But I’m hungry now…” Plagg whined.

This was all his fault after all. He instrumented her humiliation. He forced her to escalate. He ruined everything. The situation going out of control, all the damages and pain that was wreaked upon the freedom fighters, her mother’s disappointment; it all came back to him.

Yes, she was exhausted. Yes, she had no weapons. Yes, her suit was out of energy. But she could do it, she could end this, right here, right now, with just some motivation.

But her body remained there, locked and watching as her opportunity left.

She shook her head, gritted her teeth and dragged herself over to the nearby sewer grate. She couldn’t afford to get caught by the police in this state, not just because she was inadequately defended, but enough of her helmet had been exposed to reveal her identity if anyone so happened to catch a glimpse of her.

Dauntless didn't know how she got here. A sewer tunnel was not the place for someone of her status, her design. Stuck down here without her tech, with her suit destroyed, with her own blood gushing down her face; it must have been some sort of cosmic mix up. All because of that damn cat.

In that moment, she lost her footing, plummeting to the floor with none of the grace or poise that had been engraved into her very bones. She became a mangled heap on the dirty, wet floor, barely fighting the urge to vomit under the oppressive odour that only added to her humiliation. And maybe she would have lost that fight if it weren't for her body's immediate tension when two boots dropped down in front of her.

"Dauntless, right?" A smooth voice hid a sleazy edge, the man crouching down in front of her. There was nothing but bad intention in his predatory eyes. "The name's Dutch, and I... Well, I think we can help each other out."

He watched her patiently as she gathered herself, as she rolled back on her leg to sit up and glare at him, his domineering shadow being the only thing that saved half of her face from his gaze. The light caught the glint of the pistol at his side, if he wanted her dead all it would take was one shot. She was completely at his mercy.

“Looks like Chat Noir gave you quite the pounding.” Dutch clicked his tongue, moving past her without a care in the world to lean back against the world. “Sorry about that, but I can’t take a punch quite as well as you, so it worked out.”

Dauntless’ eyes narrowed. “You were the one who attacked Marin- That girl the cat was so infatuated with?”

He stroked his chin. “Girl has the eye of Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir? Phew, she must be something special.”

“If you’re not here to finish what the cat started, what do you want with me?”

“I told you,” He rolled his eyes. “I want us to help each other.”

There was a muffled ding as something was plopped in her lap. A small bundle of cloth. Dauntless picked it up curiously and- One of the folds was loose, revealing a tiny fraction of what was underneath, and what was there sparked with a golden energy.

Her heart leapt at this revelation, but no joy could come before suspicion drowned it out. She closed her hand over it and looked up at him. “You’re just giving me the bee miraculous? You clearly know how valuable it is.”

“Magical power does sound like a major upgrade, sure, but the thing about rare products is that they’re only valuable to the people who know what to do with them.” He crouched down in front of her, that fake, forced smile looking so painful on his face. “See, I don’t know the first thing about this little trinket here. Far as I know, tinkering with it could wind up killing me or turning me into a statue like it did to my boys upstairs.”

She held up her fist, waiting for the catch. “And I could easily use it to inflict that very fate upon you.”

“True, but what would be the point in that?” His head lulled back lazily with a slow sigh. “You and your mom, you look like up-and-comers in this whole underworld game. And that, if you guys are willing to play ball, a guy like me can be… Useful to have in your corner.”

“So, this is-”

“A symbol of trust.” He finished, patting her on the head before rising to his feet. “In hopes that your mother knows that, if she ever needs help, the Freedom Fighters would be happy to lend a hand. We just so love helping those in need.

Without another word, he turned around and left her, throwing up a lazy wave before disappearing around the corner.

All Dauntless could do was hold the miraculous, her sole remaining lifeline, close to her chest. Remind herself of what she almost lost today; of what the cat almost took from her.

Dauntless was afraid, a contradiction of her name, but hatred allowed her to drown that out. She would let her hatred clear the way for focus. Focus on success, focus on training, focus on ensuring that the cat never again gets to humiliate her.

She hated Chat Noir with all her being, and that would be her most powerful weapon of all.

---

Gabriel tried not to make it obvious that he was staring as Nooroo went through an entire packet of shortbread. He should be keeping an eye on the corner of his little alcove, waiting for Mayura’s curious shadow to fall upon him and catch him untransformed, he should be marching over to her sleeping form and rip the peacock off her, but all he could do was stare.

He chalked it up to this whole affair, and the strain of unifying two miraculous, as inflicting a temporary weariness on his mind.

It hadn’t been the most graceful landing, stumbling through the portal and almost collapsing with Mayura nestled in his arms. They’d been spat out on some random rooftop he’d memorized from Ladybug’s patrol route, high up and secluded enough to not risk wondering eyes catching anything private. Gabriel hadn’t realized how much he missed Paris’ nighttime air until he felt it fill his lungs and flush away the pressurized, humid fog of the other world.

Logically, that should have been when he dropped Mayura, snagged her miraculous and made a break for it, but in that moment, he felt like he’d just broken free from a rainstorm in a big bulky coat with the insides damp with his sweat. All he could feel was the suit, the power, confining him and he just needed it off.

He’d set Mayura down a little bit away, hidden behind a chimney on one end of the roof. As he did so he had to stop and wince, glancing the dark burn marks trailing up her back. The damage she sustained from the explosion, the explosion she used to kill Glutton, the act she only had to do because of him.

This began as such a simple plan to take out a pest, and now it had become such a mess.

“Are you okay, Master?” Nooroo’s eyes found him over the biscuit that seemed almost as tall as the kwami.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.” He said, instead of asking the question. It was odd to hear the kwami ask such a thing, the very idea of Nooroo considering his well-being at all left an uncertain feeling in his stomach.

Nooroo gulped down his current mouthful and then looked down at the half of the biscuit that remained through curious eyes. A beat of thought passed before the kwami, quite slowly and awkwardly, turned the snack to Gabriel. “Is it because you’re hungry too?”

It would almost be amusing if Gabriel allowed himself to laugh at such things. Maybe Hawkmoth would have smiled at it. “I’m thinking, if you must know.”

“About what?”

“About…” He stopped, furrowing his brows. There was plenty on his mind, and most of it he didn’t feel comfortable thinking about, let alone telling another that he held such thoughts. “About what happened back there. I didn’t think kwamis could ever be put in danger, even with the magic binding them to their holder.”

He crossed his arms, waiting for Nooroo to interrupt him, but annoyingly enough the kwami was patient. He really wished he’d put the horse miraculous back on right now, Kaalki would probably keep Nooroo distracted. “I’d assumed it would take more to scare a God.”

“Power doesn’t make one a God, Master.” Nooroo settled on Gabriel’s knee, getting crumbs everywhere. “We submit to the whims of the Universe at the end of the day.”

Nooroo turned his paws to gesture at himself. “You already know that this isn’t my true form.” He returned to munching on his snack thoughtfully. “Nooroo is only a fragment of a bigger entity. Just as life itself is a fragment of reality. What I am is… Well, it’s closer to you than it is to a God.”

“Do you still feel pain?” It felt like such obvious questions to ask and answer before now. But maybe Gabriel had been scared to ask them. “Do you… Die?”

“In a sense.” It was with that same matter-of-fact casualness that Nooroo had spoken about the unrivalled benefits of Gabriel’s possible death. “Physically, my form doesn’t die, so much as I can… Reset. And mentally, I suppose I can be overwhelmed just as any of you humans can be.”

There was a pause, Nooroo staring intently into the space in front of him. “Pain is rare, so… When it does happen, it’s exceptionally horrible to experience.” He smiled. “Thanks for saving me, Master.”

“I failed to save you.” Gabriel immediately corrected.

“Mayura wouldn’t have reached me.” Nooroo shot back as a point-blank statement, mimicking the same tone Gabriel would use to condescend to everyone else.

“And I wasn’t saving you, I was merely protecting my investment.” Gabriel scoffed. “I’m nothing without you- Without your power.”

He expected a retort. He wanted a retort. But no, Nooroo let the words stay sat between them with nothing but silence looming overhead. All while Nooroo shot him that satisfied grin that made Gabriel certain he lost whatever game was being played here.

Gabriel retreated from the conversation, turning his head away to lean against the brickwork, soothing his ears with the fluttering breaths of Mayura carried through the gentle breeze. He couldn’t stall any longer, she needed to be dealt with. She needed to be… What? What must be done with her? It had been so clear to him before.

Perhaps he could admit that his rage had been quelled since their initial fight. Maybe he could go as far as to say that there were charming aspects to her. There was a whole lot of small, excusable elements he could point to, but at the end of the day she was a threat so long as she bore the peacock. So why wasn’t he moving in for the kill already?

It was Nooroo who roused him from his thoughts yet again, hovering just around the corner, catching a glimpse of Mayura’s leg. “I think Duusuu wants to stay with her.”

“It’s not Duusuu’s decision.” Gabriel snapped.

“So, you’re just going to lock Duusuu up again in that dusty old safe.” It wasn’t a question, and Gabriel couldn’t help but jolt at the disappointed chord in Nooroo’s voice.

“Duusuu is dangerous.” Gabriel hissed.

Nooroo didn’t flinch. “You fixed the miraculous.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?” He crushed the horse miraculous in his hand. “We’ve already seen how much damage can be wrought.”

“Mayura knows what she’s doing.” Again, a statement. Not a question, not speculation, a statement; as if Nooroo knew more about Mayura than him.

“How are you so sure?”

“Because I’m not you.” It was phrased as an insult, but Gabriel couldn’t hear any venom to it. “You have the power to see into people’s hearts, but you’re too blinded by your hang ups to see anything but their darkness.”

Before Gabriel could respond, Nooroo flew closer, propping his hands on the tip of Gabriel’s nose. “I kept a close eye on her the entire time. I talked to Duusuu. I watched her break her shoulder and take an explosion to the back just to protect you. That woman adores you for reasons we’ll probably never understand.”

“But what about-”

“She would never wish any harm upon Adrien, Master.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth but could find no words to fight back against Nooroo. When did this little kwami start thinking he could his attention like this?

“I know it’s not in your nature, but you have to trust me on this.” Nooroo’s eyes softened. “Hawkmoth’s not just you. I’m part of him too; and if you can’t trust his judgement, then you have to admit that Hawkmoth is a mistake.”

Nooroo continued to stare up at him, waiting for an answer with an earnest curiosity that made Gabriel feel unreasonably irritated. This kwami had been his for years, and yet only now was he acting… personable? As if he were something other than a tool?

Gabriel exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “What do you think I should do then?”

“Give her a chance.” Nooroo said gently. “If you’re really the ‘best’ Hawkmoth, then you should be able to-”

Suddenly, Nooroo froze. His antennae jolted upwards into rigid lines. The only thing that broke through the stiffness was a panicked gasp. “Transform. Now.”

The transformation phrase slipped from his lips as second nature, having Hawkmoth take Gabriel’s place in an instant, rising up to meet the spotlight that cut through the maze of buildings towering above him to hit him straight in the eye. A few seconds later the loud thrumming of engines hit him as what he assumed to be some sort of aircraft charged forward to hover over him.

He couldn’t make out it’s body through the light, but it certainly wasn’t a helicopter, but no plane could hover like this. He made a move to retreat further down the roof where the light couldn’t reach him, but it was only a few steps before he heard multiple bodies dropping from the plane, and it was only a few steps more before a blast struck his back and sent him hurdling to the floor.

It was an electrifying sensation traveling down his spine, pulling at his muscles until they tensed up and locked in. The attack didn’t delay him long, but it did delay him long enough. He realized this when, turning on his back, he looked up to find the horse miraculous tossed into the air and quickly swiped by a drone cutting through the air and then darting out of sight.

Still, Hawkmoth knew he had little time to dwell on the loss outside of a few choice curse words. He scrambled to the far end of the roof, catching Mayura’s leg as he went and dragging her to slide down behind the small cobblestone walls that protected the door to the roof.

His internal radar could identify six pursuers, four on the roof with him and two remaining in the aircraft. All of them radiated caution, four hunters advancing on a wild animal. That was the only thing that allowed him the mercy of them not immediately continuing to open fire on him. If he made any obvious moved to create an akuma, they’d be all over him in seconds. And that wasn’t even mentioning that he had a sleeping Mayura to worry about.

He needed to be smart about this, gain some ground, some distance, anything to give him time to use his powers before they could react.

“One miraculous secured.” One of the men muttered, presumably into their comms. “Two targets remain, the butterfly and the peacock. Peacock seems to be heavily injured. What are our orders?”

This wasn’t some rag tag group of confident thugs jumping on a convenient opportunity, these boys were ready to ambush him. That suggested they were already prepared for the magic of a miraculous, but how could they have known that he’d be here?

Hawkmoth thought back to Mayura’s break in, Nooroo had enlightened him to the possibility that miraculous energy could be tracked. If these guys knew their stuff, it wouldn’t be far fetched for them to have been tracking the horse miraculous’ portals. Would have been obvious that one of either Hawkmoth or Ladybug’s team triggered the miraculous and would most likely be weakened from dealing with the wild miraculous.

That was all to say that these clowns were going to be a bit of a problem if Hawkmoth didn’t think of something quick.

“It’s rude to ambush a man and not even introduce yourselves.” Hawkmoth called out to them, peeking around the corner. He could just make out the men’s uniforms – he recognised them from the very pictures he showed Nooroo the other day, the demons. Only, these men seemed a lot less heavily armoured, and lost a few inches, compared to the futuristic ninja-like assailants he saw in the photos.

He assumed that made these guys the basic grunts.

On that front, he was insulted.

“We’re the last thing you’re gonna see. What else matters?” A second man barked back, fingers twitchy on the trigger of whatever bulky rifle he was holding. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The first man, stern, threw his arm out in front of Twitchy. “Would you hold up for a second? We’re not rushing in on a miraculous holder.”

Hawkmoth was thankful for Stern. He’d just gotten an idea, and all he needed to pull it off was some time.

“It’s the butterfly guy.” Twitchy scoffed. “He’s practically useless if he doesn’t have someone to akumatize. Just because the boss has a vendetta against him doesn’t make him dangerous.”

“Oh, your boss is a fan?” Hawkmoth keeps the conversation going, even if he’s not really listening much. Inside his head, he’s reaching out, he just has to find them. “They didn’t need to set up all this for an autograph.”

Twitchy takes a few steps forward, grunting. “The Mastermind doesn’t need anything but your head.”

Hawkmoth paused to laugh. “Oh my god, is that their name? Come on now, that’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?”

A mental ping caught his attention, and he allowed hope to bubble. Found ‘em.

“It’s the perfect name for the world’s greatest mind!” Stern growled.

Hawkmoth drew his cane back, holding it aloft casually, beating it against his palm. “For the world’s greatest mind, they seem to be taking an awfully long time getting back to you about this crucial mission of yours.”

There was an excitable snarl from Twitchy. “You’re far from the only matter that holds their interest tonight. As we speak, another miraculous is being secured.” He leaned closer, his toothy grin visible even through the bright light. “By tonight’s end, we’ll have quite the haul, and Paris’ only super villain dead.”

Beeping rang out from Stern’s ring.

“Oh, is that you great leader now?”

From the ring arose a holographic projection of a symbol, seemingly resembling a sharp edged eye scratched out. Which, for a brief moment, Hawkmoth felt a tinge of familiarity, an image flashing in his head of a similar symbol emblazoned on a uniform; only that one was just the eye.

“Leader, we’ve-”

A mismatch of several different voices and pitches overlaid on each other cut him off. “Hawkmoth is there?”

Stern took a moment to respond, clearing his throat as nerves clearly began to set in. “Y-Yes, Leader.”

It was utterly silent, yet Hawkmoth could just tell the person on the other end was sighing. “And I presume that the next words out of your mouth will be to inform me that he now lies at your feet full of bloody holes.”

Oh, the fear was just rolling off of the goons in waves now.

“Uh, well…”

“I see.” He didn’t think several voices could sound so effectively venomous at once, nor hear such a simple response spat out like it was a slur. “You’ve given him time to stall you, haven’t you?”

Twitchy, still lacking an appropriate number of brain cells, was so confident that he could save this, leaning into the ring. “Hey, it’s no problem. We have him surrounded; we’ll kill him quick.”

“And the horse miraculous?”

Stern grasped onto the good new, beaming. “The retrieval drone has already snagged it.”

“Ah. Excellent.”

Both men let out a sigh of relief.

“At least you’ve managed to accomplish something before he kills you all.”

Immediately, Mastermind hung up. The two were left to stare down at the ring in abject surprise and confusion.

“…What the hell are they talking about?” Twitchy screeched, wildly waving his hands in Hawkmoth’s direction. “What’s his scrawny little ass gonna do?”

Another mental ping. Several pings. Many pings. And they were loud, oh so loud.

Hawkmoth grinned, striding out from cover with his cane resting behind his neck. “I believe they were referring to this.”

It started with nothing, just a distant blip flickering between distant buildings at the ignorant lackies’ backs. Then, a definite shadow emerged that darkened the rooftops, swiftly approaching them, It was only then that the sounds became clear.

A deafening rustle filled the air.

The first moths came in a slow, drifting cascade, slipping from the darkness like falling petals. Then more arrived in a wave, hundreds upon hundreds, their wings beating in unison, their pale bodies glinting like silver under the harsh lights of the aircraft above. Within moments, the entire rooftop was consumed by them—a living, writhing storm.

The aircraft’s engines whined in protest as the akumatized moths latched onto its frame, their wings beating in unnatural synchrony. The sleek black vehicle jerked mid-air, lurching sideways as if something massive had taken hold of it.

Inside, the two operatives panicked.

“The hell is happening?!” one shouted, slamming at the controls, trying desperately to override whatever force had taken hold of their craft.

“Something’s eating through the wiring!” the other barked back, yanking at their harness. “We need to bail—now!”

But it was too late.

The moths engulfed the cockpit, swarming over the windows, the panels, the very vents that pumped oxygen through the cabin. The aircraft spasmed, alarms blaring, its systems shorting out one by one. It twisted violently, wings clipping against the surrounding buildings, sending chunks of metal raining down onto the streets below.

Then, with a final, helpless scream from within, it lost control completely.

The ship crashed into the rooftop in a fiery collision, metal screeching, flames licking at the remains of the fuselage. The explosion sent a shockwave through the air, rattling windows, shaking loose tiles from the edges of the surrounding buildings. The heat singed the edges of Hawkmoth’s shoes, but he did not move.

He didn’t need to.

The moths consumed everything.

The flames, the debris, the rooftop itself—all swallowed by the living tempest. The thick, writhing mass spread outward, blanketing the space in total darkness, leaving only vague silhouettes of movement as the grunts inside struggled against the inevitable.

But Hawkmoth could see them perfectly.

Their fear flared like beacons in his mind.

Twitchy’s erratic, panicked, wild like a cornered animal. Stern’s more measured but laced with dread, fighting to keep his composure and failing miserably.

The other two weren’t as lucky.

Hawkmoth advanced without hesitation, his cane slicing through the suffocating dark with precise, practiced efficiency. He felt the impact as the weapon connected with the first grunt’s ribs, the blade plunging deep inside and ripping something vital out as he pulled it back. A strangled wheeze was the only sound they made before collapsing. The second had barely a moment to register what had happened before the gleaming metal of the blade drew a crimson line across their throat, leaving them to choke on their own blood before they, too, crumpled into the abyss of writhing wings.

The storm began to clear.

The moths, having done their work, scattered into the night, slipping into the shadows from whence they came.

The rooftop was a ruin of scorched stone and bodies, save for two.

Twitchy was on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping, swatting weakly at the few stray moths still clinging to his arms. Stern stood frozen, fists clenched so tightly his gloves creaked, but his breathing was shallow—too shallow.

They were both staring at him.

Not with the wary caution of trained soldiers facing a supervillain.

But with sheer, unfiltered horror.

Twitchy sputtered first, his voice shaking, cracking, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“You—you’re supposed to be—” He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for his gun, but couldn’t bring himself to. “You’re supposed to be some goofy supervillain, not a—”

His voice died in his throat.

Hawkmoth smiled.

Cold.

Amused.

Deadly.

He twirled his cane lazily before planting it against the ruined rooftop, stepping forward, forcing them back, letting the truth settle in their bones.

“Oh?” he mused. “Did I disappoint?”

Stern straightened, his initial terror melting into something colder, something resolved. His jaw clenched, his hands flexed at his sides, but there was no hesitation when he spoke.

"It doesn't matter what you do," he said, his voice steady despite the carnage around him. "You'll never measure up to the Mastermind."

Hawkmoth arched a brow, amused.

Stern continued, shoulders squared as he stared down a man who had just slaughtered his comrades. "You're still just a clown in a butterfly costume. Nothing more."

Hawkmoth exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in faux disappointment. "Hmm. Sounds to me like your Mastermind doesn’t know me at all."

He took a step forward. The embers from the burning wreckage flickered, casting twisted shadows across his mask. Then, with an almost lazy snap of his fingers, he asked, "Tell me—how many men does it take to send a message?"

Stern opened his mouth to answer.

A gunshot rang out.

Stern jerked forward, eyes going wide as a fine red mist exploded from the front of his skull. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he even registered what had happened.

Behind him, Twitchy stood trembling, his arm outstretched, fingers still locked around the trigger of his sidearm. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temple. His breath came in rapid, uneven gasps.

"One," Twitchy stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. "You only need one man to send a message!"

Hawkmoth chuckled lowly, stepping closer, gaze flicking to Stern’s twitching corpse before landing on the shaking man before him. He hummed in appreciation.

"Good answer."

Then his eyes drifted past Twitchy, to something further away—something hovering just beyond the edge of the ruined rooftop.

The drone.

The one that had stolen the Horse Miraculous.

It lingered in place, its sleek frame hovering silently, camera lens trained directly on them, watching everything unfold.

Hawkmoth smiled grimly.

He gripped his cane, twisted it in his palm, and before Twitchy could even process the shift in mood, Hawkmoth drove the sharpened end through his gut.

Twitchy choked, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down in disbelief at the weapon buried in him.

"But still wrong."

With a sharp twist, Hawkmoth pulled his cane free, letting Twitchy collapse to the ground, twitching and gurgling on his own blood. He didn’t spare him another glance. His focus was elsewhere now.

On the drone.

On the Mastermind.

Hawkmoth lifted his chin slightly, letting the camera get a good, clear view of his masked face, the destruction around him, the bodies left in his wake.

Then he smirked.

“You won the horse miraculous.” He nodded thoughtfully. “But I wonder if it was worth putting you in my sights.”

The drone doesn’t respond, it simply leaves. So Hawkmoth gingerly turned around and made his way over to Mayura, battling some internal questions as he walked.

“Nooroo, am I the only one getting a sense of deja-vu here?”

Nooroo was silent in his head, but his curiosity was deafening.

“Their leader has a pre-existing grudge against me. The symbol, the weapons, the uniforms; it’s all ringing something in the back of my head, like we’ve fought them before.” He came to a stop in front of Mayura’s slumped over form, staring down at the peacock miraculous. “I wonder…”

He crouched down, the memories coming back to him in flashes, of a week, a very terrible week, he lived through so many years ago. “I wonder if it had anything to do with the first time the peacock was stolen from us.”

Deftly, he reached forward, grasping the pin of the peacock between his fingers. He didn’t commit to yanking it yet, but neither did he loosen his grip.

Hawkmoth hovered there, fingers curled around the peacock miraculous, feeling its cool, delicate surface pressing against his skin. He hadn't pulled yet—hadn't made the choice—but the weight of the moment crushed down on him like an avalanche.

Mayura was out cold. Her breaths were shallow, her injuries severe. Removing the miraculous would sever her bond to it, leave her even weaker. A part of him knew he should be ruthless. That it was the logical move. The only move.

He had just wiped out an entire squadron of trained operatives without a second thought. He had stared into the lens of the drone and dared the Mastermind to act. This should have been nothing.

And yet.

Hawkmoth hesitated.

It should have been easy. It was always easy when it was someone else. A faceless civilian, an enemy, a stranger. Someone who hadn’t fought by his side. Someone who hadn’t been willing to throw themselves into danger for his sake.

Nooroo stirred uncomfortably in his mind, his presence filled with unspoken questions.

Hawkmoth ignored him.

His fingers flexed slightly, adjusting his grip. He didn’t have time to waste on sentiment. The Mastermind had the Horse Miraculous now. They were an unknown factor with unknown resources. He needed every advantage he could get.

Mayura wasn’t an injured ally—she was a liability. She was an enemy. She was a thief.

His jaw tightened.

She saved his life.

Maybe it was better this way.

Maybe it was better if he took it now, while she was unconscious. Before she had a chance to argue, to plead, to—

Her eyes opened.

Hawkmoth froze.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t react with alarm, or shock, or even pain. She just… stared at him.

Quiet. Still.

Accepting.

She knew exactly what was about to happen. And she wasn’t going to stop him.

She wasn’t going to fight him.

And somehow, that made it worse.

His fingers clenched tighter around the miraculous, but he didn’t pull.

Why wasn’t he pulling?

His chest felt tight, and for a moment, the rooftop, the wreckage, the smouldering remains of the aircraft all faded away. All that was left was this, this terrible silence between them, this unbearable understanding that hung thick in the air.

He sighed and pulled his hand back. “If you’re strong enough to stand, you should get out of here before the police show up.”

She blinked in confusion. “W-What are you doing?”

“Ignore the bodies.” He gingerly ignored her question, marching to the end of the roof and preparing to jump. “I’ll be watching you very closely, Mayura.”

There was barely a glance spared as he paused, making sure he had her undivided attention before he leaped. “If I see even a glimmer of foul play, not even Nooroo’s mercy will save you from me.”

With that, he sank past the edge, disappearing into the night.

However, a few seconds later, Mayura could still hear him as his cane beeped.

“What is he calling me at this hour for?”

“Son, you should be in-”

“Plagg? Why are you on his phone?”

Mayura was sure that the entirety of Paris heard Hawkmoth’s next words.

In fact, a blind, deaf, comatose lobotomy patient could hear his wrathful bellows echoing across Paris.

“HE. DID. WHAT?!”

---

The first mistake Adrien made was trying to get up.

Later he’d correct himself that waking up in the first place was his mistake, because the pain was immediate. The memories of his brutal fight with Dauntless lashed out at his every nerve, reliving each blow with an echo as fresh as the original wound.

Struggling made it worse; his body saw it as him trying to escape his painful bindings and fought to push him back down into the bed. Adrien groaned, his breath catching in his throat as his ribs screamed in protest. His vision swam as he blinked up at the dim ceiling, his mind sluggishly trying to process where he was.

He barely swallowed back a groan, his whole body protesting against the idea of movement. His ribs ached. His head throbbed. His arms felt like dead weight at his sides.

For a long moment, Adrien just lay there, breathing shallowly, trying to remember where he was.

The last thing he could recall was—

Marinette. Alya. Crumbling Building.

His heart lurched. He needed to—

No. Wait.

Something was wrong.

He wasn’t inside the Freedom Fighters’ base anymore. He was warm, sinking into a soft bed that he felt too big for.

The air smelled like baked goods and fabric softener. The bed beneath him was far too soft for any of the Freedom Fighters’ rooms. There were curtains. Not around the room. Around him. Adrien stared at the swath of pink fabric hanging just above him, his sleep-fogged mind taking several sluggish moments to put the pieces together.

“This is the last platter of cheese.” Marinette’s voice wrapped around him, more comforting than any blanket. He could see her vague silhouette emerging from the floor, presumably from the stairway hatch, and carefully creeping through the room. “I’m not letting you clear out my parent’s entire stock of cheese.”

“But I’m still hungry!” Plagg whined, a smaller blob dashing up beside her. “The kid’s never gonna heal if I’m on an empty stomach! Don’t you want Goldilocks to get better?”

Marinette sighed, holding the chunk of cheese out. “You said all he needed was rest before transforming again.”

“I lied.” Plagg stated almost proudly, diving for the cheese.

Only for Marinette to snatch it away. “Why should I believe you’re telling the truth now then?”

Plagg practically squealed when his teeth chomped down on empty air, before launching into an areal chase with Marinette’s hand, chasing her around the room. “You just have to trust me, come on!”

Adrien felt his chest swell, relief prickling at his eyes. It was Marinette. She was safe, was alive, and in good enough shape to run around the room dealing with his kwami’s mischief. It also confirmed his suspicions; she’d taken him back to her room. She’d probably saved his life. Honestly, he’d broken into the bakery enough at this point that he should recognise the interior instantly.

Hey, maybe the searing pain of having an entire building’s roof dropped on him wasn’t that bad if he got to have Marinette taking care of-

Wait.

Wait…

Plagg? Plagg!?

Adrien’s hands, damn the aches that followed, shot up in an instant. They roamed his body in panicked, rough strokes, feeling a distinct lack of leather and a worrying amount of bare muscle. He wasn’t Chat Noir anymore.

Adrien sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

I’m in Marinette’s room.

I’m in Marinette’s room. As Adrien.

Oh, I am so, so screwed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up again, willing this to be some kind of terrible dream. It wasn’t. This was real. This was very real.

Father was going to kill him. Scratch that, he was going to bury him alive, wait for him to die, revive him with the Ladybug and Cat miraculous AND THEN KILL HIM AGAIN.

His breath hitched, body tensing as his mind ran a thousand miles per hour. He couldn’t stay. If, by some miracle, she hadn’t recognised him yet, he needed to escape before he made this any worse. Adrien forced himself to take slow, steady breaths. He had to get out of here. Now. Before Marinette saw him. Before she could—

The bed creaked as he shifted, pain flaring up so fast and so sharp that he nearly yowled in agony.

Plagg and Marinette both stopped.

His stomach plummeted.

A beat of silence.

Then, Marinette’s voice, hesitant and just a touch breathless. “Chat Noir? Are you awake?”

His voice came out hoarse. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

There was a thump as something was placed down nearby. Marinette’s shape grew, as did Adrien’s apprehension, indicating that she was closing in. The moment those curtains opened; he’d be too groggy, too exposed to hide Adrien’s eyes from her. However, the curtains only pulled back far enough for her hand to push through, holding a glass of water out to him.

“You must be thirsty.” Marinette said lowly, and Adrien could just glimpse up the stretch of her arm, showing off how the rest of her body was turned away. “I know it’s not milk, but I’m sure you can manage.”

Adrien’s mind took a moment to process the cat joke before grinning, slowly reaching forward to delicately take the glass from her grasp. “As long as it’s from you, I’ll consider it ambrosia.”

To be fair, as he sipped it, he realized that he wasn’t far off. The cold liquid rushing across the barren dessert of his throat was an instant calm to the chaotic sensations of his body, quelling down the screaming nerves and acting as a soothing balm on his muscles. It gave him enough of a boost to move.

He managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. He knew it was easier to lie back, but he felt too sedentary on his back if he wasn’t sleeping. “Is Alya okay?” He asked cautiously, he vaguely recalled Alya’s voice reaching him as he passed out, but he couldn’t say whether she sounded safe or not.

“She went home.” Marinette grumbled like her best friend hadn’t literally undergone a near-death experience. Then again, with someone as danger obsessed as Alya, that was probably all too common for Marinette. “No matter how many times I warned her, she kept trying to look at your face.”

Adrien’s breath got caught in his throat. “You mean-”

“I wasn’t going to sneak a peek, Chat.” She huffed, sounding a little offended by Adrien’s doubt. “Who you are under the mask doesn’t matter to me.” Adrien fought a smile as her figure crossed her arms, the shake to her voice doing very little to convince him that her declared apathy was true. “Besides, it wouldn’t be right to do that when you… Just after you…”

His smile dropped when she trailed off, catching the tail end of a sob. Silence stretched between them. Adrien found himself staring at her shadow through the curtain, at the way her shoulders trembled despite how tightly she was holding herself together.

His chest clenched.

She had been crying.

Because of him.

Adrien tried to shift forward, biting back a groan as pain lanced through his body. “Princess-”

Marinette’s hands balled into fists, like she was physically trying to stop herself from shaking. “I hope you know that the only reason I’m not slapping you is because you’re already hurt enough.”

He froze.

“You almost died, Chat.” Her voice cracked, raw and choked. “That wasn’t a normal fight. That wasn’t just another akuma attack. You were bleeding out—you stopped breathing—”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her nails digging into her palms. “How could you do that?”

Adrien was at a loss for words.

He could still hear the shake in her voice, the way she had choked on her words like she had been the one suffocating under the weight of that building. Like his near-death had stolen the air from her lungs instead of his.

And she didn’t understand.

She couldn’t understand.

Because to her, it must have seemed reckless. Suicidal. Like he hadn’t valued his own life enough to stay alive.

But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t.

He had to do it.

How could she not see that?

Adrien sucked in a breath, forcing his battered body to move. The pain was unbearable, white-hot and tearing through every nerve, but he shoved it down, grit his teeth, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

His limbs protested with every shift, but he pushed himself up, swaying dangerously as he found his balance.

“Chat—!” Marinette’s voice was alarmed, but he didn’t stop. He reached forward, fumbling through the curtain, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

She stiffened in shock, hands twitching at her sides like she didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer. She was ice cold, what skin he could make out had paled to match the moon; and she melted under his embrace.

“It was easy,” He murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched. He rested his chin on her shoulder, lips on her pulse as he spoke. “I just imagined a world without you in it.”

Marinette didn’t say anything. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t push him away. A small part of her even leaned into his touch, and Adrien had to take a second to register how perfectly they slotted together.

“And right then, I knew that thought would hurt me more than anything a building could throw at me.”

Her hand moved back, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. A slow, quiet motion. Hesitant, but there.

His chest ached—not from the injuries, not from the fight, but from the way she was clinging to him now, like she was holding onto a ghost.

Like she still wasn’t sure if he was really here.

He didn’t know what to say to that.

So instead, he just held her tighter.

Her head lulled back, placing them cheek to cheek, with the only thing stopping her from exposing his identity being how tightly she closed her eyes. A pang of rage still clung to him upon recognising the black eye. “Oh Kitty.” She breathed, her hand coming up to let her fingers explore his wild bed head. “You’re such a jerk, making me feel like this.”

“I won’t apologize.” He growled an octave deeper than he intended. “I’ll never apologize for protecting you, or Alya, or any of you.”

He knew that, even if he had his head covered, he was practically exposing himself here. He was making no effort to cover his voice, he let her have free roam of a body she’d hugged a few times before, and Chat Noir should certainly have no reason to be so protective of Marinette’s friends unless he knew them.

But he didn’t care. He trusted Marinette, and he knew that she wasn’t going to bother to put the pieces together. Not until she wanted to. She didn’t have to be careful of his secret, she didn’t have to look past the evidence; but she would, no matter what grief she gave him, no matter how much he annoyed her, she never would. Because she was just… Wonderful.

“I’m not always gonna be there to drag your sorry butt to safety.” She murmured.

“Oh?” He leaned further into her, arms squeezing tight enough that his movement slightly picked her off the ground. “So, if I want to be treated by Nurse Marinette, I should schedule my life-threatening stunts ahead of time?”

“For the love of-” She was withholding a growl behind her gritted teeth, but she wouldn’t unleash it because that would give him the win. “If you want to see me, just come through the damn balcony.”

He imagined Chat Noir’s cat ears standing at attention, a playful purr building in his chest. “My, my, did I just get the Princess’ permission to enter her tower?”

“I hate you, you know.” Her pout betrayed the lack of venom in her tone.

He grinned back at her. “You don’t have to like me for me to think you’re awesome.”

He knew she hated the blush that up her cheeks like a beacon, his fingers turning to dig their nails into his scalp and shove him away. “Just transform already! I hate having to keep my eyes closed.”

“Where is Plagg, anyway?” Adrien asked, looking around the room.

“Oh, I’m just looking around.” Only to jump when Plagg’s voice came from right beside him, a worrying amount of glee and mischief in the little gremlin’s voice. “You know, I found some really interesting looking earrings-”

“Plagg, stop going through my stuff!”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at his fateful companion. “Now, Plagg, I hope you haven’t been causing the nice lady any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Plagg snorted. “I’ve been the perfect guest!”

“Except when he tries to freak me out.” Marinette grumbled.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Hey, all I did was assure you that all my Chat Noirs are always well equipped for any situation. If you find anything weird about that, that’s on you and your dirty mind!”

Adrien let out a low chuckle, but he obeyed, leaning away from her and summoning his transformation with a soft “Plagg, claws out.”

The warmth of his magic wrapped around him, and when he blinked again, he was Chat Noir once more. He glanced down at himself, flexing his fingers in his gloves, and sighed in relief. It wasn’t 100%, but he felt the pain numb somewhat. Finally. As much as he appreciated Marinette looking after him, it was unnerving to be so vulnerable in front of her.

Marinette cracked one eye open, then the other, confirming that he was back in uniform before placing her hands on her hips. “Finally.”

“Sorry to keep you in the dark, Princess,” he teased, tail flicking playfully behind him.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of the little frown that had settled on her lips. “You need rest, Chat. Actual rest. No running around, no rooftop shenanigans, no getting into fights where you nearly die—”

“Alright, alright.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I get it. Less near-death experiences, more beauty sleep.”

Marinette hummed like she wasn’t convinced, then sighed. “I mean it.”

Before Chat could tease her further, a soft knock at the trapdoor cut through the air.

“Marinette?” Sabine’s gentle voice carried into the room. “Is he awake now?”

Marinette straightened immediately, guilt flashing across her face before she cleared her throat. “Uh—yeah! Yeah, he’s awake.”

The hatch opened, and Sabine climbed up with practiced ease, eyeing Chat Noir with the kind of motherly scrutiny that made him feel like a misbehaving child.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Then you don’t have any more excuses, young lady.”

Chat’s ears flicked. “Excuses?”

Marinette stiffened. “What? No! I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maman.”

Sabine sighed, exasperated but fond. “Marinette refused to get her own injuries checked out at the hospital until you woke up.”

Chat’s ears flattened. “You haven’t gotten yourself checked out?” He shot forward, barely restraining the urge to grab her arms and inspect her himself. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It’s not that bad!” Marinette insisted, waving her hands frantically. “I just—” She faltered, face turning a lovely shade of pink. “I, um…”

Sabine raised an eyebrow.

Marinette turned on her heel, jabbing a finger at Chat Noir’s chest. “I-I just had to make sure you didn’t steal anything!”

Chat blinked.

Sabine blinked.

Marinette barreled ahead before either of them could comment. “I mean—you are a thief, right? How was I supposed to trust you alone in my room? You could’ve—could’ve gone through my stuff! Or taken—”

Chat’s laughter interrupted her frantic rambling, causing Marinette’s face to burn even brighter. She made a noise somewhere between a squawk and a shriek before whirling on her mother. “Maman, I am leaving!”

Sabine merely gestured to the hatch. “Yes, dear.”

Marinette wasted no time fleeing, muttering something under her breath that Chat was sure was about traitorous cats and their smug faces.

Chat wiped away a tear, still chuckling as Sabine turned back to him.

“She’s impossible,” He said, amused.

Sabine hummed knowingly and, without warning, pushed a basket into his arms. Chat blinked down at the still-warm pastries nestled inside. “Uh-”

“I figured this is more convenient than you sneaking into our kitchen while we’re sleeping.” If she didn’t say it so gently with that bemusement in her eye, Chat might have felt like he was about to get jumped with a rolling pin.

His ears flicked back, cheeks warming as he let out a nervous chuckle. “You, uh… Know about that?”

Sabine tilted her head, a single brow raised in a way that made him feel incredibly, incredibly guilty.

“Mr. Noir, I run a bakery,” she said, tone light but firm. “I know exactly how much food we go through. And let’s just say… We’ve had a very interesting pattern of disappearing cheese lately.”

Chat winced. He and Plagg weren’t that obvious, were they?

“You also left a note the first time you did it.”

Oh. Right.

“I—uh—well, in my defence, I always leave money!” he tried, tail twitching behind him.

Sabine hummed, unimpressed. “And crumbs. And a half-eaten wheel of camembert under the counter.”

Chat’s entire soul left his body.

Plagg.

That little gremlin.

Sabine patted his cheek, suppressing a laugh at his expression. “Relax. I’d rather you eat than go hungry. Just try not to leave evidence next time.”

“I’ll make sure to scold my partner in crime.” Chat sighed in relief, tail flicking. “You’re surprisingly calm about a super villain being in your home.”

Sabine regarded him with a level stare, a knowing softness in her expression. “You saved my daughter’s life tonight.”

Chat’s throat bobbed. He wanted to take comfort in that, wanted to bask in the warmth of knowing he’d done something right. But the guilt curled in his gut like a living thing, twisting and squeezing until the words left him before he could stop them.

“I’m the reason she was in danger in the first place.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Those… those people were after me.”

Sabine exhaled slowly, gaze never wavering. “As far as Alya and the news have shown me, there was very little you could have done on your own to contain an army.”

He flinched. He hadn’t even seen the headlines yet, but he could already imagine the footage. The destruction. The chaos. His own body, battered and bruised, crumpled beneath the rubble.

However, Sabine wasn’t finished. She crossed her arms, lips pressing into a thin line. “However, it does make me question where your father was during all of this.”

Chat stiffened. His stomach plummeted.

Sabine’s eyes hardened just a touch, but there was steel beneath her voice.

“Your father doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Sabine took his silence as confirmation. Her expression didn’t shift into anger or disapproval, nor did she offer pity. Instead, she hummed in thought, tapping her fingers lightly against her forearm.

“Well, I suppose Hawkmoth will be the one to decide your punishment for your more… foolish decisions.”

Chat groaned, his ears flattening against his head as he slumped forward, gripping the basket of baked goods like a lifeline. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Sabine smirked, clearly amused at his suffering. “You don’t sound very eager to return home.”

“I’m not.” He let out a dramatic sigh, ears twitching. “He’s going to be so—” He grimaced, running a hand down his face. “So disappointed in me.”

Sabine’s smirk lingered, but there was warmth in her gaze. “Well, it’s good to know that even villains aren’t immune to a good old-fashioned scolding.”

Chat let out a half-hearted chuckle, shaking his head. “Believe me, you have no idea.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Chat idly running his fingers along the weave of the basket while Sabine studied him.

Eventually, she spoke again, her voice quiet but sure. “I know you’re supposed to be one of the bad guys.” Chat tensed slightly, but she continued. “But if you can do so much for my daughter—if you’re willing to get yourself nearly killed for her—then you can’t be that bad.”

He blinked at her, lips parting slightly in surprise. He didn’t know what he’d expected from Marinette’s mother, but it wasn’t this. Yes, he knew her as Adrien, but that was Adrien, that was just the boy her daughter went to school with. Chat had a reputation, and plenty of valid things for a mother to worry about. It was hard to process that Marinette’s parents were just as warm to him whichever mask he was wearing.

Guess they were just that sort of people.

After a moment, he nodded, staring down at the pastries nestled inside the basket. “My father… He’s not a terrible guy,” he said softly. “He just… he has a lot going on. Ever since we lost my mother.”

The last part slipped out before he could stop it, and he immediately regretted it. His throat closed up, his chest tightening painfully. He clenched his jaw, cursing himself for saying too much.

Sabine didn’t react with shock or prying questions. She simply placed a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

“Yeah… Me too.” Chat swallowed past the lump in his throat, nodding stiffly. “It’s weird to say, but this has been the most we’ve connected after her death. I don’t want to risk hurting that.”

Chat let out a long sigh, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the exhaustion. “I should head out anyway,” he said, forcing a bit of his usual casual charm back into his voice. “Face the music, take my punishment like a cat, all that.”

Sabine nodded knowingly, stepping back to give him space. “Be sure to get some rest when you can.”

“I’ll try.” He shifted his weight slightly, still sore but determined. His lips quirked up in a soft smirk. “Tell Marinette I hope she recovers quickly.”

“She’ll be fine,” Sabine assured him, a proud smile playing at her lips. “She’s tougher than she looks.” Then, with an air of nonchalance, she added, “Besides, she wouldn’t want to miss her meeting with that nice Luka boy.”

Chat stiffened, every muscle in his body locking up at the name.

His tail flicked behind him, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, nodding lightly as if he wasn’t suddenly feeling irrationally bristled. “Right. Well… Good for her.” He turned toward the balcony, willing his brain to let go of the irritation needling at him.

Sabine, seemingly satisfied, turned to head toward the trapdoor. But just as she began descending, she spoke again, her voice light, but a little mischievous “I would hate to imagine a world without Marinette in it, too.”

Chat’s breath hitched. His ears twitched.

By the time he turned back to look at her, she was already gone.

He was left alone, standing in Marinette’s room with his face burning, his heart hammering, and his thoughts spinning in a million different directions.

Well, not completely alone, as one pair of big eyes followed him from the corner of the room. While Marinette had been kind enough not to violate Chat Noir’s privacy, Tikki had no such regards when the two girls dragged the boy into the room and dumped him on the bed. Her only regret was that, when Plagg caught her gaze, he’d grinned back at her and teased were mercilessly for being impolite while Marinette was away.

“You know, we could expose them both now if we wanted to.” He’d said, hovering around the room, inspecting the new habitat of his eternal partner and letting out disappointed groans.

Tikki had rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you stirred up enough drama, Plagg”

Plagg found himself stretched out on Marinette’s desk, kicking his little paws in the air. “Are you still mad about me joining Nooroo?”

Tikki shot him a sharp look. “I’m mad about you joining Hawkmoth.”

He waved a dismissive paw. “Trust the process.”

“The process?” She scoffed. “What part of ‘working for a supervillain’ is supposed to be reassuring?”

Plagg grinned, lazily spinning midair. “Kid’s still a hero at heart, isn’t he?”

Tikki hesitated, glancing at Adrien’s sleeping form. “…That doesn’t mean he’s making good choices.”

Plagg snickered. “Oh, please. Like your kid has been making good choices lately?”

Tikki’s wings twitched. “That’s different.”

“Sure, sure,” Plagg hummed, rolling onto his back again. “Either way, I’m not going into this just for the sake of chaos. I have a plan. You know that you can trust me.”

“I know you, that’s why I can’t trust you.”

In the present, Tikki stared down at Chat’s still form caught on the window ledge, his jaw tight and eyes searching for something.

Of all the things to linger on—the fight, the pain, the fact that Sabine knew what he had said to her daughter—the one thought that consumed him most, and he spoke out loud, was:

“Who the fuck is Luka?”

---

The helmet clings to her as she pushes to remove it. Removing it had been difficult the last few times she worn the suit, but it was especially challenging to part with it today, like ripping off a layer of her skin. The mission may have been over, but Dauntless was desperate to live, if even for only a few frustrating seconds more.

When it does come off, the girl behind the helmet is allowed to breathe once more. There is a world of uncertain possibilities around her, even in the seclusion of the lab entrance, but she adores those to the certainty of the laid-out path Dauntless' vision was confined to.

However, the suit’s claustrophobic grip on her body did have the benefit of squeezing her nerves hard enough to dull them. Outside of the suit, she had no such numbness to protect her from the shameful aches that wracked her body. It was a difficult task, keeping her face stoic and respectable, even as she hobbles to the towering doors that automatically slid to the side to let her through.

Her only lifeline was the miraculous in her hand, squeezing it tight enough to numb her palm, to extract some measure of relief from the reassurance that she’d managed to find victory in this day. Even if it was given to her by a man such as Dutch.

The air was thick with the hum of machines, the glow of holographic monitors casting eerie blue light across the room. But none of it held her attention—not the rows of half-formed prototypes lining the walls, nor the silent automatons whirring in their programmed loops.

Her focus was drawn solely to the figure at the center of it all.

Secluded upon her metal throne, her mother sat with her back to the door, motionless save for the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. The throne itself was a marvel of engineering, carried aloft by mechanical arms that slithered along the walls and ceiling like the tendrils of some great, slumbering beast. It shifted subtly as she breathed, as if the machine and its master were a single, seamless entity.

The girl hesitated at the threshold, her grip tightening around the miraculous in her hand. It bit into her palm, sharp and unyielding, grounding her.

She had done it. She had won.

And yet, standing in the presence of the woman who had shaped her, who had made her—standing before the mother she had spent a lifetime trying to please—she found herself feeling unbearably small.

“Kagami.” The utterance of her name echoed hard enough to feel like a gust of wind ramming into her.

Kagami Tsurugi stood firm against the torrent, remaining graceful and respectful even as she swept down to kneel before her better; as a good Tsurugi should. “Mother, I return to you bruised, but triumphant.” She kept her head bowed, not daring to meet her mother’s gaze even has she held out the miraculous. “I acquired the bee miraculous.”

The only response is the metal clinking of mechanical arms swooping low to snatch the miraculous from her grasp, bringing it up to the throne. Tomoe Turugi was never one to be stunned into silence, so her lack of reaction meant nothing well.

Kagami did not dare lift her head, but she could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, as suffocating as the suit she had just shed. The victorious words she had rehearsed on the way here felt hollow, brittle in the face of her mother’s wordless scrutiny.

“You are not impressed.”

“I am hardly ever impressed.” Tomoe finally spoke, direct and precise. She had no time to dance around the politest way to put it. “Doing what is expected of you does not impress me. Failing to do what is expected of you, and just having victory fall in your lap borders on disappointing me.”

Kagami clenched her jaw, willing herself to remain still, to remain graceful, despite the sting of her mother’s words. “The Black Cat miraculous is formidable no matter the wielder, Mother,” She said, forcing her voice into something measured and composed. “A-And this was my first time using the Dauntless suit—”

“I have never asked you to wield a fly swatter,” Tomoe interrupted, her tone a cold, unimpressed drawl. “But if I handed you one, I trust that the insect would not best you as well.”

Kagami’s fingers twitched at her sides.

The comparison sent a sharp spike of frustration through her ribs, but she did not let it show. To do so would only confirm what her mother already suspected—that she was weak, that she was emotional, that she had failed in something as simple as overpowering a reckless, stray housecat.

She had fought him. Had pinned him.

But she had not bested him.

And worst of all, it had been Dutch’s interference that had secured her victory in the end.

She hated that.

She hated that her mother was right.

Kagami inhaled slowly, willing her voice into something steady. “I have failed you, Mother.”

“I have failed you, Mother.”

“You have failed yourself.” Tomoe’s voice was even, unwavering. “It is still to be decided whether you’ve failed me yet.”

Kagami bowed her head lower, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. The pain grounded her. The humiliation burned, but she would not allow it to consume her.

Tomoe’s throne shifted, mechanical arms whirring as they adjusted her posture. “Get that cut looked over. It will leave a scar otherwise.”

“N-No!”

The word left her mouth before she could stop it, too sharp, too urgent, too raw. She immediately straightened, lowering her head again in apology. “Forgive my outburst, Mother, but I would like to suggest that a scar would be beneficial.”

Tomoe did not speak, but Kagami knew she had her attention.

“That mongrel managed to sink his claws into me, damaging my pride and my place as your daughter,” Kagami continued, voice steadier now, determined. “As such, this scar will forever mark my dedication, my promise to ensuring that he is never allowed to inflict such an insult on our family again.”

Silence.

Then, Tomoe inclined her head. “If that is your wish, Daughter.”

Kagami exhaled quietly, feeling the finality of the statement settle over her like armour. She had not lost her mother’s favour. Not yet.

She was given permission to stand, securing her arms behind her back as she strode to stand beside the throne, watching as the bee miraculous was dispensed into a tube. A minute later, it was spat out onto a box sitting at the other end of the room, a box made of see-through industrial material that alerted Kagami to the fact that there was already something in there.

A pair of glasses, and sitting in the corner of box, slumped over and sad, was the oversized chibi pony that the glasses belonged to. The bee miraculous flashed as soon as it hit the ground, the box releasing some sort of energy wave that washed over everything inside, triggering the miraculous to release another kwami. The Bee Kwami came out spiralling, dashing around the confines of the box in a confused panic, desperately trying to phase through the walls only to find herself unable to.

Kagami kept her expression neutral, though her fingers twitched slightly behind her back. She had known her mother had built these cages even before she’d changed her focus from the company to hunting down the wild miraculous—her family’s resources were vast, and her mother was not one to be left behind in power—but seeing them contained like this was… Unsettling.

The tiny pony in the corner, long ears drooping, let out a soft, defeated whimper. The glasses beside it glinted under the artificial lighting, a reminder of the one who once wore them.

And now, the Bee Kwami joined them.

She buzzed in distressed loops, her golden wings flitting frantically as she pounded against the invisible barrier, trying again and again to escape.

“Where am I?! What is this?!” she squeaked, panic rising in her voice. “Let me out! This isn’t—this isn’t right!”

“Settle yourself,” Tomoe instructed. Her voice was neither cruel nor comforting—it was simply an expectation.

The Bee Kwami spun, taking in Tomoe’s unreadable expression, then Kagami’s. She flitted to the edge of the box, pressing her tiny hands against the clear walls.

“You don’t understand,” she said, desperation bleeding into her words. “We’re not meant to be locked up like this! You can’t—”

“I can,” Tomoe interrupted. “And I have.”

Kagami swallowed down the brief urge to look away. “We managed to obtain the horse miraculous as well?”

“Yes, despite the incompetence of the team I sent to retrieve it.” Tomoe’s voice was crisp, unimpressed. “It was far messier than it needed to be.”

Kagami glanced back at the box. The glasses hadn’t moved, but the tiny pony-like kwami had slumped further into itself. A quiet, broken sigh left it as its tiny hooves curled under its body.

Kagami straightened. “Then we have two powerful miraculous now. Even if they are not the ones you seek, they are still—”

“They are not the ones I require,” Tomoe interrupted. “And I do not celebrate mediocrity.”

Kagami bowed her head. “Of course.”

Tomoe tapped her fingers against the armrest of her throne, her metal gloves clicking lightly against the surface. “Still,” she mused, tilting her head slightly, “they will be useful.”

She turned slightly toward the captured kwami, her lips pressing together in consideration. “With these two in my grasp, I can resume my incomplete research into the miracles of the miraculous.” An unfamiliar venom leaked into her voice. “The research that he destroyed.”

“Mother?” Kagami looked up at Tomoe through furrowed brow, but a swift gesture guided her attention to the screens projected in front of them. A few were just showing reports on different Ladybug and Hawkmoth fights, but the more prominent ones were replaying footage of this very night.

She got to see Chat Noir tear through her enforcers in high definition.

However, it was one screen in particular that Tomoe brought into focus, enlarging it to tower above everything else. It was a frozen shot of Hawkmoth staring down Tomoe’s drone with nothing but a smirk and a disrespectful wave. Another screen popped up beside him, this one showing another man, a younger man, bearing similar colours were a more incomplete costume.

This man bore no full head covering, instead opting for just a domino mask over his eye, leaving his bob of pale hair fully exposed. His suit was not sleek or streamlined, it was rough around the edges, lighter with more rugged details and a cape hanging from the back. He mimicked Hawkmoth’s pose almost exactly, with that same unmistakable glint in his eye.

“It is the same butterfly holder I faced so long ago. The same one who denied you the perfect creation and caused the flaws that plague you to this very day.” Tomoe brought her hand up to the dark-lensed glasses nestled over her eye. They didn’t just function to tell the world that Tomoe was blind. Kagami knew that underneath the lenses protected Tomoe’s greatest shame – the deep, inescapable scars. “The very one that crushed my bones and took my eyes.”

The throne lowered enough to let Tomoe pull herself from her chair and hop out. She was not so old that her bones should give her too much trouble, so Tomoe, even in front of Kagami, tried to hide her limp and walk tall. Kagami would never judge her mother for it, but she knew that every limp step was one that made Tomoe boil over in shame.

She threw her hand up wide, just barely graze her fingers over Hawkmoth’s throat. “The secrets of the miraculous will fix the damage that he has inflicted upon us.” The hand came down on the kwami cage. “And I will acquire these secrets in much the same fashion that brought you into my world.”

Kagami couldn’t help but grimace as the two creatures shrank under Tomoe’s shadow, retreating into the corner and cowering from view. At Tomoe’s back, more mechanical hands descended upon the cage, upon the miraculous, upon the kwami. And those hands wielded tools.

“Dissection.”

Notes:

And that is the.... Fuck, what am I calling this? Dauntless Arc? Date Night Arc? Mayura? Whatever it is, we got through it and finally revealed that there was more to Tomoe and Kagami's sudden holiday than just writing them out of the story.

We'll have one or two chapters to cool down, but after that is an arc I'm just gonna call 'Heartstopper'.

Next Time - A Sucker Born Every Day:

"Are you a friend of Marinette's?" Dutch asked curiously, taking care to add that perfect twang of stain to his voice, and wipe his knuckle across his eye.

It was supposed to be his eye look red and irritated, sell that he'd been tearing up. Just like the rest of his mask, it was convincing enough, a nice flexible surface that could bend and mould under scrutiny. That's what many acts lived and died by, a pleasant surface that only thinks to adjust itself when pressed. That meant that the key weakness was that when you were looking for the signs, but didn't give the actor any reason to think they were under scrutiny, they didn't have the time nor the reason to cover up the holes in their performance.

Unfortunately for Dutch, she was always looking. And better yet, she put on a better performance because she always assumed someone else was looking. When she gripped Dutch's hand with a shaky disposition and teared up, none of it was fake. The lie wasn't in her actions, but the reasons behind them, and the reasons someone feels things were much harder to scrutinize. She was crying, she was shaking, no one would ever think to ask if she was crying over Marinette, or wonder if she was merely channelling her fear of the dangerous man in front of her into her quivering hand.

"W-Well, I'd say that Mari is everyone's friend when you really think about it, but yes, I'm proud that she calls me one too." She sniffled out, squeezing his hand like she could fall at any moment.

"Lila Rossi." She greeted through a waterfall of tears that made her look a horrid mess. "I've heard so much about you."

Chapter 34: Heartbreaker: A Sucker Born Every Day

Summary:

Gabriel and Adrien have a productive parent-child progress report meeting, Lila catches herself up on everything she missed, and Chloe must face a horrifying realization.

Adrien never thought about it, but he’d never seen his father angry. His father was a reserved and cold man at the best of times, and an outburst of anger was an admittance that he lost control. Adrien had irritated him, been scolded by him, and disappointed him, but there was always restraint.

Being the target of Gabriel Agreste’s ire was a matter of shame more than anything, how his overwhelming presence and discerning gaze saw you and your mistake as something that made you unworthy. Adrien used to hate disobeying his father because it stung to know that he had failed the man, that he was desperate for Gabriel’s approval, that he didn’t like to think that he hurt the people he loved.

As a kid, it was effective. As a teenager who was coming into his own and broken free of the shackles that bound him to the Agreste brand, disappointing his father had less of an effect on him. He still respected the man and wanted to make him proud, but that disgusted stare no longer held the same power it used to.

That all changed when Chat Noir dropped through his open window.

Gabriel Agreste was nowhere to be seen, but his presence was unmistakable. As soon as Chat touched down, it was as if a fire swept over the room. The air felt tight, suffocating, as if the entire house had conspired to close in on him. Every step he took forward sent a crawling heat up his spine, making his injured leg throb in protest. The smart thing to do would have been to lie down, to rest, to let the pain and exhaustion take him and deal with all of this later.

But his feet carried him forward anyway, drawn to his father’s office like a moth to a flame.

The house had always felt cold to him—too pristine, too empty—but now it burned.

The closer he got to the door, the worse it became, his stomach twisting like he was walking into something he couldn’t step back from.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to.

The doors to his father’s office were already open, and on the other side, Gabriel Agreste stood before the window, basking in the glow of the moon, his posture stiff, his hands folded behind his back. Reflected in the glass, his gaze was like ice, but the heat in the room was all-consuming.

Adrien swallowed down the urge to hesitate. He squared his shoulders, stepped forward, and tried to ignore the way the fire licked at his heels. If Gabriel heard him enter, he didn’t show it. He remained rooted to the spot, glaring into the skyline as if the moon itself had personally drawn his ire.

There was fire beneath his father’s skin. Wrath burning so hot it felt like embers were crackling in the air, but that fire wasn’t allowed to break through the ice. Gabriel’s face remained impassive, sculpted from marble, giving nothing away.

The silence between them was unbearable.

Adrien knew this game well. Gabriel wouldn’t speak first—wouldn’t acknowledge him, wouldn’t demand an explanation, wouldn’t even so much as glance in his direction.

No, he was waiting.

Waiting for Adrien to break the silence.

Waiting for Adrien to make the first move.

It was a power play, one Adrien had been caught in before. When he was younger, he would have rushed to fill the quiet, to explain himself, to scramble for words that would lessen his father’s disapproval.

But now?

Now, he let the silence stretch out just a little longer.

Then, finally—

“…Father.”

Gabriel moved.

He turned sharply, gaze cutting straight through Adrien, his gloved hand already outstretched. He said nothing, but Adrien didn’t need words to understand.

Sitting in Gabriel’s palm was the Butterfly Miraculous.

The message was clear.

This conversation was between them and them alone.

Adrien swallowed. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to clench into fists, but he forced himself to keep steady. The weight of the Cat Miraculous burned against his skin, as if it, too, sensed the shift in the air.

This was his father.

This was his boss.

This was Hawkmoth.

And Adrien was still his son.

He let out a slow, even breath. Then, with deliberate movements, he reached up, his fingers curling around the ring at his finger.

The moment it slipped free, a sick sort of emptiness gnawed at him. Plagg vanished in a flicker of green light, darting out of sight to wherever kwamis went when they weren’t bound to a wielder.

For a split second, Adrien hesitated.

But then, before he could second-guess himself, he dropped the Cat Miraculous into his father’s waiting hand.

There was an audible crack from Gabriel’s knuckles as his fingers clamped themselves over the miraculous, snatching it from view. His father’s gaze bore directly into him, burning through the first layer and dissecting him. It continued like before, the silence, the refusal to continue the conversation. However, this time it wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t Gabriel keeping control, this time it was a matter of pre-prepared words catching on his tongue and burning out.

He looked at Adrien like a puzzle, a glimmer in his eye betraying how distraught the sight before him made him. The boy shrinking under his glare was something so pathetic, so maddening, that it temporarily stunned him. He couldn’t formulate a proper response, he could only stare and process the reality of what brought his son here this day, the occasional flex of his lip signifying his attempts to talk.

It took a good long minute of facial flexing before Gabriel’s expression set in stone, those cold lips breathing out a scolding breath. “I gave you my trust.” He stated simply, his disappointment palpable enough to make his body physically cringe in response to it. “I thought you were ready for such responsibilities.”

“Father, I-”

Gabriel spun on his heel, his hand held high to steal Adrien’s voice from his lungs. “I made myself clear, gave you the simplest of rules” Two fingers came down to make a three-man counting gesture. “Take care of yourself, get your schoolwork done and no trouble.”

In due time, his father reached the window once more. Every word was cut sharp on his gritted teeth, plunging into Adrien’s heart. His father’s head tilts, staring into the nonsense playing inside his mind. “And I return to learn from Plagg that you decided to go out and join a street gang the minute I turned my back.”

He shook his head, actively fighting with himself to retain his demeanour. “Was it fun? Did it make you feel cool?”

“It wasn’t about that!” Adrien blurted out but remained rooted to the spot despite how much his body wanted to move. “One of the Freedom Fighters had the bee miraculous.”

Gabriel’s sharp breath was like the hiss of air escaping a corpse. “Oh, my apologies.” He brought his hands together, every muscle twitching, tugged on by invisible strings. “You didn’t just join a gang, you purposely involved yourself with a gang to put yourself in the crosshairs of a super powered gangster.”

The bitter laugh that followed, as Gabriel inclined his head just enough to fix Adrien with a sardonic smile, was an imitation. The most condescendingly unwarranted manners Gabriel could mock him with. “It’s hard to keep track of all this information you neglected to grace me with.”

“She was a middle-aged lady with zero awareness of what she had and make-up on the mind; trust me, she wasn’t a-”

“You didn’t know that!” Gabriel snarled as he rounded on Adrien, forcing the boy to stumble back into the wall. His hand lashed out; fingers curled like they ached to seize something. “I don’t need you to even tell me to know that you didn’t do any prep work, or reconnaissance, or anything to inform yourself of what you were up against.”

Adrien clenched his jaw.

“No, no, no,” Gabriel continued, voice twisting into something mockingly light, dripping with scorn. “I bet our entire fortune that, with the all-knowing wisdom of a teenager who hasn’t interacted with a real criminal in his entire life, you threw yourself into the lion’s den and got lucky that your target turned out to be a ditzy clown.”

“I handled it, okay?” Adrien snapped.

“You almost died!”

The way Gabriel’s expression twisted—how his lips pressed into a thin, furious line, how his fingers curled so tight that his knuckles went white—was worse than any scolding he had ever endured. Adrien had never truly seen his father angry before, not like this.

Not wild like this.

Not human like this.

It unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

Adrien’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady. “So, what, I should’ve just stayed home and let someone else swipe the Miraculous?”

“You should have told me so we could have gone after the Miraculous together!”

Gabriel’s hands twitched, every muscle tensed, strung taut like an overdrawn bow. His breath came out in ragged bursts, fury barely contained. He inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Instead of me being stuck in an entirely different dimension playing tea party with the blue delinquent and a talking head whilst you were getting impaled!”

Adrien’s chest seized. His father’s words barely had time to register before a fresh wave of shock and anger surged through him.

“You were with Mayura!?”

Gabriel exhaled slowly, deliberately, the kind of breath that screamed I am holding myself back.

Adrien’s mind reeled. “Let me guess, you didn’t come back with any Miraculous either.” He let out a hollow laugh, trying to ignore the way his pulse pounded behind his ribs. “Now I see why you’re so angry. You screwed up even worse than me.”

Gabriel’s gaze snapped toward him so fast that Adrien felt his stomach lurch.

There was something dangerous in his father’s silence.

“I went in prepared as I possibly could,” Gabriel said, his voice so cold it burned, “only to be impeded by events I couldn’t have predicted or prevented. You stumbled in like an oaf.”

Adrien scoffed, forcing his lips into a smirk even though his chest still ached. “Yeah, I’m sure you were totally prepared for your business trip.”

Gabriel’s shoulders twitched, the movement so small, so imperceptible, that most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

But Adrien did.

He’d spent his entire life under this man’s scrutiny. He knew every shift in posture, every microexpression. He recognized the way his father’s fingers twitched against his palm, the way his jaw locked, the way the muscle in his cheek tensed.

Adrien straightened, emboldened. “We just gonna ignore the fact that you didn’t tell me about Mayura? Or is it only wrong to leave stuff out when I do it?”

 

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed to slits, his lips pulling into something caught between a snarl and a sneer. His hand flexed at his side, shaking with some unspent fury, as though words alone weren’t enough to convey the depth of his indignity in the face of Adrien’s audacity.

“I didn’t tell you because you would be brash and bull-headed about it.” Gabriel snapped. “You didn’t tell me because you wanted to pretend to be a man.”

“I am a man!” Adrien barked. His fists clenched at his sides, shaking now with something raw and boiling over. “I’m not a kid anymore, Father! It’s time that you stopped treating me—”

“When are you paying rent, hm?” Gabriel’s voice was a blade, slicing straight through Adrien’s momentum. “Where’s your job that wasn’t given to you by me? How was the last tax quarter for you?”

Adrien’s jaw locked. His father had always wielded words like weapons, but tonight, he was using them like a hammer to break him.

“You are a boy,” Gabriel continued, his tone clipped, absolute, unyielding. “And until the dawn of your eighteenth birthday, you will remain a boy. A boy who lives under my roof, under my rules, under my protection.”

The words should have slid off like they always did. Adrien had heard variations of this speech before—had lived under these expectations for as long as he could remember. But something about this night, about the way his father’s fury pulsed hot and unrelenting, made it different.

And then, in the smallest, quietest breath, Gabriel muttered, “And God help me when that day arrives.”

Adrien stiffened.

“Because incidents like this shake my faith that I have instilled you with enough knowledge and skill to face adulthood.”

It was that doubt—that disappointment—that landed like a punch to the gut.

Adrien forced himself to breathe through it, his pulse a deafening drum in his ears. “Look, I messed up, okay?” His voice was strained, hoarse with frustration. “I get it, I know I—”

“Messed up?” Gabriel repeated, and it was like a sudden explosion—his voice no longer cold and precise but heated, sharp, and furious. “You faced an entire army of enhanced androids, got impaled on Dauntless’ sword, and then threw yourself under a collapsing building!”

Adrien’s heart leapt to his throat, but he didn’t back down. “Marinette and Alya were going to get crushed! I had to save them!”

“By getting crushed along with them?”

Gabriel’s glare felt like a physical force pressing down on him.

Adrien gritted his teeth. “What was I supposed to do? Just let them die?”

Gabriel’s chest rose sharply. The next words out of his mouth sent ice straight through Adrien’s veins.

“I would rather the world and all its denizens be left to burn than have you thrown on the fire.”

Adrien froze. For a moment, Adrien could only stare, his father’s words echoing in his head like a gavel striking down in final judgment.

He would rather the world burn than lose him.

There was no hesitation. No regret. Gabriel had spat the words like a simple fact, like stating the sky was blue or that the sun would rise tomorrow. And in that moment, something inside Adrien withered.

Not because he misunderstood the weight behind those words. But because he did understand. Gabriel Agreste would rather everything else be lost than lose control. That was all this was, wasn’t it? That was all it ever was. This wasn’t about Adrien’s safety. It wasn’t about concern, or fear, or the kind of love that made people sacrifice for one another.

It was about power.

It was about Gabriel’s will, Gabriel’s decisions, Gabriel’s control over his life slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Mom would have understood.” He spat.

The words hung in the air like smoke, dense and suffocating, settling into the cracks between them. Adrien’s heart raced, his pulse quickening with each breath, but there was a strange satisfaction in what he had just said.

He had seen it.

Gabriel had flinched. Not physically, not in a way that anyone else would notice, but Adrien saw it—the brief tightening of his father’s jaw, the flicker of something less calculated in his eyes. For just a moment, Gabriel Agreste was thrown off balance.

And Adrien... Adrien felt something break free.

It was the smallest of victories.

He had finally gotten under Gabriel’s skin. The impenetrable walls that had always surrounded his father seemed a little more fragile, just for an instant.

“Your mother isn’t here anymore,” he said, his tone flat, distant, and Adrien could see the mask settle back into place. Gabriel’s anger, though still simmering, was locked behind that wall once more. But the underlying tremor in his voice—barely noticeable, yet undeniable—stirred something deep inside Adrien.

He took a breath, swallowing the rising bitterness that threatened to choke him.

“Trust me, I know.” His voice was quieter now, less defiant but still raw with emotion. He had never said it aloud, but this moment felt like a release—a confession of all the pain he had buried for so long. “I wish she was—”

Gabriel’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and venomous.

“Instead of me?” His tone was ice. “Oh, I’m so sorry to be such a disappointment.”

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat. His stomach twisted with a rush of frustration, but something more dangerous bubbled up beneath the surface—anger.

“Well, you got to be sorry about something for once,” Adrien shot back, his voice trembling with the sting of truth. It wasn’t just the anger at his father’s coldness. It was all of it—the years of his father’s absence, the unspoken weight of expectations, the suffocating silence that had followed his mother’s death.

For a moment, it felt like a small victory again. A tiny crack in Gabriel’s armor, and this time, Adrien let himself savour it. Because at the very least, for once, his father had to face the weight of his own failures.

He had made Gabriel flinch.

However, the road it took to get there had been long and emotionally exhausting. Considering that, even after the miraculous transformation removed the wounds, he still felt the distant echoes of pain squeezing his bones, the effort of dealing with his father left him weak and weary.

He sighed, pushing his hair back as he glanced over at the clock. It was too damn late for this. Why didn’t he wait until the morning to confront his father? It would have probably given Gabriel time to cool off as well. “Look, this is going nowhere, just give me my miraculous back and we’ll go to bed.”

Adrien stuck a limp arm out with a yawn, holding aloft an expectant hand.

Gabriel stared own at Adrien’s palm as if it was diseased, wincing hard enough to bare teeth before promptly turning his back to Adrien’s request and moving to the far side of the room. Under the watchful eye of Emilie Agreste’s portrait, Gabriel opened his hidden safe, stating quite simply. “You’re not getting your miraculous back.”

“What!?” The idea hadn’t event set in yet, Adrine’s mind wouldn’t let it, he was lost adrift in a dismal daze. The blurred edges of his vision watched his father carefully deposit the ring beside the grimoire. “I… But I need Plagg to turn into Chat Noir.”

Yeah, that’s right. It didn’t make any sense. How could his father expect him to be Chat Noir without the ring? A guy in a leather cat costume is much less impressive a partner without the super powers to back him up.

The safe shut with an earth-shattering bang, the click of the locks whirling into place echoed in Adrien’s mind, bringing to the forefront mental images of the cogs and pistons locking into place to spear his head. “I’m current still deciding what Chat Noir’s future is. And I’ll be blunt, I’m not sure if he has a future.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. The warmth of his miraculous—his connection to Plagg, to the one thing that had ever truly been his—was gone, sealed away behind cold metal, and in its place was the sharp, gnawing edge of dread.

All he could do was try to focus his wavering vision, desperately searching for the moment this turns out to be a dream. “You can’t do this to me…” He weakly murmured.

Gabriel turned slowly, the faint gleam of the safe reflecting in his glasses as he met Adrien’s wide-eyed stare. “I am your father, Adrien. I can do as I damn well please.”

Adrien barely processed the words before he felt himself moving, stepping forward, reaching out—he wasn’t sure if it was for the safe, for the miraculous, or for his father himself. But Gabriel didn’t flinch this time. He simply turned his back again, dismissing Adrien as effortlessly as he had locked away the ring.

“N-No, please! I need this. I need Chat Noir.” Adrien breathed; his voice quiet but urgent. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails pressing half-moons into his palms. He needed Plagg. He needed to be Chat Noir.

“And I need my son.” His voice was calm, but the words landed like a gunshot. Gabriel wasn’t the type to make emotional declarations. That was the kind of thing that came from other fathers, the kind who wrapped their arms around their sons instead of locking them away in gilded cages.

But it wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even an argument. It was a decree.

“You never needed anything like this before you started going to that school,” Gabriel continued, as if Adrien hadn’t flinched at the weight of those first words. “Before you surrounded yourself with the very people who encouraged your reckless behavior until it got you nearly killed.”

Adrien felt something snap inside him. His whole body stiffened, fury flaring through his veins like a spark hitting gasoline. “Don’t you dare talk about my friends like that!”

He hadn’t meant to shout, but it came out like a roar, his own voice echoing back at him in the cavernous room. His nails bit into his palms, his entire body trembling as anger threatened to consume him whole. “They’ve done more for me than you ever have.”

Gabriel’s mouth twitched, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before it was smothered under cold detachment.

“I wonder,” He murmured, “if their influence is another mistake I need to rectify.”

Adrien took a step forward, barely registering his own movements. His breath came sharp and shallow, fury choking him like a collar around his throat. “You act like this is about my friends—like I did this because of them—but it’s not! This is me! This is my choice! And you just can’t stand that you’re not the one controlling it!”

Gabriel exhaled slowly, as if Adrien were a particularly frustrating business deal he was forced to tolerate. He pressed his knuckle over the safe, flexing his forehead as he leaned in, almost glaring at where the cat miraculous lay. “This is the power to destroy worlds distilled into your fingertips,” He said, measured and sharp, yanking his arm back to do a grand sweep that posed his fingers to claw at the air. “It is a weapon in our crusade to save your mother. One that must be wielded with discipline and respect. Yet you treated it like a toy to use to get your jollies off.”

He turned his head just enough to meet Adrien’s gaze again, eyes like ice. “Until further notice… Chat Noir is dead.”

Adrien’s breath hitched. His legs felt unsteady beneath him. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Dead.

He could still feel phantom aches from the battle—bruises that should’ve faded, wounds that should’ve disappeared, but the pain had settled into his bones. Into his soul.

And yet, none of it hurt as much as those three words.

Chat Noir was the only thing that had ever been his. The only thing that had been separate from Gabriel Agreste’s son.

And his father had killed it.

Adrien sucked in a breath, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. “Give me back Plagg or I’ll—” He cut himself off. What? What was he going to do? His mind raced, but his father was already a step ahead of him.

“You’ll attack me?” Gabriel’s voice was even, but there was an edge to it. “Run crying to Ladybug and expose me?” His lips curled in mockery. “Go ahead. Why settle for stabbing me in the back once?”

Adrien clenched his teeth, fists trembling at his sides. The accusation stung more than it should have.

“I’ll get the ring back,” He growled. “With or without your permission.”

Gabriel’s brow twitched upward, unimpressed. “Then maybe I should melt it down until I’ve acquired the Ladybug miraculous.”

Adrien’s heart stopped.

His breath caught in his throat. He felt like the ground had just been ripped out from under him.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered, but his voice wavered.

Gabriel tilted his head, watching Adrien like an insect caught in a glass jar. And then—

“Wouldn’t I?”

Adrien stood frozen. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His mind raced for something—anything—to throw back at his father, but for once, there was nothing. No witty retort, no righteous fury, no desperate plea. Just a hollow, numbing silence.

Because he didn’t know.

He didn’t know if his father was bluffing.

For all his desperate, clawing optimism—for every excuse he’d ever made, for every justification he’d tried to hold onto—he couldn’t say, with absolute certainty, that Gabriel wouldn’t do it. That he wouldn’t destroy Plagg’s way of communicating with him just to ensure Adrien had no way of defying him.

And that terrified him more than anything.

His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and his fists unclenched at his sides. The fight seeped out of him, draining away like water through cracked fingers. What was the point? Gabriel had won. He always won.

The tension in the room shifted. Gabriel’s stance relaxed as if sensing Adrien’s silent surrender.

“Starting tomorrow, you are taking your studies back home until I’ve decided that you are ready to return to school.”

Adrien didn’t move.

“In your free time, you will be cleaning this mansion from top to bottom. I will provide you with the supplies—” Gabriel’s voice was even, measured, but then he added, “And before you even think about talking back, I am not afraid to downgrade you to doing this with a toothbrush if I must.”

Adrien still didn’t speak. He simply nodded once, slow and obedient. The way he was expected to. The way he’d been trained to.

Gabriel took in his son’s defeated posture for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, turning away. The matter was settled.

When all the details were sorted out, Adrien was dismissed. His feet moved on autopilot, taking him toward the door, and as he reached it, Gabriel was suddenly there, blocking his path.

Adrien blinked, startled out of his haze, and looked up at his father.

Gabriel’s face was calm, almost neutral, but his eyes were searching.

“I don’t do this lightly, Adrien,” He said, softer now. Almost… fondly. “But as your father, it is my duty to do what’s best for you.”

Adrien said nothing. He couldn't hear it. Not really.

Because he’d foolish forgotten or let the high of Chat Noir deceive him into ignoring.

Hawkmoth was just a mask.

And the real villain—the cold, heartless tyrant—was the man underneath.

---

Lila was not content.

A new faction busted onto the map, an explosive battle rocked the local gang hide out, and two miraculous had appeared and been snatched away before she’d even made it to breakfast. She heard about it first from snippets on the news, only to have her groggy attention span interrupted by Ladybug over the miraculous communicator.

Lila had to shamefully admit that she’d been caught lacking today. She usually prided herself on keeping one ear to the ground at all times, if anything of importance happens in this city, she should know about it. However, her mind had been otherwise occupied with reinforcing her awareness of those around her, as Ladybug had dropped a tip from Hawkmoth himself that, not only had the Peacock been activated and claimed without their notice, but a sentimonster was being used to stalk them through their hero activities in hopes of catching them out.

Don’t get Lila wrong, as Volpina she was already on guard and careful to cover her bases, but the idea of some disembodies eye creature that can merge inside any object to spy on her pushed her into panic fuelled tunnel vision. Her focus was on keeping her secrets safe and body ready to jump into action and catch the sentimonster red handed.

For once, Lila was lagging behind, and she was desperate to get back in the running. She was Ladybug’s partner, her being anything less fully informed of the threats they were phasing was unacceptable. Alya’s diligent dedication to updating the Ladyblog made it easy enough to find out that she had been present that night, and it didn’t take too many honeyed words and misdirected worry to get her to spill exactly why she, with Adrien and Marinette as her co-conspirators, was at the centre of this whole thing.

The leader of the Freedom Fighters’ side piece had the Bee Miraculous; and now she no longer had it. It was most likely in the hands of this new villain Dauntless, tied to this high tech new gang Lila had managed to dig out some information on. A gang who clearly had their sights set on the miraculous as well, and had the expertise to deal with them.

Lila had been quick to conclude that the peacock user is a separate party entirely. Dauntless didn’t’ enlist any sentimonsters or miraculous powers at all. It was clear that her powers were strictly technological in source. If you were going after a miraculous, there’s no way you’d leave your own miraculous at home, even if you were confident in the superiority of your robot ninjas.

Then there was another incident later reported on the other side of the city, the aftermath of a bloody battle that left behind several bodies and a crashed aircraft. Cops released little information on the incident, Volpina had to do some sneaking around to get a good photo of the scene pre-cleanup. The victims were all clearly members of the same gang that Dauntless fought for. They were seeking out a miraculous, and got their asses kicked.

The man who gutted them like a fish became clear to Lila when she found people on social media swearing that an entire swarm of moths were seen heading in the general direction of the crime scene.

The Bee Miraculous, the Peacock and whichever one Hawkmoth was fighting over. This meant that there were potentially three new miraculous in play, and they didn’t know any of the players.

Which led Lila to the present, shuffling over to the hospital reception desk as daintily as she could force with roses in hand. Lila smoothed the worried crease into her brow as she approached the reception desk, shoulders squared just enough to look tense, but not so much that she seemed unnatural. Concerned. Worried. The doting friend, shaken but steadfast. She’d played this role before, and by now, it was second nature.

She gave the receptionist a timid smile, eyes glassy with worry. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice soft, just a touch breathless, as if she’d been running. “I’m looking for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was in that awful incident last night, and I heard she was taken here. She—she’s my friend.” She let the word catch in her throat, as if even saying it pained her. “I just… I need to make sure she’s okay.”

The receptionist barely spared her a glance, typing away at her keyboard. “Are you family?”

Lila’s face fell, perfectly measured. A slight hesitation, just enough to make it look like she was struggling with the truth. “No,” she admitted, wringing her hands together. “But she doesn’t have any family here right now. Her parents are still at work, and I just—” She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to keep herself together. “Please. She must be so scared, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

She looked up, wide-eyed, desperate. The picture of a friend in distress.

The receptionist’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and Lila could tell she was considering it. That was the thing about people—they wanted to believe in the good of others. They wanted to believe that a friend would rush to someone’s side in their time of need, that a girl like Lila, with her gentle voice and kind eyes, would be that kind of person.

The receptionist glanced over at a chart, then back at Lila.

“She’s in room 214.” She sighed. “I guess you’re not the first friend to visit. Sounds like this girl is pretty popular.”

Lila barely restrained the victorious smirk threatening to pull at her lips. Instead, she let her eyes shimmer with gratitude. “Thank you so much,” she breathed, bowing her head before hurrying off in the direction of Marinette’s room.

The moment she turned the corner, her expression smoothed into something far more neutral.

She wasn’t here for some sentimental bedside vigil.

She was here to gather intel. Marinette Dupain Cheng had been the last person to see Chat Noir that night, and Alya seemed to imply that she was on the scene for another attack involving Chat Noir and the demons; she would know for sure if he managed to claim the bee miraculous and maybe she some light on everything that happened before.

Lila arrived at the room only to find that two unfamiliar figures already loitering by the door, two adults that Lila could easily say for damn sure couldn’t have been related to Marinette. They didn’t have the vibe of family or friends; at best you could imagine them being the skeevy aunt and uncle waiting for you to keel over for your inheritance money. When you played the long con for as long as Lila had, you find it real easy to see that opportunistic look in a conman’s eyes.

Actually, on second glance, she did recognise at least the man. She’d seen him being interviewed on the news, Douche or something.

The woman was hanging back, wiping her face with a cloth and looking more bored than upset despite her sniffling. The D Dude was leaning into the room, a look of anguish on his features as Lila got close enough to listen.

Lila shuffled over to the bench that sat outside the room, seating herself behind the ignorant duo whilst giving herself a good view of the inside. Marinette casually sat on the edge of a medical bed with a bandage over her eye and some cotton taped to her arm, suggesting she’d just had some blood drawn. Doting over her was a man Lila assumed to be the dad.

It was Lila’s first time seeing Marinette’s father in person (not that Lila had much reason to meet Marinette’s parents, she had little interest in baked goods), but lord she underestimated how big he was. How the hell was Marinette such a shrimp?

Propped up on a stool just watching it all happen was Nino, who had taken to wearing an… Eyepatch? Lila resisted the urge to groan. He probably had some stupid logic about wearing the patch in solidarity with Marinette’s bruised eye.

The man, who the woman muttered the name of ‘Dutch’ to, let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders sagging with what could easily be mistaken for genuine remorse. “Mr. Dupain, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” He said, his voice thick with emotion, yet perfectly measured.

“That compound was supposed to be a safe haven for kids. A place where they could feel protected, where they could build a future. I never imagined it getting caught up in something so… horrific.” He shook his head, exhaling sharply, as if struggling to hold himself together.

Tom’s face softened, and he reached out, placing a comforting hand on Dutch’s arm. “No one could have seen this coming,” He said firmly. “No one could have prevented it, except for those monsters who attacked.” His voice trembled with restrained anger, his hands curling into fists. “The only ones to blame are those villains. You did everything you could.”

Dutch pressed his lips together, as if swallowing down a heavier grief. “I should have done more,” he murmured. “Your daughter… she was incredible. Brave, strong—selfless. I saw it with my own eyes. When everything was falling apart, she ran back into the fire to fight that supervillain. She was even teaching the younger kids how to bake the day before—everyone adored her.” His voice wavered at all the right moments, thick with admiration and regret.

Tom’s eyes glistened, his chest swelling with pride. “That’s my girl,” He said, his voice hoarse.

Lila took it all in with keen interest. She watched Dutch with the careful eye of someone well-versed in deception. His voice, his gestures, his words—it was all so flawless. But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

There was no real grief in them. No guilt, no sorrow. Just the faintest spark of something else. Not envy, not bitterness, but a subtle, quiet satisfaction.

That was interesting.

Lila turned her gaze toward Marinette. The girl was sitting up in bed, stiff and uncomfortable, her eyes downcast. She wasn’t saying much. In fact, she looked confused. Not just shaken from the attack, but as if she didn’t quite know why she felt the way she did. Her fingers twitched against the blanket, her brows pinched together.

She’s afraid of something, Lila realized. Something she can’t even remember.

Dutch continued, heaping more praise onto Marinette, solidifying his role as the grieving, regretful leader. But Lila was done listening. So, she hopped off her seat, puffed out her eyes and crept towards the room with an unstable sway to every step. She must have looked quite the pathetic sight by the time Dutch turned around to look down at her, huddled over and holding out the most depressing set of roses you could see.

"Are you a friend of Marinette's?" Dutch asked curiously, taking care to add that perfect twang of stain to his voice, and wipe his knuckle across his eye.

It was supposed to be his eye look red and irritated, sell that he'd been tearing up. Just like the rest of his mask, it was convincing enough, a nice flexible surface that could bend and mould under scrutiny. That's what many acts lived and died by; a pleasant surface that only thinks to adjust itself when pressed.

That meant that the key weakness was that when you were looking for the signs, but didn't give the actor any reason to think they were under scrutiny, they didn't have the time nor the reason to cover up the holes in their performance.

Unfortunately for Dutch, she was always looking. And better yet, she put on a better performance because she always assumed someone else was looking. When she gripped Dutch's hand with a shaky disposition and teared up, none of it was fake.

The lie wasn't in her actions, but the reasons behind them, and the reasons someone feels things were much harder to scrutinize. She was crying, she was shaking, no one would ever think to ask if she was crying over Marinette or wonder if she was merely channelling her fear of the dangerous man in front of her into her quivering hand.

"W-Well, I'd say that Mari is everyone's friend when you really think about it, but yes, I'm proud that she calls me one too." She sniffled out, squeezing his hand like she could fall at any moment.

"Lila Rossi." She greeted through a waterfall of tears that made her look a horrid mess. "I've heard so much about you."

The keywords of the snippets of conversation she’d overheard did spark some familiarity, she did know of the Freedom Fighters, though they had never been on her radar long enough for her to desire learning about the leadership. A supposed band of community do-gooders who take the needy under their care? Sounded like a big fat remedy for disaster and abuse.

Lila let her fingers tighten around Dutch’s hand, just enough to feel the tension in his muscles before she let them go slack again. A trembling grip—subtle enough that it could be mistaken for the weakness of a grieving friend rather than the testing prod of a practiced liar.

Dutch, for all his rehearsed sorrow, didn’t startle. His grip remained firm, warm, steady—reassuring in the way only a man used to comforting lost souls could be. But Lila wasn’t lost, and she wasn’t looking for comfort. She was looking for the edges of his mask.

She sniffled again, hiccupping just slightly, and gave him a watery smile. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she repeated softly, as though awed by his presence. “About all the amazing things you and the Freedom Fighters have done.”

Dutch exhaled heavily, shaking his head as if the weight of the world sat upon his shoulders. “We only ever wanted to help,” he murmured. “That’s all we ever wanted. But sometimes… sometimes, you can’t save everyone.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Marinette, then back to Lila.

She saw it.

That momentary check to see if Marinette would react, if she was paying attention. It was a small thing—barely a second—but to Lila, it was a flashing neon sign.

He was watching her.

Not just in the way an acquaintance would watch a friend recovering from an injury. Not even in the way a guilt-ridden leader would watch a survivor. No, he was looking at her like a puzzle piece that refused to fit into the picture he wanted.

Now, why would that be?

Lila filed the thought away for later. For now, she had a role to play.

She turned her attention back to Dutch, eyes swimming with fresh tears. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You—you’ve done so much for the people who needed you. And now you’re the one suffering.” She sniffled, stepping closer, like she needed his strength to keep standing.

Dutch looked down at her, expression softening. It was expertly done. The slight downward curve of his lips, the crease in his brow, the way his shoulders sagged just a little deeper as if weighed down by his own perceived failures.

“It’s just the way of the world.” He murmured.

Lila could almost laugh. That was the moment she knew for sure.

Because a real believer—someone truly devoted to their cause—would have said, We’ll rebuild. We’ll stand up again.

But Dutch wasn’t speaking like a leader mourning his fallen people.

He was speaking like a man who had already moved on.

“People like us just have to keep going,” Dutch continued, letting out a deep, measured sigh. “For the ones we lost. For the ones who still need us.”

“Besides, it’s not all bad.” Dutch stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve been in talks with a potential charitable soul who’s interested in helping fund our repair efforts.”

Lila bit her lip, nodding shakily. “That sounds great.” She turned, dabbing at her face with her sleeve. “I just—I wanted to make sure Marinette was okay. She means a lot to all of us.” She let her eyes flick toward the hospital bed, just enough to make it seem like an afterthought.

From what she could gather from eyewitness reports and Alya’s official version of events, by the time of Dauntless and Chat’s big battle, the building was evacuated. The only people that remained were Dauntless, her robots, Chat, Marinette and Alya.

And, of course, Dutch, who the kid that was with them, Louie something, said went missing around the same time as Marinette and Alya. Louie assumed Dutch went back in for them. That meant that there were five suspects for who had the bee miraculous.

By Alya’s story, Marinette was almost completely out of it after her attack, she wasn’t getting out into the battlefield and snatching a miraculous.

Alya would have ended up spilling it to Lila if she’d been the one to snag the miraculous. Despite how humble she wants to appear, Alya could be quite the braggart when she pulls off something truly amazing.

All footage of the fight shows Dauntless and Chat Noir’s battle as a brutal, chaotic grudge match. With how focused they were on each other and how much they destroyed the surroundings, Lila severely doubted that either of them had the chance or even the thought of grabbing the miraculous.

She didn’t know enough about Dutch to consider how he couldn’t be a suspect, but her gut was telling her that she was right on the money. Dutch had the bee miraculous or at least knows where it is. After all, she damn well caught that ‘mysterious benefactor’ who was interested in throwing out money for the Freedom Fighters. A sucker with more money than sense? Possible. Or maybe a third party interested in buying the miraculous.

Whatever it meant, the Freedom Fighters and their leader just shot up to the top of Volpina’s interest chart.

She wiped at her eyes again, sniffling just enough to sell the act before stepping through, casting one last glance toward Dutch before returning her focus to Marinette. Marinette wasn’t happy to see Lila at first, for a fraction of a second her vacant stare morphed into a scornful scowl, before being swallowed by a weary, fake smile.

Lila was aware that Marinette had roughly figured her out back at the day of the fashion contest. And, admittedly, she was impressed that Marinette, despite having an idea of Lila being untrustworthy, had decided to keep her cards close to her chest instead of trying to expose Lila then and there. Awareness how easily Lila could manipulate the situation if she tried a clumsy attempt of spouting sudden conspiracies to her friend.

It meant that Marinette wasn’t as stupid as Lila had originally thought.

Lila had to respect that level of restraint.

Most people, when they suspected someone of lying, couldn’t help but act on it. They got defensive, combative, desperate to prove they weren’t the fool in the room. It made them easy to maneuver around, easy to discredit. But Marinette? Marinette had sat on her knowledge, stewed in it, likely waiting for the right time to act.

Marinette was patient. Marinette was meticulous. Marinette was dangerous. Marinette was fun.

The moment of hostility passed in an instant, buried under exhaustion and a strained attempt at civility. Marinette wouldn’t start anything right now, not when she could barely sit up. But Lila knew better than to relax. The moment Marinette had the energy to fight back, she would.

Which meant Lila had to get ahead of her.

"Oh, Marinette," She breathed, letting her voice crack just enough. "I came as soon as I heard. I was so worried about you."

She stepped forward like she was about to throw herself into a hug, only to hesitate, biting her lip as if unsure if Marinette could handle it. A perfect show of concern, of self-restraint, of friendship.

Marinette flinched. Subtle. Quick. Like her body was reacting before her mind could catch up.

Lila tucked that away for later.

She folded her hands together, glancing around the room as if just now realizing how tense the atmosphere was. "I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Tom waved her concern off with a good-natured chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, no, no, nothing like that. We’re just waiting for the doctor to finish up some final tests. Then Marinette will be free to go."

"That’s such a relief," Lila sighed, pressing a hand to her chest like she could physically hold in her concern. "I heard everything that happened on the news, but they barely gave any details. I just couldn’t believe it—Marinette, caught up in something like that." She turned to Marinette, softening her voice. "You must have been so scared."

Marinette gave her a look that Lila imagined was supposed to be unimpressed, but between her bandaged eye and her slumped posture, it just made her look exhausted. "I’ve had worse."

Nino scoffed. "Yeah, and you’re thick-headed enough that you got out of this one with a wonky eye and some headaches."

Marinette pouted at him. "I’m fine."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Just make sure you get some rest, alright?" Nino nudged her lightly, his usual teasing tone taking on the barest hint of genuine concern.

Lila smiled, injecting herself into the conversation with ease. "You’re so strong, Marinette. I don’t know how you do it."

"Bad decisions, mostly," Marinette muttered, leaning back against the pillows.

Tom frowned at that but said nothing, likely torn between scolding her for being reckless and fussing over her injuries again.

Lila took the opportunity to guide the conversation exactly where she wanted it. "I still can’t believe Chat Noir was involved, too. That must have been terrifying."

She watched Marinette closely, eager to see how she reacted. Would she get nervous? Would she stumble? Would she—

Marinette blinked at her, deadpan, and said, "I dropped him in a dumpster and called it a day."

Silence.

Tom, standing at Marinette’s side, visibly stiffened.

Oh.

Ohohoho.

Lila had been hoping for a crack, a slip, something that told her where to dig deeper. Instead, Marinette had handed her a gold mine.

Marinette’s flat tone might have convinced most people that she was joking, but Tom’s reaction sealed it. His body language screamed do not engage, do not elaborate, do not let anyone question this further.

It wasn’t a joke.

Chat Noir had ended up at the bakery after the fight.

That was why Marinette had given such a flippant answer—because the real one was too inconvenient. She couldn’t exactly tell the police that she’d helped a supervillain flee the scene.

So, she lied.

And Tom, bless his honest heart, wasn’t good at lying.

Lila’s fingers itched to push further, to ask more, to really corner Marinette with it, but no. No, not yet. She had what she needed.

Instead, she let out a small laugh, like she found the mental image of Chat Noir in a dumpster amusing but not at all suspicious. "Wow, poor guy. Guess even supervillains have bad days, huh?"

She waved it off like it was nothing, like she wasn’t already turning over her next move in her mind.

If Chat Noir had holed up at the bakery, that meant Marinette knew far more than she was letting on. About the fight, about what happened afterward, about Chat Noir himself.

And if Lila played her cards right?

She’d know all of it soon enough.

A knock came at the door, prompting everyone to look over Lila’s shoulder. Immediately, their eyes all widened a fraction, begging Lila to turn around too.

Ah. They weren’t kidding. Lila didn’t expect him of all people to show up in Marinette’s room.

“I hope that I’m not intruding.” Gabriel Agreste said stiffly, repeatedly adjusting his tie, a string of nerves making themselves known. The man looked out of place, bundled in his expensive coat while the sterile walls bore down on him. Then again, Lila was pretty sure that the only place Gabriel would look at home in was a cemetery.

And no, she wasn’t salty that the man didn’t so much as glance at her as he passed.

“M-Mr Agreste?” Marinette sat up straight, the mere presence of her idle enough to make her cheeks flush from embarrassment. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but… Uh… Wh-What are you doing here?”

“I hoped to give my son the reassurance of your health and also extend an apology on his behalf.” Gabriel ventured further into the room, hands locked behind his back, giving him the look of a disgruntled duck when his bowed his head. “It is my understanding that Adrien’s reckless behaviour is responsible for your current predicament.”

Lila found herself committing a double take. Gabriel Agreste? Apologizing? Crap, is the devil skating his way to work? Gabriel Agreste was many things—a perfectionist, an elitist, a man so emotionally repressed he could probably be outperformed by a toaster—but apologetic? That didn’t fit his brand.

Marinette’s eyes turned to the floor, taking to rubbing her arm awkwardly as she shrunk in on herself. “I mean, it’s not like he forced me to come with him.” She murmured.

Gabriel looked as if he had a reply ready to shoot off with his trademark blunt edge. The kind of thing Lila had heard him use on underperforming designers, reporters, and, once, on herself. But he paused as he looked down at Marinette. Something unreadable flashed across his stoic visage before he sighed, resuming with a softer tone. “That doesn’t change that you wouldn’t have been in position if I had kept a better eye on him. I raised him to be better than this.”

If Lila was being honest, she’d have to say that she was a little disappointed that she didn’t get to see Gabriel whip Marinette with the same unimpressed, scornful tone he’d used on her back during the design competition. Marinette must have been one hell of a crier during their little conversation before they made Lila look like… Well, like the liar she was.

Marinette social threat level was rising, Lila made a note to pay more attention to the girl in future.

Gabriel plunged his hand into his coat, by the time he’d pulled out his cheque book he was making his way over to Tom. And even Gabriel looked more than a little uneasy looking at the man. “I’d like to offer you my assistance if you need any hospital bills paid.”

Tom paused, staring at the cheque book like Gabriel had just handed him an alien artifact. Slowly, his gaze flicked toward Marinette.

And then, as if on cue, both of them burst into laughter.

Gabriel, on the other hand, stiffened like someone had just insulted his entire bloodline.

Before he could say anything, Tom—big, bear-like, strong enough to fold a man in half Tom—threw an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders, all but yanking him into a crushing side hug. Gabriel visibly shrank under the weight suddenly draped over him, his usually pristine composure cracking as he tensed like a cat being unceremoniously picked up.

“Oh, put that thing away, Gabbi,” Tom boomed, shaking him slightly.

Gabriel paled.

Actually, visibly paled.

Like someone had just whispered his darkest secret into his ear.

Lila’s eyes narrowed. What was that?

The nickname? Really? That’s what rattled him?

Gabriel, to his credit, tried to recover quickly, awkwardly clearing his throat and adjusting his collar—though it was difficult with Tom’s arm still pressing down on him. “I didn’t mean to offend,” He said, his voice forcibly even.

Tom, still grinning, finally released him. “No offense taken! But seriously, we can take care of ourselves, you know?”

Marinette nodded along, still smiling in that warm, teasing way that made Gabriel look all the more uncomfortable. “Yeah, we Dupain-Chengs are pretty stubborn like that.”

Gabriel straightened his coat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the remnants of physical contact. “I understand,” he said, though it was clear he really, really didn’t.

Tom, still in high spirits from watching Gabriel Agreste’s soul temporarily leave his body, finally settled back down, crossing his arms. “Now, I hope you’re not being too hard on the boy.”

Gabriel blinked, visibly thrown by the shift in topic. “Excuse me?”

“Adrien,” Tom clarified, his voice warm but firm. “He’s a good kid. We’ve always known that.”

Gabriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But he—”

“Believe me,” Tom interrupted, his tone sharpening slightly. “I’m angry about what happened to my little princess.” He glanced at Marinette, who looked more sheepish than anything else. “But I know that Adrien wasn’t the one to hurt Marinette, and he wasn’t the one to put her in that building.”

Gabriel hesitated, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “He still disobeyed me.”

“Teenagers make dumb decisions,” Tom said plainly. “We can’t stop that. And they do need us to straighten ‘em up for it.”

Gabriel let out a slow breath, his posture stiff. “Yes.”

“But if we push ‘em too hard,” Tom continued, “they’re gonna end up learning the wrong lessons from it.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched slightly, and Lila caught the way Marinette glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. She could tell Marinette wanted to say something—something personal, something important—but she bit her tongue, hands curling into her blanket instead.

Tom sighed, ruffling Marinette’s hair, making her groan in protest. “And believe me, Marinette’s going to be grounded for the next thirty years when we get back home.”

Gabriel blinked, and—for just a second—Lila swore she saw a ghost of amusement flicker across his expression.

“Thirty years?” He echoed.

“At least,” Tom deadpanned.

Gabriel hummed, tilting his head. “That does sound reasonable.”

Okay, it was official, somehow Lila had stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Finally, Gabriel relinquished his objection, stuffing his book back into his coat with a sigh. He made a move to turn away, but was stopped by Marinette suddenly blurting out. “Y-You’re not gonna punish Adrien that badly, are you?”

He froze. He didn’t turn around to address her, but he remained to listen. Lila had seen him deal with employees and regular people alike. Usually, Gabriel would just dismiss her on the basis of taking such a tone with him, and yelling at him so rudely, but he made no such remark here.

Marinette’s eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady herself because, even when he was being reasonable, Gabriel Agreste was still intimidating. “’Cus Dad’s right, it was my choice to go there that night when I should have just told you, or my dad, or anyone else who could have done something about it.”

Her hands twisted in the hospital blanket as she met Gabriel’s gaze head-on, her wide, pleading eyes refusing to waver. “Adrien did everything he could to stop me, even threw me in a locked room just to stop me from getting into danger when everything happened.”

Lila blinked. “You were locked in a room?” She cocked her head back, the room tensing up as if everyone had forgotten that she was even there. “How’d you get out then?”

Marinette cleared her throat, voice dropping to a shameful whimper backed by a nervous laugh. “…I believe I declared war on a door.”

Tom looked like he could cry. “Just like her mother.”

“You broke down a door?” Gabriel repeated, each syllable carefully measured, like he was still processing the information.

Marinette drummed her fingers against her knee. “Well, more like kicked a hole in it.”

“She sure did!” Tom answered for her, beaming with an odd sense of fatherly pride. “That girl’s got Dupain strength!”

Gabriel inhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…I see.”

His gaze lingered on Marinette for a moment longer, but whatever he was thinking remained locked behind his usual unreadable mask. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he straightened his coat and addressed her again.

“Presently, Adrien is grounded, Miss Dupain Cheng,” He stated with his usual formal stiffness. “But I will… consider what you and your father have told me.”

“That’s the spirit, Gabbi.”

Gabriel visibly flinched, his lips pressing into a thin, withering line. “…Please, stop calling me that.”

Tom just grinned, clearly delighted by the reaction. Marinette, on the other hand, looked caught between horror and laughter, covering her mouth as though it would somehow hide her amusement.

Gabriel exhaled sharply, regaining his composure. “I’ll take my leave. I hope you heal swiftly, Miss Dupain Cheng.” Then, after a brief pause, his gaze flickered down to her hands, where her fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of her hospital blanket. “I’d hate to think how an injured eye could affect your promising fashion projects.”

That took Marinette off guard. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Whatever snappy response she might have had vanished the moment she saw the almost-imperceptible flicker of something—concern? Regret?—in Gabriel’s expression.

Before she could figure it out, he turned and made his way toward the door, his usual poise settling back into place. And, when he ran straight into Dutch in the doorway, his usual withering demeanour returned with a vengeance.

Dutch stepped back, throwing up his hands with a hearty chuckle. “Ah, my bad, Mr. Fancy. Didn’t see you there.” Lila knew for a fact that Dutch was not missing the guy who stood out more than Mr. Banana in the hospital.

“Darcy dropped her purse.” Dutch continued casually, as if Gabriel wasn’t radiating pure contempt in his direction. “How’s your kid doing?”

Gabriel’s voice was sharp and his eyes, even hidden by his lenses, seemed to double as a heat source. “Adrien’s condition is none of your business.”

Dutch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, turn down the heat for a second. Kid’s been real good to us—”

Gabriel scoffed, his grip tightening on the edge of his coat. “One of many mistakes Adrien has made recently.”

That got a reaction. For just a split second, Dutch’s easy-going smirk faltered, the corner of his mouth twitching downward. It was quick—barely even a flicker—but Lila caught it.

Interesting.

Dutch exhaled sharply through his nose, his lips settling into something more wry. “Of course, of course. Gotta keep that Agreste brand reputation nice and polished, huh?” He rocked back on his heels before flashing a grin. “Well, in case you ever decide to be less of a snob, give the kid our regards.”

The woman, Darcy, seemed utterly oblivious to the tension between the two men, throwing herself in between them with the most sickeningly sweet moan following her. Under the hospital lights, her lipstick made her lips extra glossy, like she was made of plastic. She pressed her hands together, an excited smile hanging from her lips as she spoke. “Yeah, tell that little sweetheart we’re thinking of him, kay?”

To anyone, that was just a normal affectionate comment.

So, why did Gabriel’s eyes part in abject shock before narrowing into a disgusted scowl so fierce that even Darcy had the instinctual reaction of backing away. Staring her down, his eyes saw something in her words, something he wasn’t going to say out loud, but clearly something that he saw as a threat.

Gabriel, however, said nothing. He simply inhaled sharply through his nose, then turned with a brisk, clipped motion and strode away as though he were leaving behind something particularly foul-smelling.

The tension he left in his wake was thick, stretching between them like an invisible wire.

Lila, ever observant, flicked her gaze between Darcy and Dutch, her curiosity piqued. Gabriel Agreste was known for being dismissive, haughty, and cold—but this? This was something else entirely. What the hell did he notice that no one else did?

Before Lila could dissect Gabriel’s strange reaction further, a polite knock at the door drew everyone's attention. A doctor stepped in, his white coat crisp and his expression carefully neutral.

"Apologies for the interruption," he said, adjusting the clipboard in his hands. "I need to go over Miss Dupain Cheng’s test results. Immediate family only, please."

That was Lila’s cue to leave. Or rather, it was the cue for everyone but her to leave. She needed to know what the results were. Needed to hear them for herself. She was too damn curious.

Her eyes flicked over to Marinette, who was already shifting uncomfortably in her bed, and then to Tom, who stood firmly beside her, his arms crossed as if he were physically shielding his daughter from anything that might upset her.

There was no way Lila could stay without drawing suspicion. But, well… there were ways around that, weren’t there?

Turning quickly, she spotted Nino lingering near the door, waiting for her to join him. Perfect.

With the same exaggerated brightness, she used whenever she wanted people to think she was being sweet, she practically bounced over to him.

“Hey, Nino?” She chirped, her voice practically dripping with artificial warmth.

“Yeah?” He blinked at her, clearly unprepared for the sudden attention.

She tilted her head just enough to make it look like she was being playful. “Could you get me some water from one of the vending machines?”

“Uh…” Nino scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, sure.”

Lila clasped her hands together, smiling like he’d just agreed to donate a kidney. “You’re so super! Thank you!”

Nino shrugged, already turning for the door. “Yeah, yeah.”

With him gone, Lila turned back toward the doctor, subtly shifting her weight to the side so that she was near the edge of the doorway. Close enough to hear. Close enough to stay.

Lila kept her head angled slightly toward the hallway; her hands clasped in front of her as if she were simply waiting for Nino to return. In reality, every fibre of her being was focused on the conversation happening behind her.

The doctor cleared his throat before continuing. “We didn’t find any major internal injuries.”

Tom let out a deep, relieved sigh. “That’s a relief.”

“We predict that your daughter will make a full recovery in no time, just be prepared for a few headaches every now and then,” the doctor added.

Tom chuckled, but Lila could hear the tension still present in his voice. “Is there anything else?”

“Ah, well… One thing.” The doctor hesitated for just a moment. “Does your daughter take any medication at the moment?”

“No, why?”

There was a rustle of papers, followed by the doctor speaking again. “It’s just that we’ve uncovered trace amounts of unidentified chemicals in her system. Probably something she breathed in when the building was on fire.”

Lila’s lips twitched. Unidentified chemicals? That was interesting.

Tom’s voice took on an edge of concern. “Should we be worried?”

“At this stage, it seems harmless,” The doctor reassured them. “Her system should filter it out naturally. But just to be safe, be sure to inform us if you start noticing any adverse side effects.”

Having heard enough, Lila pushed off of her listening spot and stalked down the hallway at just the right time to greet Nino as he returned to her, bottle in hand. He tossed it to her. “Here you go, Lila!”

She caught it, flashing her pearly whites for him as she squealed. “You’re a star, Nino.”

However, Nino wasn’t letting her go that easy, sliding up beside her with a toothy grin of his own and clapping his hand over her shoulder. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

Lila’s façade faltered for a moment, stuck in a mental record scratch. Thank her? The hell? She quickly, and desperately, went through her mental files, trying to think of anything she pretended to do for Nino lately. Nothing came up, was he mixing it up with something she did as Volpina maybe? He could mistake her for her alter ego.

“Thank me?” She asked, her voice slightly unsteady. “For what?”

“For what you said to me a couple of weeks back.” He expressed like it was the most obvious ‘of course’ information imaginable. “It was hard to hear at the time, but I think it’s what I needed to hear, you know?”

Wait… Was he talking about her tricking him into fulfilling her bet with Chloe? The conversation where Lila ripped his heart out and lied to him about his chances with Alya just to make him sad enough to want to please her? He was thanking her for basically calling him worthless and then sending him to be Chloe’s slave for a week?

Lila had to mentally reboot before she could get out a response, trying to keep things light with a fake laugh. “Oh, wow, did Chloe break you?”

Nino, thankfully, seemed not to notice her discomfort. He grinned, still feeling the warmth of their friendship, seemingly not catching the heavy undertones in her question. “Hey, you say that, but working with Chloe hasn’t been that bad.” He chuckled, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “She can be kind of cool sometimes. I almost think we could be friends.”

Her fake smile remained, but inside, she was somewhat fuming. Somehow, this turn of events, while not a loss, felt like a strike against her. How could she accidentally be helpful? “That’s great to hear, Nino.” She held the water bottle tight to her chest, turning to jab at him with her elbow. “Maybe you’ll be the guy to thaw out that cold heart of hers.”

Both of them got quite the shock to the system when the daintiest sounding sneeze, more like a mouse being strangled, shot off right behind them. “I’ll have you know that, like the rest of me, my heart is damn hot.”

Lila couldn’t’ deny it, she jumped like someone had shoved a firework up her ass, spinning around and landing in an unstable sway on the balls of her feet to find herself staring at Chloe and Sabrina.

“Speak of the devil…” Lila grunted.

Chloe scoffed; her arm half-cocked as her fingers flicked at the air. “Please, the horns and pitchfork look is sooooo not me.”

“What are you doing here, Chloe?” Nino sounded less on edge than Lila, which was another strike against him. “You visiting Marinette too?”

Then came the loud, ear-grating hyena laugh. “Pft, as if.”

Sabrina stepped in between the two groups, acting as the moderator, shooting a sheepish smile at the two. “Chloe was just getting a check-up.” She drew her hand up to her cheek, pulling at the skin until she created worry lines. “She’s been so ill lately, but nobody can find out what’s wrong.”

Chloe threw her head back dramatically, bemoaning the injustice of it all with her hand smacking against her forehead. “I had to spend an hour trying to tell my doctor about my on-and-off sickness, and the doctor just stared at me like a dead fish.”

She turned her body away, pulling her hand down to cover her face. She sniffled and whined. “It must be some sort of exotic, rare disease or something if it has them stumped.”

Lila resisted the urge to roll her eyes, simply clapping her hands together and leaning her head forward. “Hey, if it’s fatal, they might name it after you.”

Sabrina’s face soured with a pout, glaring at Lila. “It’s not fatal.”

Chloe bounced on the balls of her feet, thoughtfully humming. “…Chlo Flow Flu would be a great disease name.”

“Chloe!”

Nino sniggered. “You know, from a certain point of view, Chloe is an optimist.”

“Uh, obviously I’m not?” Chloe shot back, suddenly diving close to the boy, drawing her fingers over her eyes. “I don’t wear glasses, dummy.”

Lila couldn’t believe this was happening. She was caught between trying to play along with the charade and keep herself under control. “Riiiiiiiiight.” She sounded out the word slow, methodical and completely unconvinced.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed and her voice kicked up to a harsher volume, enough to make Nino jolt as she stabbed her finger into his chest. Really, Lila was just surprised that Chloe would touch Nino at all. “Also, turtle boy, you left your hat at the hotel again.”

“My hat-” He was confused until he reached up and found that his finger only met his hat-less scalp. “Oh crap, my hat!”

Lila shook her head. “How did you not realize your hat was missing?”

Nino shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention, okay?” He looked down at Chloe expectantly, his eyes roaming her body for any sign of the hat. Chloe glared back at him, but her body naturally leaned back and forth in synch with his gaze, almost as if she was trying to give him an easier view.

It almost looked like- Lila shook her head, she didn’t know where she was going with that thought.

Nino tilted his head to the side, confused. “So, where is it?”

“Didn’t you just hear me? At the hotel.” Chloe spat, turning away with one finger raised to beckon him over her shoulder. “What, you think I’m going to bring it to you like some sort of servant? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he mustered died before they could be spoken. Silently, he watched Chloe and Sabrina take their leave, a puzzled look overtaking his face.

Lila leaned in, curious. “What is it, Nino?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He paused, scrunched up his face, patted his head once more and then shrugged. “I swear I had my hat when I came in here.”

---

A hospital bathroom was a far cry from the lavish facilities that Chloe was used to, but it was an emergency, there was no way she was going to walk all the way back to the hotel without checking her make up one last time. The glow of the hospital’s fluorescent lights made her flawless skin gleam, and she couldn’t help but smile as she checked herself out.

However, halfway through reapplying her lipstick and reassuring herself that no man could resist these perfect lips, Sabrina had to ruin the vibe by giving her odd looks in the mirror.

“Chloe?” Sabrina asked hesitantly.

Don’t get Chloe wrong, her best friend and part-time assistant was always the more nervous of people, even when talking to her, but this sounded a different type of nervous. Much less nervous about herself and more like she was worried about Chloe. What could she possibly have to worry about? Chloe was a mother fucking star.

“Uhuh?”

Sabrina took her time to consider her question before she spoke. “Why did you steal Nino’s hat?”

“Huh?” Chloe looked back, puckering her lips with wet plop as she took in the question. Then she laughed. How could Sabrina be so slow? Obviously, she stole Nino’s hat and told him he’d lost it so she could… Uh… It would make him… Well… Uh… Shit, what was her plan? “Huh. I… Think it was part of some prank? I honestly can’t remember.”

Sabrina’s eyes softened, though she still looked somewhat unsure of how to approach what she was about to say. It was like she was treading carefully around something she’d seen coming for a while, but Chloe, ever oblivious to the nuances of anyone’s feelings but her own, was completely in the dark.

“You mean like when you stole his jacket the other day?” Sabrina asked, her voice light but pointed.

Chloe scoffed and waved her hand dismissively, completely missing the significance. “I just wanted to try on something three times my size, makes me feel less fat.”

Sabrina blinked slowly, then sighed. “Okay, sure.”

Chloe, growing impatient at Sabrina’s continued insinuations, narrowed her eyes. “Sabrina, why are you acting so suspicious?”

Sabrina hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to continue, but she eventually leaned in a little closer. “Well, it just seems like…” She trailed off before catching herself. “Never mind.”

“Girl, do you think I’m a wimp?” Chloe shot back, crossing her arms defensively.

“No, Chloe,” Sabrina responded quickly, but the discomfort was still there.

“Then spit it out,” Chloe urged, getting a little too confident.

Sabrina took a deep breath, looking at Chloe with a strange mixture of concern and amusement. “It kind of sounds like you’re stealing Nino’s stuff to make up an excuse to see him again.”

Chloe froze, staring at Sabrina for a beat longer than necessary. Her mind refused to process the suggestion. “Why would I want that dork anywhere near me?” She scoffed, flicking her hair back dramatically as though it was the most ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, idea Sabrina could have had.

Sabrina gave her a knowing look, clearly unfazed. “You know how you’ve been getting sick a lot lately?”

Chloe, still not catching on, glared at Sabrina. “Yeah?”

Sabrina leaned in a little more, watching Chloe’s every move. “Did you ever notice that you only seem to get sick around Nino?”

Chloe blinked, frowning. “I knew it,” She said triumphantly, as if she’d solved some grand mystery. “He’s diseased and selfishly spreading it to all of us instead of taking a shower!”

Sabrina blinked in surprise before stifling a laugh. “Chloe, only you have been suffering from ‘infection.’”

Chloe’s confident expression faltered; her lips slightly parted as she processed the odd phrasing Sabrina had used. She leaned back against the counter with a sceptical expression. “What are you getting at?”

Sabrina took another deep breath, glancing at Chloe before dropping her voice slightly. “What if your fever isn’t germs, but… You know… Butterflies?”

Chloe blinked, utterly confused. “...Nino is Hawkmoth?” she asked in disbelief, her voice dripping with incredulity as if the entire concept was some wild joke Sabrina had made up just to mess with her.

Sabrina clasped her hand over her mouth as a shocked gasp escaped her, the other hand shooting up to point at Chloe. Scandalized. “Chloe, that’s the third time you’ve said his name right today.”

Finally, something, an implication, managed to get through Chloe’s thick skull. The girl jumped back, and while she may not have known exactly what Sabrina was getting back, she did know that she wasn’t going to like it. It was enough to make her turn away, a light flush reaching her cheeks. “S-So what? I ran out of different ways to say it.”

She smoothed out her hair, busying her hands by fiddling with her make up kit. “I don’t know what your problem is, Sabrina.” Her words came out in a thoughtless rush of excuses. “What does it matter if I say his name right? Or keep inviting him back to my place? Or- Or-”

Sabrina was there for her, placing a comforting hand on Chloe’s shoulder and shooting her the determined look of a friend entering an intervention. The type of look that told Chloe that they were going to get through this crisis, whatever it may be, together. Chloe just had to admit she had a problem first. “Chloe, I’m your best friend, I love you; you know that right?”

Chloe hesitated but eventually nodded. “Y-Yeah?”

Sabrina's expression softened even more, though the determination didn’t leave her eyes. She took a breath, then delivered the next blow. “So, you know that I wouldn’t say this as a joke.” She paused for dramatic effect, giving Chloe a meaningful look. “I think… I think you have a crush on Nino.”

Chloe’s face immediately went beet red. She sputtered, her words tumbling out in a rush. “That’s ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous. I don’t know how you could say such a ridiculous thing when I thought you were an un-ridiculous person.” She threw her hands up, taking a step back like she was physically repelling the suggestion. “Just because I think of him a few times, I have a crush on a scruffy, helpless dope?”

Chloe threw her hands up in the air again, this time almost in defeat. “He has an adorable face that looks like a turtle, one of my favourite animals, and you think that’s enough for me to care?” She huffed, like she was trying to convince herself just as much as Sabrina.

“Chloe…” Sabrina tried again, her voice laced with gentle exasperation.

“Newsflash, Sabrina: I don’t care,” Chloe declared, crossing her arms in defiance. “I don’t care about him, or how he makes me feel light and giggly, or how he has way too much knowledge on the dumbest shit, or how, when I watch him work, he sometimes flexes his bicep, and I realize he’s actually developing more muscle than I thought—”

Slap. Sabrina’s hand landed across Chloe’s cheek, the sound sharp and sudden, cutting through Chloe’s self-imposed defence.

For a moment the two just stood there, trading glances while they huffed and puffed.

“Chloe…” Sabrina started cautiously. “I’m sorry, but I-”

“Why did you stop?” Chloe blinked in surprise; her eyes wide and face still flushing the devil’s colour. “I’m still thinking about his imperfectly perfect teeth. Keep slapping!”

What followed was several minutes of successive slaps delivered with impeccable timing and rhythm across Chloe’s space, filling the room with harsh, meaty smacking noises that probably made any passers-by very worried.

However, even when the redness of her stinging cheeks overpowered the force of her blush, Chloe still found Nino’s visage a plague upon her mind. She had been cursed with knowledge, and no mere slaps would rid her of it.

“It’s not working!” She cried, slamming her head down on the edge of the counter and whining into the sink. “Oh god, oh god, how could this happen to me? Does God just hate me?”

A span of a second was long enough for Chloe to come up with a plan, suddenly standing up straight as her face went from flustered to almost comically dramatic. She dropped her hands her sides, her expression a mix of disbelief and internal horror as she stared into the eyes of her own reflection. “Sabrina… We planned for dark days like this.”

Sabrina’s eyes widened, “You don’t mean—”

“I do.” Chloe’s voice lowered, and she spoke with utmost seriousness. “Sabrina, get the hammer.”

---

Breaking News: Local Heiress Gets Hammered

The local community was left stunned earlier today when Parisian heiress Chloe Bourgeois was found in what can only be described as a baffling and chaotic incident at the hospital. Sources say Chloe was discovered with multiple self-inflicted blunt force trauma injuries to the head, all allegedly caused by a hammer. Paramedics on the scene reported that Chloe seemed disoriented, repeatedly muttering strange and disconnected phrases despite the fact that she was already in the hospital.

“I like turtles,” Chloe was quoted saying, her voice muffled by what seemed to be an attempt at hiding her panic. In another bizarre moment, witnesses claim she also shouted, “Oh, fuck, why does the ambulance siren sound like his name too?!” This, despite the fact that there were no ambulances present at the time – she was already inside the medical facility.

While the motive behind her actions remains unclear, and medical professionals are still investigating the nature of her injuries, the incident has sparked an outpouring of concern among the public. The police have yet to explain how it is the case, but everyone is sure that this is somehow connected to the supervillain Hawkmoth.

Notes:

Originally, I was gonna have Gabriel scolding Adrien as more comedic with Adrien being a huffy teenager and Gabriel being the out-of-touch parent, but I felt like it deserved a more serious tone. Which made it more difficult to write because I needed to make Gabriel harsh, even falling back on some old habits of his, without veering into unsympathetic territory since he is coming at this from a 'Literally all my worst fears of Adrien leaving the house came true in one night' perspective.

I wanted it to reflect how, due to Adrien being a mostly obedient child, Gabriel's never really had to scold him like this before and he's sort of at a loss for how to convey his feelings and how he's terrified because he literally saw his son get impaled on TV. And Adrien, who sees Chat as the only escape he has, can only see this as Gabriel just trying to take over more of his life. Not helped that we're seeing this all from Adrien's point of view (we'll be getting more of Gabriel's next time).

Though, technically, this is still darkly comedic as it's two dumbasses doing the standard "You're grounded for a week with no video games or seeing your friends." "You don't understand me, Dad!" conversation, but blowing it up as the ultimate dramatic betrayal because they're too extra for normal conversation.

Also, Plagg's listening to this going "...Dude, you better be bluffing because that's basically my home you're talking about melting down."

Next Time - Broken Heart:

The sharp knock at the door wrested Nathalie from her appraisal, giving her shoulder one last squeeze before she sat up, dropping down from the exercise bike a little shaky. No matter how many times she reminded herself that the pain was just a phantom of Mayura’s now healed injuries, she could shake the pangs that shot up her arms. Still, she refused to let that halt her routine and letting herself grow soft.

“Just a minute!” She called out to the door, mentally going through the list of possible visitors. She wasn’t expecting anybody today, was she?

She passed through the main room to reach the bathroom, snatching a towel off her shower to sling around her shoulders and dab at the sweat she was gushing from every pour. As she passed, she shot a glance to Duusuu, who was taking her sweet ass time retreating into her hiding spot. “Duusuu, did you order more stuff online? I told you; you can’t keep stealing my credit card.”

“B-But we were out of that special popcorn I like.” Duusuu moaned but hid herself amongst the books on Nathalie’s shelf.

The nice part of being at home was that Nathalie didn’t feel the instinctive need to put up a professional barrier, even when reaching the door. It was nice not to have to filter everything she did through a calm, perfect mask of stoicism. She didn’t have to look the part, she didn’t have to be polite, and she didn’t have to care.

“What do you-”

Well, so she thought, until she found her boss standing outside her door.

Nathalie froze midway through wiping the towel across her chest, sweating like a pig and clad in only her work out clothes which might as well have been completely invisible for all the difference it made in the moment.

And Gabriel was not looking at her face.

Chapter 35: Heartbreaker: Broken Heart

Summary:

Gabriel finally pays Nathalie a visit. Unfortunately, he knocked at a... Delicate time.

Why did he let her go?

This was the sole thought that carried Nathalie all the way back to her apartment and through the next day. Hawkmoth had her right where he wanted her, defenceless with the peacock miraculous in his fingers. And he left. He gave her warning to run, and he parted ways, empty handed. No revenge, no retrieval, just an end.

Gabriel wasn’t the type of man who committed mercy out of habit, not when it mattered. By all rights a stranger holding the peacock miraculous might as well have been the same as a stranger holding a gun to Adrien’s head.

Why did he let her go?

She sat on her exercise bike, basking in the mid-day glow slipping through her window in sharp blocks, and Jagged Stone playing on the television, but all of that was tuned out for that same damn question. Her legs pumped like mechanical pistons, grinding those petals into stumps that cut the underside of her shoes. The action made her muscles scream for mercy, but she kept on pumping, kept on pushing, because she couldn’t stop now, she had to give chase. Chase that question until she found the answer.

Why did he let her go?

Her eyes had enough agency to seek out her phone, idly wondering how many messages she had obtained since last night. Did he figure her out? While she had been Mayura, he might have been staring at her for quite a while before she woke up. Maybe he saw the striking similarities, maybe she said something terribly revealing in her sleep; after all, in the state she was left in after that brutal attack the quantum masking of the miraculous could very well have failed.

No, that didn’t make any sense. If he realized her ploy, he’d have taken her home with him and scolded her when she woke up. Or not. Maybe he did recognise her but was so disgusted by her trickery that he didn’t dare let her return to the manor, and realizing she was too pathetic to waste his skills on didn’t even give her the dignity of being killed by his hands.

The fact that her mind was already going to such extremes might have indicated that she shouldn’t have skipped her morning coffee.

But why did he let her-

The sharp knock at the door wrested Nathalie from her appraisal, giving her shoulder one last squeeze before she sat up, dropping down from the exercise bike a little shaky. No matter how many times she reminded herself that the pain was just a phantom of Mayura’s now healed injuries, she could shake the pangs that shot up her arms. Still, she refused to let that halt her routine and letting herself grow soft.

“Just a minute!” She called out to the door, mentally going through the list of possible visitors. She wasn’t expecting anybody today, was she?

She passed through the main room to reach the bathroom, snatching a towel off her shower to sling around her shoulders and dab at the sweat she was gushing from every pour. As she passed, she shot a glance to Duusuu, who was taking her sweet ass time retreating into her hiding spot. “Duusuu, did you order more stuff online? I told you; you can’t keep stealing my credit card.”

“B-But we were out of that special popcorn I like.” Duusuu moaned but hid herself amongst the books on Nathalie’s shelf.

The nice part of being at home was that Nathalie didn’t feel the instinctive need to put up a professional barrier, even when reaching the door. It was nice not to have to filter everything she did through a calm, perfect mask of stoicism. She didn’t have to look the part, she didn’t have to be polite, and she didn’t have to care.

“What do you-”

Well, so she thought, until she found her boss standing outside her door.

Nathalie froze midway through wiping the towel across her chest, sweating like a pig and clad in only her work out clothes which might as well have been completely invisible for all the difference it made in the moment.

And Gabriel was not looking at her face.

Gabriel’s eyes, uncharacteristically wide, were locked onto her sweat-slicked collarbone, then trailed down, flickering with something unreadable—shock, perhaps? Disbelief?

Oh, I think he likes what he sees. Mayura coo’d in her mind. At least we beat Emilie in one area.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Nathalie squealed back with a slight twitch to her eye.

Nathalie, still frozen, felt the heat of exertion in her body double in intensity. If her heart had been hammering before from the workout, it was positively trying to break through her ribcage now.

For a brief, horrifying second, neither of them spoke.

Gabriel blinked. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. He cleared his throat. “I—” He cleared his throat again, sharper this time, straightening his tie with a visible effort. “Soup.”

It was a bizarre thing to say in the moment.

It was even more bizarre that it sounded oddly sexy when he said it.

---

GlitterGirl: How’s your holder holding up?

ButterBoy:

GlitterGirl: Oh, he has it bad.

ButterBoy: Ya think!?

---

Gabriel Agreste wasn’t a pervert.

He was a man of discipline. A visionary. A widower, for god’s sake. And yet, none of that seemed to matter anymore because for some ungodly reason, his brain had decided to start seeing Nathalie in a way that was, frankly, unacceptable.

He always knew that Nathalie was an attractive woman. He did technically have a crush on her before Emilie swept him off his feet. But this was… Well, not what he was ready for. He’d seen her as cute, as beautiful, never as something that could make his body betray him like this.

When did she get so... uh... ravishing?

No. No, no, no. That wasn’t right. That was not the word he meant to use. His vocabulary was extensive, masterful, sophisticated—he never used a word without careful deliberation. So why had that one slipped out like a thief in the night, breaking into the carefully fortified vault of his mind?

Ravishing. Ravishing.

Like a villainous seductress in one of those cheap romance novels Nathalie secretly read but thought he didn’t know about.

…Oh god.

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply through his nose and exhaling through clenched teeth. This was Mayura’s fault.

Everything had been fine—normal—until that fight. Until she had challenged him. Until she had smirked at him, taunted him, wielded confidence like a blade and met him on equal footing, with none of the deference he was used to. Until she messed with his mind and screwed everything up.

That was where this all started. Not because of anything ridiculous like real feelings or repressed emotions finally surfacing. No, no, this was simply a case of psychological conditioning. Battle had a way of altering the mind, of forging new neural pathways, of creating false associations—

Yes. Yes, that was it.

This wasn’t attraction. This was a malfunction. A temporary distortion of perception caused by an unfortunate series of events, exacerbated by a moment of weakness.

He just needed time to let it pass.

To cleanse himself of these ridiculous, ridiculous thoughts.

Her bustline meant nothing to him. The smooth transition from her collarbone to the telltale lines of defined muscular tissue passing down her arms, tough enough to be reliable, but not enough to detract; absolutely meaningless. And the less said about her hips or how her curves perfectly plunged into the hemline of her shorts…

Where was he going with this again? Right. To stop. Stop thinking.

To stop thinking about—

Why was he still staring!?

“Soup.” He repeated again, the one word he managed to get out in his drooling state, mindlessly thrusting his hand forward wielding a thermos. “For you.”

Oh. Right, that soup. Chicken soup. He brought her chicken soup, because that’s what you gave sick people to make them feel better. Suddenly, the thought occurred that he had no idea what was making Nathalie feel under the weather and he might be more than a little stupid.

It seemed to take a lot of effort at first for Nathalie to drag her gaze away from him, eyeing up the thermos through uncertain eyes. She looked like she was measuring it. Was it too small for her? Who cared about the size as long as it got the job done? Why was he sweating bullets?

As her head inclined, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at her back. Her usually perfectly styled hair, drenched in sweat and thrown down in a wild mess, forming a river of luscious curls down her spine, narrow enough to trick Gabriels eyes into seeing it stretch on forever.

He was not in the right mental state to be ambushed by Nathalie in anything less than a conservative blazer that painted 90% of her body in the same dark colour. Not after that damn Mayura filled his mind with unnecessary feelings, not when he was left mentally exhausted and looking for relief.

Nathalie was giving him a look. He couldn’t quite place what it meant—suspicious? amused? concerned? disgusted?—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was he needed to leave immediately before his brain melted out of his ears.

"You didn’t have to do this," She said, reaching for the thermos.

Gabriel almost let go of it. Almost.

But then her fingers brushed against his, and—

Gabriel let out a strangled sound—half-cough, half-broken modem—before he violently shoved the thermos into her hands like a man trying to rid himself of a cursed artifact.

"Nonsense," He managed to croak, voice barely passing the threshold of human comprehension. "You're sick. You need soup."

Nathalie eyed him like he’d just declared soup the secret to eternal life.

"...Right."

She turned toward the kitchen, and he absolutely did not stare at the way she moved. But he did want to note that every cock of her hip set off the first note of a drum solo in his head, and that by the time she reached the kitchen she’d managed to get out a whole speakeasy showtune in his mental palace.

Nope. He did not do that.

He wasn’t that kind of man.

He was a professional.

He was a grieving widower.

He was going to die right here in her apartment if he didn’t get out immediately.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stop by unannounced.” She hummed, placing the thermos on the counter.

“My apologies.” Gabriel snapped his gaze to focus on the pictures adorning her walls before he could take too much notice of the face that she was bending down to reach something. “I’ve had much on my mind today, and… I wanted to see you immediately.”

---

“Sir?” Nathalie asked softly, trying to pretend she was completely oblivious to his attempts to politely avoid taking her in. “Are you okay?”

He chanced looking back at her, only to find- It wasn’t her fault, okay? It was Mayura’s idea, her dumb whispers making her body act up while Nathalie was distracted by desperately searching for a distraction. She didn’t realize that, by the time Gabriel turned to face her, that she had plopped the merchandise on the counter, practically serving it to him.

Suffice it to say, the man looked like a dying fish desperately flapping to return to the water.

“I’m a little out of sorts, that’s all.” He pushed out, hoarse and breathless. “And I didn’t expect to see you so… Casual. I’m too used to you behind a desk in your business suit.”

She couldn’t deny that Mayura had a point, that there was a certain thrill, a sense of power, in being able to get this reaction from Gabriel ‘The Sleeping Dead’ Agreste. Audrey had tried many times to introduce him to models to sate some short-term relief in the wake of Emilie’s death, and Nathalie knew many of those models far outstripped her in looks. Yet, where they had failed to resuscitate the walking corpse Gabriel had become in the wake of many forced dates, Mayura and Nathalie had managed to create life in those eyes in the span of a night.

It was a glimmer of hope that led her down this train of thought. The idea of Gabriel being stunned by Mayura because he’d lacked any genuine female interest since Emilie’s passing, she could excuse that as not being Mayura-centric, that if any of those models had expressed any genuine affection, that they saw him more as just a job to finish, they could have caught him off balance too.

But now? Nathalie was just there, in a state of undress, sure, but Gabriel had fitted many women without so much as a crack in his façade. He’d seen many attractive ladies working out in even less conservative clothes when he’d drop Adrien off at the gym sometimes. But it’s only now that he’s reacting.

Does that mean it’s only her, and by extension her alter-ego, specifically that was getting to him? If it were anyone else in the same position, would he have kept his cool?

She finds her fingers combing through her wet fringe, clearing it from her gaze and just letting herself look at the man before her.

He was adorable.

In a very undignified way, of course.

Gabriel was normally a man of complete control—calculating, composed, and distant. But right now? Right now, he was floundering.

His sharp blue eyes darted wildly, searching for some neutral ground, somewhere to rest that didn’t set his brain on fire. The pictures on the wall. The ceiling. The floor. The damn thermos like it was the most fascinating object in the world. Anywhere but her.

And yet, his gaze kept betraying him, flickering back to her—just for a second, just long enough to take in another forbidden detail before he forced himself to look away again. The taut line of his jaw, the way his fingers clenched ever-so-slightly at his sides…

If she hadn’t known him so well, she might’ve missed it. But she did. Here she was, subtly shifting her weight against the counter, tilting her head just so, watching as Gabriel visibly battled himself like some ancient war was being waged in his soul.

It was a high, but eventually that high had to end, brought down by the more logical, the more caring part of her. As much as Mayura bathed in the excitement of putting Gabriel on the spot like this, Nathalie had to face that an element of this was leaving Gabriel uncomfortable. Most likely, he was welling up with shame and confusion.

She had to take a moment to collect herself, to let the power trip leak from her system. At the end of the day, she didn’t want Gabriel to suffer or feel cornered, especially not at the hands of her selfish desire for him. She was his friend and confidant first.

Snatching her towel off the table as she passed, she made her way over to her room. “Well, if you give me a minute to clean up-”

His hand caught her own, pulling it in to hug his other hand. There was nothing breaking his gaze from looking down into her eyes, and a smile threatened to overtake his trademark frown.

“I-I don’t mean it as a bad thing.” He said gently, thumb idly stroking her palm. “I was starting to fear that my work was taking over your life to the point you didn’t get to be casual anymore.”

It was then that Nathalie reminded herself why he was here in the first place. He had come to check up on her, bringing soup hoping to sooth whatever was ailing her, and found himself floundering because he didn’t want to disrespect her. He was here because he cared about her. Sometimes, it was easy to forget.

In that moment, she couldn’t help but think back to Mayura kissing Hawkmoth on the cheek to tell him how adorable he was. She wanted to do it again, but she stopped herself, restricting her response to squeezing his hand back.

“Thank you, Sir.” She breathed.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugged before disappearing into her bedroom.

Ten minutes later, enough time for both her and Gabriel to cool down and push aside the awkward start to their meeting, the two found themselves by the kitchen counter. Nathalie had been surprised to find, on her return to the main room, that Gabriel had taken the liberty of buttering some bread and setting out a bowl to go with her soup.

Gabriel watched her poke at her meal in a contemplative silence. There was a lot on his mind, but Nathalie could see that he wasn’t entirely sure where to start. It would be so much easier if she could tell him the truth and skip all of the parts that Mayura was there for, but she made this bed, she has to lie in it.

Eventually, he broke the silence with a sigh. “I assume you’ve been paying attention to the news.”

Nathalie winced.

“I know of Adrien’s recent adventure, yes.”

How could she miss it? The newsfeed was blowing up with images of the Freedom Fighters’ compound in flames and grainy helicopter shots of Chat Noir being ran through by Dauntless. Adrien all alone, surviving by the skin of his teeth, because no one came to his aid. Because Mayura stole Hawkmoth’s attention. Without her prideful scheme, Hawkmoth would have been there to protect Chat. She might have been as well.

She sighed, gripping her forehead; it was the only way to stop herself from shaking. “And I received you text message about ambushing Mayura. Which would you like to discuss first?”

It would have been incredibly convenient for her if she had read that damn text message announcing Gabriel’s planned ambush mere minutes before she got there. Instead, she was too jazzed about her mission that she’d left her phone at home.

Gabriel sharply inhaled, fighting against the weariness that threatened to make his body buckle. “Mayura is the more pressing issue. Or at least, the history that surrounds her.”

Nathalie blinked, momentarily frozen in confusion. “History?”

“There’s something I’ve neglected to tell you, Nathalie.” He stretched his hands along the length of the counter, pulling at the knots of tension in his muscles. Whatever he was about to tell her came with a bout of shame. “I trust you with… Everything. So, know that I only withheld this out of a belief that it didn’t matter anymore.”

There were very few things Nathalie didn’t know about the man before her.

“Until today.” She finished for him, setting down her bowl with a nod. “I understand, Sir.”

Gabriel’s fingers tapped against the counter—slow, methodical beats that betrayed the hesitation swirling in his mind. His jaw tensed, then relaxed, like he was bracing himself for something unpleasant. Nathalie watched him carefully, noting the rare uncertainty in his usually unwavering posture.

He was building up to something.

She didn’t rush him. She simply observed, waiting as he gathered his words.

Then, at last, he exhaled and said, “Mayura was not the first person to steal the Peacock Miraculous from us.”

Nathalie blinked.

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

“What?”

Gabriel’s fingers stilled. “Several years ago, in the fledgling days of Emilie’s illness, you took Adrien on a trip with his aunt and uncle.”

How could she forget that trip? It was a tour of Venice where Nathalie spent the entire week playing babysitter. Not to the children, but the adults. She still remembered when a drunk Amilie and Colt had stormed the stage in a nightclub to perform an iteration of ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ that would forever scar Adrien and Felix.

“During your time away, an incident occurred.” His voice was tight, his expression unreadable, but Nathalie caught the tension in his shoulders. His grip on the counter had turned rigid, knuckles faintly white. “Emilie was attacked in the night by an unknown assailant and stripped of the Peacock. This wasn’t some dime-a-dozen thief, this was a trained fighter who knew exactly what they were up against.”

Nathalie felt her mouth go dry. Emilie had been assaulted, Duusuu had been kidnapped, all while Nathalie was in an entirely different country. Even worse, if someone ripped the Peacock from Amilie, and knew what it was, then that meant…

She was hesitant to ask, but the words still escaped. “There’s someone who knows you have the Peacock then?”

“No.” He quickly clarified, his voice as hard as it was certain. “Emilie was fortunately transformed at the time, though what she was doing out there I have no idea.”

According to Duusuu’s recollection, Emilie had been taking the damaged Peacock out for joyrides under Gabriel’s nose, using the excess stamina and durability to party through the night. Nathalie had no doubt that such frequent outings is how the assailant managed to track her down in the first place, and that they’d probably ambushed Emilie while she was drunk.

Nathalie did not think it would be wise to reveal this to Gabriel right now, so she remained with her ears open. Otherwise, he, just as she did, would start wondering just how such frequent reckless use of the broken miraculous might have affected her condition. Could she have been saved if one of them was attentive enough to notice what she was doing?

“Her attacker didn’t care about who was behind the mask, they knocked her out, snatched the miraculous and left.” He gritted his teeth, pulling the words out like he was pulling out bone. “That was when…”

He looked away, continuing quietly. “When Emilie’s symptoms started to show.”

Technically, Emilie had started to show symptoms prior. They were small things, fainting spells, random feverish episodes, things that could be easily dismissed. However, after uncovering the consequences of using a broken miraculous, Gabriel found these signs to be worrying enough to send Adrien away on that trip. Him and Emilie didn’t want Adrien around to see her in that state if things suddenly got serious.

But after Nathalie and Adrien returned, the symptoms had become more frequent, harder to dismiss.

Briefly, Nathalie wondered if, in Gabriel’s mind, that was enough of a connection to consider Emilie’s attacker as responsible for her fate.

“Not only was Adrien in danger, but part of me believed that having the Peacock with her protected her from her symptoms.” He exhaled, the sound slow and measured, yet heavy. “That night was the first time I called on Nooroo to transform me.”

She straightened slightly. “As Hawkmoth?”

“Not Hawkmoth.” His gaze flickered, distant, as if he were looking through her rather than at her. “Someone… better.”

There was something eerie in the way he said it, something that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

“I spent a week shaking people down, testing out my capabilities in fights I should have never been able to survive, until I managed to draw out a lead.”

That explained a lot. She had always known Gabriel was desperate, but not to this extent. Not to the point of putting his own body on the line, of resorting to physical force instead of calculated manipulation.

His fingers curled slightly against the countertop, the movement slow, deliberate, like he was grounding himself in the present. “I found their hideaway, a lab buried under the city of Nantes. I recovered Duusuu.” His voice dropped lower. “Suffice it to say, I ensured that there was no one left to threaten my family.”

A pause.

“At least, I thought I had.”

Something cold slithered down Nathalie’s spine.

“I think I’m getting it,” She murmured, glancing down in thought. Then, looking up at him, she spoke with more certainty. “You think that these demons are connected to the group you fought before?”

His voice rose to a vicious growl, throwing his arm out to lash out at the air. “Their leader, this ‘Mastermind’, is a survivor from my attack. I know it. I recognise the set-up, the symbols, and they somehow have a grudge against Hawkmoth before his first public appearance.” Fingers tensed, clamping down into a steel fist, picturing a throat to wrap around. “That week was the only other time a butterfly holder could have made a splash in our lifetime.”

Nathalie’s eyes fell to her soup, seeing her day reflected in the thick liquid, and the new complications as breadcrumbs rising to the surface. “You’re saying we now have an entirely new faction that’s out for your head?”

Gabriel nodded, gravely. “And they already have two new miraculous in their hands.”

She shot up in her seat. “T-Two!?” She gasped out, mouth hanging agape.

I was unconscious for ten minutes! What the hell happened?

“Adrien discovered that the Freedom Fighters had the bee miraculous. That’s why he was there that night, completely without my knowledge.”

“What about the ho-” She stopped herself before she could forget that Nathalie shouldn’t know anything about the Mayura situation other than the fact that Gabriel fought her. “The other miraculous you’ve mentioned?”

His jaw locked up again, his shoulders rolled back to try and relax himself. Even before he spoke, Nathalie knew he’d lost the miraculous and was struggling to admit it. “Long-story short, I caught Mayura in the middle of going after the horse miraculous. It activated during our fight and took us to a different realm.” The interdimensional travel was waved off so casually, without even a mention of meeting Big Foot, the talking head or the slime monster that almost devoured him. “I… Almost lost Nooroo.”

It was only that moment that Nathalie noticed the aforementioned kwami had been sitting on the counter this entire time, and that Gabriel’s hand occasionally moved to run his fingers upside Nooroo’s head. A gentle, comforting gesture that was completely foreign to Gabriel and Nooroo’s dynamic.

“But we managed to escape thanks to Mayura’s efforts.” He continued “Mayura was rendered unconscious and the horse miraculous was within my grasp, but… I was ambushed.”

“So, the demons have the horse and bee miraculous.” Nathalie sighed, shaking her head. “What about the Peacock?”

Nathalie leaned in. This was the question that interested her above all else. If Gabriel didn’t know she was Mayura, then why had he let Mayura leave with the Peacock?

She watched him carefully, every movement, every flicker of hesitation in his expression. He had been uncharacteristically open with her just moments ago, spilling truths she never imagined he would share. So why did this one detail remain just out of reach?

After a beat of silence—long enough to stretch the anticipation taut between them—Gabriel finally answered.

“…Mayura slipped through my fingers while I was fighting off the demons.”

Nathalie’s breath caught.

That was a lie.

Gabriel just lied to her.

Why the hell would Gabriel lie about this? Her fingers tensed against the countertop, her mind racing. What did he have to gain from keeping this from her?

No explanation came, he just stared at her expectantly.

Nathalie tilted her head slightly, giving him one last chance to elaborate. Nothing.

So he was really sticking to this, then.

She exhaled through her nose, shifting her posture as she leaned back in her seat. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”

“I’m not too worried on that front.” Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “Mayura is a wild card, but I don’t think she has any desire to be our enemy. In fact, I believe she could be convinced to be an asset.”

“Is that so?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound convinced.”

Nathalie let a slow smirk creep up the corner of her lips. “It’s just that you were calling for her head the last time we discussed her.” She rested her chin on her knuckles, voice smooth and laced with amusement. “It must have been a life-changing adventure for you to change your tune so quickly.”

Gabriel stiffened. “W-What are you implying?”

She tapped her nails against the counter in thought, watching him squirm. Oh, this was interesting.

He cleared his throat, adopting a haughty tone. “I just had the benefit of cooling my head and realized that she could make for a great meat shield!”

Nathalie pressed her lips together, nodding in mock understanding. “Of course. An inspired decision. I believe you, Sir.”

Gabriel frowned. “Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Because you’re lying.”

His nostrils flared. “I am not!”

“Mm.” She took a slow sip of her soup, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him shift in his seat.

Gabriel huffed, crossing his arms. “Regardless of what you think happened, my point still stands. Mayura is better as an ally than an enemy.”

“Sure. If you say so.”

Nathalie watched him closely, stirring her soup as if the conversation wasn’t far more interesting than the meal in front of her.

After a moment, she asked, “Have you told Adrien about this yet?”

Gabriel’s expression soured. “Not entirely.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does not entirely mean?”

He looked away, tapping his fingers against the counter. “He doesn’t need to know anything about this when he’s grounded from being Chat Noir.”

Nathalie sighed, setting down her spoon. “Gabriel, even if he’s being punished, he’s still your partner. He should be kept in the loop.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “If you don’t, he’ll only grow resentful.”

Gabriel let out a short, bitter laugh. “He already resents me.”

His voice was quiet but heavy, laced with something deeper than mere frustration. He pressed his palms flat against the counter, shoulders stiff. “He wishes I was dead, that I wasn’t his father. He’d be so much happier with Emilie around instead.”

Nathalie frowned, watching the tension in his posture.

“…Did he actually say that?”

Gabriel hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Well, no…”

She arched a brow.

“But he inferred it!” He snapped, throwing up a hand. “His actions, his tone—it’s obvious what he thinks!”

Nathalie exhaled through her nose, drumming her fingers against the counter. “Gabriel.”

“What?”

Nathalie leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand. “Let me guess. You’re about to tell me how disrespectful, reckless, stubborn, and bull-headed he is?”

Gabriel scoffed, crossing his arms. “He is! Do you realize how insane this whole situation is? I tell him to stay put, and what does he do? He goes behind my back, joins a gang, and gets himself stabbed!” His fingers curled into fists as his voice rose. “That child has no sense of caution. No respect for authority. He never thinks things through, he just does whatever ridiculous idea pops into his head without considering the consequences!”

Nathalie took a slow sip of her soup to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. Sounds just like a man I knew as a teenager before he became a cold fashion icon.

She didn’t say it out loud, of course. She valued her life.

Gabriel wasn’t done. “Do you know what he said to me?” He let out a bitter laugh. “That all I want is control!”

“Imagine that.”

“Damn straight I want control!” He slammed his hand against the counter. “Because the moment that control slips, this is what happens! Adrien does something reckless, he risks the entire operation, and he—”

His voice faltered. His chest heaved, his breath uneven, and for a second, it seemed like he was struggling to find the words.

Then, without warning, he turned away from her, shoulders tense, hands gripping the edge of the counter like he needed to physically steady himself.

“…He was stabbed, Nathalie.” His voice was quiet now, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “My little boy was dying. And I wasn’t there.”

Nathalie’s breath hitched.

“I had to rely on some baker girl and her nosy friend to save his life.” His head lowered, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the counter. “I have all the power in the universe…” His fingers trembled, his glare dropping to the miraculous hanging from his shirt. “…And yet I’m still the same feeble failure, sitting by my wife’s side, powerless to do anything but watch her rot away before my eyes.”

Gabriel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I always hated being the bad guy." His voice was quieter now, drained of its usual commanding edge. "But I was so good at it."

Nathalie blinked, watching him cautiously.

"I was always the one who had to break up Adrien’s fun, tell him what he did wrong, be the one to teach him the boring lessons and make him do the nightmare chores." He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "And Emilie? She got to be the good guy. She planned the fun activities, introduced him to all the cool things, understood what he needed. She got to be the one he loved."

His fingers drummed absently against the counter. "But I knew… I knew you needed both. Someone to show you how to make the most of life, and someone to ground you in how to survive that life." He inhaled sharply. "I just… I just wish we got to switch the roles every now and then."

Nathalie watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling with something deeper than mere words.

"And then… Hawkmoth." He spat the name like it was something sour. "Hawkmoth and Chat Noir—that was the first time I got to connect with him like Emilie always did. We were partners. I was his mentor, his ally. I finally got to be the one showing him the excitement of something new."

His eyes darkened. "I was a villain… but I got to be the good guy for once."

"And all it’s done is endanger my son." His voice cracked. "I should have stuck to what worked. I should have kept him locked away. I should have never let him keep the black cat. I should have never brought him into this. I should have—”

His breath hitched.

His hands trembled.

“I should have never let Emilie be the one to use the Peacock."

His voice was barely above a whisper. "It should have been me." His eyes fell shut. "It should have been me…"

Gabriel’s hands curled into fists, his nails pressing into his palms, but he didn’t respond. He simply stared at the counter, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Nathalie exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. She straightened, planting her hands on the table as she leaned in. “Gabriel.” Her voice was steady, unwavering. “Did you lie to me when you said that all of this was to make your family whole again?”

His jaw tightened, but his answer came without hesitation. “No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter which of you died that day. The family would still be incomplete.”

He flinched, just slightly, before scoffing. “Emilie wouldn’t have let any of this happen. She would have moved on by now.”

I wouldn’t.

“Stop saying such pointless nonsense, you stupid, stupid man.”

His head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re here. You can’t change that. Adrien is Chat Noir. You can’t change that either.”

She crossed her arms. “We can debate all day about whether bringing him into this was a bad idea, but the fact remains that the cat is out of the bag—” she paused, then smirked. “—and it can’t be put back.”

Gabriel let out a sharp breath through his nose.

“Adrien is a hormonal, emotional, reckless teenager," she continued. "And he’ll grow into a fine man who, no matter what you do, will escape the mansion to live his own life on his own terms.”

Gabriel tensed at that, but she didn’t stop.

“He’s going to make so many mistakes, and a lot of them we won’t be able to stop.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, something wry and tired pulling at it.

“But the future—his future—is always coming. You can’t stop it, you can’t control it, but you can make sure that he’s equipped to face it.”

Gabriel stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. A long silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

“…Did you just call me stupid twice?”

She huffed. “Don’t act surprised.”

They held that stare, his scathing while hers were challenging. At that moment, she didn’t really know what was going on in his head, if he was actually listening to her point or soley focusing on being offended by her partially going against him.

And maybe a few days ago that uncertainty would have been enough to make her buckle and stand down, but she had the peacock now, she had Mayura, and Mayura was telling her that she was more than his assistant. And after their latest interactions in both forms, an inkling of hope thought that maybe there was more than friendship there as well.

Whatever she was, for Gabriel and Adrien’s sake, she had a responsibility to ensure that Gabriel kept his head out of his ass. And out of… Whatever dark place put those distressing utterances of ‘should have been me’ in his mouth.

“Fine.” He huffed, though his lips did quirk upward. “I won’t keep Chat Noir benched forever, but my punishment still stands.” He drew his fingers up the front of his head, tapping his nose and humming softly. “And we need to establish more rules going forward if he wants the ring back.”

She fought to stop herself from breathing a relieved sigh. “I understand.” Nathalie nodded, though as she watched Gabriel slip away from the counter, she couldn’t help but shuffle closer to him. “If I may, perhaps I should have a talk with Adrien. He might respond better to… Anyone other than you.”

He narrowed his eyes at the sudden suggestion, but didn’t seem to abhor the idea. There was a silent discussion held between his and Nooroo’s gazes before he nodded. “Thank you, Nathalie.” It always sounded like it hurt when Gabriel thanked somebody, and yet it always sounded good when he thanked her.

Besides, he knew as well as Nathalie that she’d always been better at making Adrien understand something than him.

Just as he reaches the door, she quickly adds. “I worry for Adrien too, Sir.”

In far more ways than a simple assistant should care for someone else’s son. A son who isn’t her own no matter how much of his life she helped raise him.

Gabriel stopped his exit, catching the doorframe in hand, slowly tilting his head back to peer over at her. “It’s been difficult to work without you.”

She offered him a fond smile. “Oh, so you’ve had to sort your own e-mails for once?”

He broke out into a strangled groan. “I have no idea how you do it. How many people need to message me per day?”

“Lots of coffee, Sir.”

---

An hour later Gabriel was back in the hallway. It was an hour because, despite fully intending to leave the apartment and all the awkward energy behind as soon as he could, Gabriel had managed to convince himself to stay with Nathalie for a little while longer. Maybe he was just lonely, or wanted an excuse to not return to the house yet, but it was easy to settle into Nathalie’s living room and talk about… Well, nonsense.

For so much of their relationship, especially since Emilie’s passing, the two have been almost all business and professionalism. They discussed their job, they discussed Adrien’s development, they made disinterested jabs about all the people they find annoying and errands they have to run. And it was always dry and restrained, as if they were afraid of someone catching them speaking like normal human beings.

It had been a long time since they talked like friends, since Nathalie teased him directly instead of hiding it behind snark sheltered by cynicism. He’d forgotten how much he liked being around Nathalie until her holiday. She was… Good. She was good. And he was lucky to have her. Uh, close. As an assista- Friend- Woman he associated with and trusted above all else.

“What are you thinking about, Master?” Nooroo asked, carelessly perched on his shoulder.

“Nothing, nothing, just…” Gabriel frowned, looking down at his arm. He pulled his forearm up, tensing his bicep for a rather unimpressive show. “I think I need to work out more.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Staying in shape is important, you know.”

The unconvinced, deadpan glare Nooroo sent his way could rival his own. Gabriel felt his tie grow tight enough to choke him. “What? Am I not allowed to care about my image?”

“I’m sure Nathalie will like it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Notes:

Gabriel two hours later: "...Wait, was 'cat out of the bag' a pun?"

Next Time - Out For love:

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the unknown woman as she removed herself from the car, beckoning Kagami to follow her lead like she was somebody important. He found his lips curling into a smouldering sneer at the sight, questioning just what Tsurugi was playing at.

First, she announces an unscheduled visit to his house, then she dismisses his insistence that he wasn’t taking visitors at the moment, then she doesn’t even show up. Instead, she sends ahead this random woman to accompany Kagami, who was content to strut about his property like she owned the place.

“I don’t know what Miss Tsurugi has told you, Madame.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, scowling down at the intruder. “But I will not tolerate some stranger poking about my home. Get Tomoe on the line this instant or get out.”

“My apologies, Gabriel.” She bowed her head. “I wanted to see whether you’d be able to recognise me or not.”

“Recogni-” Gabriel halted, doing a double take to look over the woman as her voice suddenly struck a familiar chord.

She was roughly ten years younger than him, her statue enough to meet his nose when she was standing straight. A bundle of long dark hair was wrapped into a bun, frame pale, wrinkle-less skin and the sunglasses positioned on her nose. This looked like a stranger to him, yet he recognised her voice, he recognised her robes.

There was the height and softness of youth where there should be a matured and refined stoutness. There was a grace to her movements where there should have been a struggle that called for her wooden sword to be used as a crutch. There were sunglasses where there should be thick, tinted lens tell the world of a sense that no longer functioned. And, when she tilted the glasses forward, he saw piercing brown eyes where there should have been scars.

“Tomoe?”

Chapter 36: Heartbreaker: Out For Love

Summary:

Chloe represses her crush on Nino like a pro, Tomoe returns from her mysterious trip to show Gabriel some miraculous developments; and a recently engaged couple have a nice night out where nothing goes wrong.

Nino Lahiffe was the greatest threat that Chloe had ever faced, and he had to be dealt with before he became too powerful. She had made the mistake of underestimating him, getting comfortable around him while he was waiting for the best moment to push her into the pool and mess up her hair in front of everybody.

As the Queen Bee of life, Chloe was supposed to know how the game worked, she was supposed to know every way someone could attack her throne. Yet somehow Nino managed to sneak up on her and make her… Feel things. And for that, Nino had to die.

However, Chloe didn’t know if she was capable of getting away with murder just yet, so she had to settle with a more sanitized solution.

But Chloe had a plan, the perfect plan. See, Nino’s power was entirely based on her awareness. Without his words in her head, or his eyes on the mind, or his fingers on her skin; he was nothing, he was powerless. All Chloe had to do was ignore the problem, and the problem would vanish.

Sabrina had voiced her doubts and even made up some wishy-washy nonsense about it being unhealthy, but Chloe didn’t know what this had to do with her diet. What she did know was that Operation Ignorance was full proof. All she had to do was ignore that Nino existed.

How hard could it be? She did it so easily before that she didn’t even know his name, he was just the scrawny turtle guy that followed Adrien and Marinette around. It wasn’t like they ever had a reason to run into each other, or talk to each other, until the bet. Literally all their meetings had to be initiated by someone else.

She went to school that morning with the thousand-yard stare of a soldier staring into the valley of death, her bag tucked tightly against her chest as her only shield and only weapon against the battlefield.

And then she passed through the doors and immediately made contact with the enemy, and suddenly she had the wide-eyed gape of a schoolgirl staring into the valley of dorks, diving into the supply closet before Nino noticed her there.

It was an ambush, plain and simple, right at the entrance. A cunning plan if she’d ever seen one, and would have left her reeling if she wasn’t so quick on her feet. Well played, dork. Well played.

Naturally, she ignored the fact that everyone was at the entrance when the day started.

Falling into a low crouch, she backed into the door, opening it just enough to peer through, locking onto Nino and his fellow loser loitering in the hall just to taunt her. They acted like they had no idea that she was there, but everyone knew when Chloe showed up anywhere. It was the usual losers club, with Dupain-Cheng and Cesaire leading the gathering, minus Adrien because his stupid dad grounded him, with the walking carrot Alix and the spindly geek Max nipping at their heels.

Alya was explaining something dumb for her worthless gossip blog that she disguised as news. Chloe couldn’t really make any of it out, she was too busy studying Nino, who had the dumbest look on his face. He kept staring at Alya like anything she said mattered, hanging onto the girl’s every word with that dumb, dumb little grin of his that made him look like a kid stuck in awe.

Did she mention that everything about this was dumb?

Honestly, she didn’t know what Nino saw in that scruffy windbag of a reporter. Hello? She dresses like a rejected lumberjack, never lets you get a word in, is constantly sticking her nose in everyone’s business and is a frizzy haired brunette. Why drool over her when there’s a hot blonde right here who didn’t drop him like a sack of potatoes?

She was referring to an entirely different hot blonde, you understand.

Chloe Bourgeois was obviously above such trivial concerns as caring what some dork thought. If Nino wanted to waste his time mooning over Alya—Alya of all people—then that was his problem. Not hers. Definitely not hers.

She huffed, leaning harder against the closet door as she watched them. Operation Ignorance was still in effect. All she had to do was hold the line. And maybe, just maybe, she could hold it better if someone wasn’t laughing at his dumb joke like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Seriously, what was he even doing? Trying to charm Alya? That was like flirting with a brick wall.

And yet, Alya was practically howling, leaning against Marinette for support while Nino gave her one of those lazy, easy-going smiles that should’ve been illegal.

Ugh. Traitor.

Chloe scowled, pushing the door open just a sliver more to get a better view. Not because she cared. No, she just needed to be aware of her enemies' movements. Like a general on the battlefield. And right now, her greatest enemy was Nino and his stupid smirk and the way he—

He scratched the back of his neck, and Chloe’s brain went fuzzy.

No. No, no, no, absolutely not.

She ducked back inside, slamming the door shut and smacking her forehead against it for good measure. This was bad. This was worse than bad. It was dire. If even the way he fidgeted was a threat, she was doomed.

Okay, fine, maybe Operation Ignorance had some minor logistical issues. But Chloe wasn’t about to abandon it yet—she wasn’t a quitter. She just needed to double down. If Nino didn’t exist, he couldn’t affect her. Simple.

The bell was her saviour this time, dispersing the student body into a sea of moving cover. She dived out of the safety of the closet and braced the battlefield, dropping into a combat role that took her under Nino’s gaze and ended with her by Ivan’s thigh. She kept up pace, moving under the cover of Ivan’s side, a feat easily unnoticed by all the shuffling bodies.

In good time she’d emerged from the trenches, rushing into the embrace of the classroom and sprinting up to her seat. Sabrina didn’t ask, she just sighed and shook her head.

With the teacher launching straight into the lesson, Chloe was spared the pressure of Nino sitting only a few rows ahead of her. She concentrated so much on keeping the boy out of mind that she actually managed to get some work done without any help.

“Psst!”

Chloe tensed. Sabrina was leaning over, sliding a note across her desk with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. Chloe sighed, rolling her eyes before unfolding it.

“Still ignoring him?”

Chloe’s pen tore a hole in the paper as she scrawled back:

“OBVIOUSLY.”

Sabrina peeked over at Nino—who was, thankfully, too busy doodling spaceships on his worksheet to notice their exchange—before writing again.

“Are you sure? You’ve been staring.”

Chloe snapped her pen in half.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to respond. This was fine. She was fine. Everything was under control.

The lesson crawled to an end, and Chloe was so close to declaring victory.

Sure, Nino had spent the entire class within arm’s reach, invading her personal bubble with his stupid laid-back posture and even stupider occasional jokes—but she survived. She ignored him. Completely. If anything, she deserved a medal for her restraint.

As the bell rang, Chloe swept her things into her designer bag with a flourish. Sabrina was watching her carefully, no doubt preparing some insufferable comment, but whatever. Chloe was untouchable.

Operation Ignorance was back on track.

At least until she turned on her heel and slammed directly into a wall of warm, soft fabric.

No, not a wall. A person.

A stupidly comfortable person.

“Whoa—careful there, Bourgeois,” Nino said, hands raised in mock surrender. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager to see me.”

Chloe’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring. She jerked back a step, glaring up at him through sheer reflex. “I’m ignoring you.”

He blinked at her, expression so casual you’d think she’d just informed him of tomorrow’s weather. “Cool.”

…Cool?

She narrowed her eyes, willing her brain to catch up. “I said, I’m ignoring you,” she repeated, slower this time, in case the dork’s tiny turtle brain needed help understanding.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Nino said, unfazed. “Want a medal or something?”

Chloe’s jaw clenched. How dare he just—accept it? Where was the outrage? The protest? The groveling?

But no, the idiot just stood there with his easy smile. She basically declared him beneath her attention and he smiled.

“Oh, by the way,” He added, adjusting his headphones, “I still need my hat back.”

Her entire body froze.

Her mouth, however, was less disciplined. “Merde.”

It all came rushing back—the day she’d stolen his hat in a fit of pettiness, using it to assert her dominance and give him an excuse to come back and see her again. A brilliant, flawless move at the time. Except now it was backfiring horribly.

“I’m not your servant, Lahiffe,” she snapped, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “If you want your stupid hat, come and take it.”

“Cool.” Nino nodded, already pulling out his phone. “I can swing by your place after school—”

“No!”

The word shot out of her like a gunshot, way too loud and way too fast.

She couldn’t let him back into the hotel. That would be a disaster. If he was already crawling around in her brain during school, she couldn’t imagine the damage he’d do on her home turf.

“I—I’ll deliver it,” she stammered, forcing her voice into a haughty drawl. “Because I’m generous like that.”

Nino tilted his head, clearly biting back a grin. “Nice. In that case…” He slid a colorful flier out of his bag and held it up for her inspection.

A club. A real club, not some stuffy charity gala. Dim lights, loud music, dancing.

“Me and Luka are playing a set this weekend,” he explained, wagging the flier. “You should come. Sabrina too—the more, the merrier.”

Chloe’s brain short-circuited.

He was inviting her. To a club. Like—like it was normal or something. Like she wasn’t actively trying to crush every feeling he stirred up inside her.

It was a trap. A cunning, diabolical trap.

She couldn’t refuse without looking scared. She couldn’t let him come to the hotel. Which meant—

“Fine,” she bit out. “But only because Sabrina likes music, and I’m the best friend ever.”

“Obviously.” Nino gave her a playful salute and strolled away.

Chloe stood frozen in place, pulse thundering in her ears, until she felt Sabrina’s expectant gaze slide onto her.

She cut her off, holding up a warning finger. “Not. One. Word.”

---

Gabriel could barely bite back a snarl as he hopped out of his office, fumbling with the arm of his jacket every step of the way. Usually, you’d never find Gabriel Agreste caught looking like a slob this early in the day, but he hadn’t been expecting to leave the house today, much less entertain company. The one day he decided to stay in and rest, which had nothing to do with him leaving Nathalie’s with too many mental distractions to get any work done, and Tomoe decided to invite herself to his house.

‘I’ll be down in thirty minutes’ she’d said so confidently after he explicitly told her that she needed to schedule any meetings with Nathalie. Not even a hello or how have you been, just a direct warning that he had no choice but to greet her at his doorstep. Didn’t matter how far up to food chain he made it; Tomoe always had a way of making everyone feel like an errand boy.

“Adrien, front and centre!” He called over to Adrien’s door, his fingers straightening out his cuffs just as his heels hit the stairs. “We have guests.”

He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Placide, standing silent and watchful over the front door, with a silent plea of ‘tell me I look neater than I feel’. The man crossed the length of the hall, his expression as immaculately unidentifiable as always, and tugged down on Gabriel’s tie, tucking it back into place under the buttons of his vest. Another hand, that was almost as big as Gabriel’s head, patted, or more like smacked, down Gabriel’s bed hair.

Placide shot Gabriel a stiff thumbs up and then returned to his post.

The creaking of Adrien’s door echoed throughout the mansion long before the boy’s frowning head poked through, staring down at Gabriel through the railings. “Oh, so I’m allowed to be seen by people now?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, shooting the boy back a stern stare. “Are you talking back to me, boy?”

Adrien had to really think about his options for a moment there.

“…No.” He eventually grumbled, to which Gabriel hummed in response.

The distant chime of the front gate buzzed through the mansion, and Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course she was early. Tomoe Tsurugi wasn’t the sort to wait on anyone—not even him.

He smoothed a hand down his jacket one last time, mentally cursing the fact that he’d barely had time to change into something presentable. His cufflinks didn’t match his vest, his hair still felt like a bird’s nest, and there was a stubborn wrinkle at the hem of his shirt that no amount of tugging would fix. He could already feel her judgment.

“Come on, Adrien. No sulking,” He ordered as he stepped toward the staircase. “If I have to suffer through this, so do you.”

Five minutes later, Adrien slinked down the stairs. Adrien’s greatest achievement as a model was his unrivalled talent in always looking put together, even after clearly neglecting his appearance in defiance of his father’s punishments, he still looked ready to attend a photoshoot with only a few rebellious strands of unkempt hair betraying his lack of preparation.

“Who is it, anyway?” Adrien asked, dragging his feet as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Gabriel huffed, adjusting his cufflinks. “Miss Tsurugi has decided that she is entitled to barge into my abode as she pleases.”

Adrien’s eyes perked up slightly. “Kagami and her mom are visiting?”

“Yes. They were very insistent.” Gabriel gave his son a once-over, wrinkling his nose in disapproval. “Try to behave. And fix your hair.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow, dragging his fingers lazily through his messy blond locks. “How about I just don’t say anything at all?”

“Good idea,” Gabriel answered, dry and sharp. “Don’t speak unless directly addressed, and we can get this over with as soon as possible.”

Adrien muttered something under his breath—too quiet for Gabriel to catch, but the tone was unmistakably sarcastic. Before his father could snap at him again, the sharp sound of rubber tearing through concrete rang through the mansion.

Gabriel sighed, giving a nod to Placide. “Let’s get this over with.”

Placide moved wordlessly to the door, and with a stiff nod from Gabriel, he pulled it open. The three strode through the door and out into the front of the mansion, gazing down the gravel path down to the gate where the sleek Tsurugi Industries self-driving limo pulled in.

The first person to get out of the car was Kagami, as stoic and regal as she was born to be, standing tall with her arms behind her back. She spared the three onlookers only one glance before attending to the other passenger, standing by the open door like a bodyguard. The only real curiosity that caught Gabriel’s eye was that Kagami, pure, flawless and clean Kagami, was now sporting a scar that ran from her cheek up to a few inches around her left eye.

He hoped Adrien would have enough manners not to directly draw attention to this new detail, but Adrien was getting far too curious lately. Still, Gabriel had no time to try and warn him early as Kagami took the hand of the other passenger, gracefully pulling them from the vehicle.

A second later, Gabriel was looking down at-

“Uh… Father? Who’s that?”

Some woman?

He blinked, his surprise and slight offense breaking through his gaze. “I have no idea.” He replied, waiting for someone else to emerge in the woman’s place only for the doors to close behind her. Where was Tomoe?

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the unknown woman as she removed herself from the car, beckoning Kagami to follow her lead like she was somebody important. He found his lips curling into a smouldering sneer at the sight, questioning just what Tsurugi was playing at.

First, she announces an unscheduled visit to his house, then she dismisses his insistence that he wasn’t taking visitors at the moment, then she doesn’t even show up. Instead, she sends ahead this random woman to accompany Kagami, who was content to strut about his property like she owned the place.

“I don’t know what Miss Tsurugi has told you, Madame.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, scowling down at the intruder. “But I will not tolerate some stranger poking about my home. Get Tomoe on the line this instant or get out.”

“My apologies, Gabriel.” She bowed her head. “I wanted to see whether you’d be able to recognise me or not.”

“Recogni-” Gabriel halted, doing a double take to look over the woman as her voice suddenly struck a familiar chord.

She was roughly ten years younger than him, her statue enough to meet his nose when she was standing straight. A bundle of long dark hair was wrapped into a bun, frame pale, wrinkle-less skin and the sunglasses positioned on her nose. This looked like a stranger to him, yet he recognised her voice, he recognised her robes.

There was the height and softness of youth where there should be a matured and refined stoutness. There was a grace to her movements where there should have been a struggle that called for her wooden sword to be used as a crutch. There were sunglasses where there should be thick, tinted lens tell the world of a sense that no longer functioned. And, when she tilted the glasses forward, he saw piercing brown eyes where there should have been scars.

“Tomoe?” Gabriel’s mind reeled. His throat tightened as the name left his lips—half question, half disbelief.

The woman smirked, a knowing curve of her lips as she pushed her sunglasses up into her hairline. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Her voice was smooth, warm—too warm for the cold, razor-sharp Tomoe Tsurugi he knew. And yet, there she stood.

Adrien, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, leaned closer to his father, his voice low but urgent. “She was faking being blind this whole time?”

Gabriel didn’t dignify that with a response, or even a look; in general, Gabriel just froze up at the audacity of Adrien’s conclusion and how Tomoe’s eyes narrowed to indicate that she heard every word.

“It seems that your son has loosened his manners since our last meeting.” She said stiffly.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I assume that this was the urgent business that called you out of Paris for so long.”

She held out her hand and Gabriel took it, leaning down to place a kiss on her knuckle. It would have been affectionate if it wasn’t so robotic, so rehearsed. “An experimental medical procedure required my funding… And a test subject.”

Gabriel’s eyebrow raised. “Sounds incredibly risky for you.”

“It would be, if I were placing myself in anyone’s hands but my own.” She pulled away, resting her hand on the hilt of the sword tucked neatly into her side. “It was quite the… Miraculous process.”

“Miraculous, huh?”

"I trust you’ll understand why I prefer to keep the finer details… Confidential."

Gabriel let out a humourless chuckle. "You’ve never been one for transparency, have you?"

"And yet, here I am—baring my soul." Her lips curled faintly as she gestured toward her face. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill, Gabriel."

Adrien, still stuck on his own conclusion, squinted suspiciously. "So, just to be clear—you were never blind?"

Gabriel’s fingers went for Adrien’s ear lobe, but settled on his shoulder, yanking him back into Placide’s grip.

Tomoe's smile faded into a razor-sharp line. "I was blind. Once. But unlike some people, I do not accept weakness as a permanent condition." Her gaze flicked back to Gabriel, as though challenging him to disagree.

"And what exactly do you want from me that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?" He asked, cutting to the chase.

“We are business partners, Gabriel.” She stated simply. “And I’ve heard a few things about you that I wish to confirm as soon as possible.”

Gabriel found himself gritting his teeth. Despite not knowing what rumours she could be referring to, he could already hear the underlying accusation on the tip of her tongue. He kept his irritation from showing for now, cutting himself off with a curt sigh as he stepped to the side and gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

Tomoe offered a brief nod before briskly moving past, the long cut of her robes making it look like she was gliding up the path. She spared Adrien no glances, merely waved her arm in his general direction. “Kagami, keep Adrien entertained; I won’t be long.”

Kagami bowed her head, her face betraying no emotion. “Yes, Mother.”

Gabriel crossed his arms and affixed Adrien with a strict glare. “Adrien, behave yourself.” He glowered.

More backtalk was on the way, he could see it in Adrien’s eyes, but at some point the boy thought better of it and his entire body language sunk. “…Yes, Father.”

---

Adrien was, admittedly, a poor host. It wasn’t that he disliked Kagami or her company, she was a close friend (and he hoped that their months apart hadn’t soured that), but the situation just wasn’t good for bonding. Gatherings like this, where their parents sent them off with that cold, business edge, it tended to leave a tension hanging over the two. They weren’t friends hanging out, they were workers being shuffled off to the office cooler because the bosses didn’t trust them to sit in a meeting.

It didn’t help that Kagami looked more sombre than usual, though that helped her blend in with the gardens. His mother had loved tending to them over the years, without her the greenery, while maintained, had become a dull, depressing colour. You could just tell that something, some spark had been stripped from them. In a similar vein, he could see something stolen from Kagami’s look as well, but he couldn’t place it.

Her movements were robotic, stiff and cautious, like she was constantly trying to process data. Her gaze grew distant, staring into the space over the flowerbed around his mother’s statue, awaiting some sort of input. There was something heavy that hung on her shoulders, a burden that had developed over the course of her absence, and Adrien wished he knew how to lighten that load.

He pressed his back against the stone fence outlining the garden, softly whistling with his first attempt at an ice breaker. “It’s pretty cool that your mom could get such life-changing surgery.”

Kagami’s response was curt and empty. Pre-programed and everything. “A Tsuguri should accept nothing less than the best.”

He shifted on his heels, trying again. “So, uh… how was it? America or where ever you were, I mean.”

This time, she blinked slowly and turned her head toward him, though her expression remained blank. “Efficient.”

“Efficient?” Adrien echoed, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “That’s… One way to describe a whole continent.”

Kagami tilted her head slightly, as if the comment required serious thought, then added, “Mother considers it an acceptable place for research. I was there to assist.”

Assist? That was weird. He couldn’t picture Kagami as anyone’s assistant—especially not her mother’s. Tomoe had always seemed too sharp-edged to let anyone help, even her own daughter. Whatever “assisting” meant, it clearly wasn’t just fetching coffee.

Adrien shifted his stance, angling his body toward her as if that might soften the conversation. “Did you have time to train while you were out there?” he asked, forcing a teasing lilt into his voice. “Because I think I’ve outpaced you a bit over the past few months.”

Kagami’s gaze sharpened, the faintest glimmer of challenge flickering to life behind her otherwise impassive mask. “I would never allow myself to fall behind,” she said smoothly. “We shall have to test your mettle sometime.”

Adrien couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. There—that sounded more like her. “Name the time and place, Tsurugi. I’ve been practicing.”

“I would hope so,” She said, lifting her chin. “I would hate for our next match to be too easy.”

He chuckled softly under his breath, relaxing against the garden wall. For a moment, things almost felt normal—like they were just two friends sparring again. But his eyes drifted back to the scar lining her cheek, and curiosity gnawed at him.

“So… is that where you got your scar?” He asked, trying to sound casual. “A training accident or something?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized his mistake. “Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that—”

“No, it’s fine,” Kagami interrupted, her voice softer—but still tense. She hesitated, fingers twitching slightly before curling back into her palm. “This was no accident. It is the consequence of my own failures.”

His brow furrowed at her tone. Moving closer, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” He said, gentler now. “I’m sure you did your best at whatever you were doing. You always give 100%.”

For a brief second, her expression wavered—just enough for him to catch a flicker of something underneath the surface. Doubt? Regret? He couldn’t tell.

“I gave everything,” she murmured. “And it was not enough.”

That… Was new. Kagami never admitted to weakness. Never. Adrien felt his throat tighten as he struggled to find the right words—something, anything—that could make this feel less heavy.

“Well… whatever happened,” He said quietly, “you’re still here. You didn’t let it beat you.”

She tilted her head slightly, weighing his words, before offering a faint nod. “I suppose that is true.”

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Adrien rocked back on his heels, letting Kagami’s words settle over him like a weighted blanket. Whatever had happened while she was away, it had changed something in her—not enough to make her unrecognizable, but enough that she felt... heavier. More rigid. Like she was carrying something too large to share.

He tried to shake off the mood with another easy grin. "Well, if you’re still as sharp as you say, I’ll need to bring my A-game next time we spar."

Kagami gave a slight shrug, her tone flat. "I would expect nothing less."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the garden filling the gaps. Adrien cast around for something lighter to say—something to break the tension still clinging to her shoulders—but Kagami spoke first.

“Besides,” she said, her voice as calm and factual as if they were discussing the weather. “It is not as if you will escape me. Our parents have already decided that we will be married someday.”

Adrien almost choked on his own spit.

“Wait—what?!” He blinked at her, straightening from his slouch. “You’re joking, right?”

Kagami tilted her head, genuinely confused by his reaction. “Why would I joke about that?”

“Because that’s insane!” Adrien threw his hands up. “I mean—married? Us?”

“It is a logical arrangement.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Our families’ businesses are complementary. We are scientifically 100% compatible in genes, personality, and goals. And, most importantly, my mother finds you acceptable.”

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around it. Scientifically compatible? Was that how Kagami thought about these things?

“That’s… wow, okay.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And you’re just… cool with that? No say in the matter?”

Kagami’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why would I be surprised? This is what is expected of us. I was raised to follow expectations.”

Adrien let out a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Yeah, no kidding.” He leaned against the stone railing, studying her carefully. “But—okay, real talk—do you even like me?”

Kagami blinked, her face a mask of calm confusion. “…I do not understand the question.”

Adrien dropped his head in his hands with a groan. “I mean—you’re a perfectionist. You hate when I’m late. You roll your eyes when I joke around. And I’m pretty sure my budding ‘delinquent’ thing drives you up the wall. Let’s be honest—if our parents didn’t know each other, would you even give me the time of day?”

She paused, mulling that over like it was a genuine academic puzzle. “You do display many frustrating qualities,” she admitted. “And I know that you are developing a tendency to… Test boundaries. However, that does not mean we would not be compatible as partners.”

Adrien snorted. “Right, because nothing says ‘romance’ like cold, hard data.”

Her brow creased, as though she were trying to work through a particularly difficult equation. “What does romance have to do with it?”

Adrien gawked at her. “Everything?”

Kagami shook her head, as though he were the one missing the point. “Romance is a temporary indulgence. What matters is stability and the ability to work toward shared goals. Emotional attachment is unnecessary for that.”

“That sounds really bleak.” Adrien muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “What happened while you were gone, Gami?”

Kagami could be blunt, stoic and all you could think of when it came to the stone-cold perfectionist she was on the surface. But the Kagami Adrien knew would never dismiss romance, this was the girl who, when no one was looking, lost herself in every trashy romance manga she could get her hands on.

“I grew up, Adrien.” She idly traced her finger over the scar. “My mother revealed to me the history of my family, and the future I was fighting for.”

Adrien stiffened, her words cutting deeper than they should have. His lips curled into a defensive smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Look, I know you wanna make your mother proud—”

“Don’t you want to make your father proud?” Kagami interrupted, her tone as sharp as the blade at her side. “Or would you rather continue to embarrass him?”

That hit harder than he wanted to admit. Adrien’s smile faltered, but he kept his voice light—too light. “Hey, my father loves me.”

Kagami tilted her head, unimpressed. “For how long?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Adrien tried to laugh it off, but the sound caught in his throat. He wanted to believe his father’s love was unconditional, but the truth gnawed at him—every hug Gabriel withheld, every cold glance when Adrien stepped out of line, every reminder that his behavior reflected on the Agreste name.

Kagami’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “We have responsibilities to our families, Adrien. Don’t forget that if you want your father to continue to love you.”

Adrien’s stomach twisted. “That’s not how love works.”

“That’s how our world works,” Kagami countered. “Our parents gave us everything. Their legacies, their names—we owe it to them to be worthy of it.”

---

Gabriel didn’t like having Tomoe inside his office, but he knew that taking her anywhere else would be considered an insult. It was more than just a workspace; it was the heart of everything. Having someone in here other than Nathalie or Adrien, under Emilie’s immortalized gaze, it felt like an intrusion – dirty boots stepping upon hallowed ground.

He’d have preferred that they take their conversation to the window, at least there they were close enough to the outside that he could pretend her shadow wasn’t consuming his space. Instead, Tomoe opted to glide over to his podium, her new, all-seeing eyes meeting Emilie’s stare.

For a woman so obsessed with precision, there was something unbearably casual about the way she traced her fingers along his display—an invasion disguised as idle curiosity. Gabriel clenched his jaw as she let her hand hover over the painting, and for a moment he wondered if she’d caught the subtle indents that hid the safe behind Emilie’s painted embrace.

Tomoe’s fingers hovered over the polished surface of the painting a moment longer before she turned, her expression sharpening. “Your son’s defiance hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Gabriel folded his hands behind his back, forcing an air of disinterest. “He’s a teenager. He’ll grow out of it.”

Tomoe let out a quiet breath—something too controlled to be a sigh, yet heavy with disapproval. “He’s an Agreste, no mere ordinary teenager.” Her tone was smooth, cutting through his feigned indifference like a blade. “He has responsibilities. You’ve allowed too much freedom, Gabriel. It seems you’ve developed disciplinary problems in my absence. That is… Concerning.”

His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Gabriel I knew wouldn’t accept such an excuse to avoid correcting his son’s behavior.” She stepped toward him, her posture regal and unwavering. “Is it true that you’ve taken him out of modelling?”

Gabriel hesitated a fraction too long. “His role is under reconsideration.”

A dangerous glint flashed behind her glasses. “Curious. Considering how deeply you value appearances.” She tilted her head slightly. “What’s changed?”

He felt the subtle threat woven into her question. Tomoe didn’t pry without reason—if she was asking, it meant she suspected something. And yet, despite her arrogance, she was still in the dark where it truly mattered.

“Nothing has changed,” He said smoothly, allowing a thin smile to creep onto his face. “Adrien will fulfil his duties—when I decide he is ready.”

“He is your brand, Gabriel.” Tomoe hummed softly, unimpressed. “You’ve grown careless. Your son is the heir to an empire. The world watches him, and by extension, you.” She paused, chewing on her words before spitting them out. “If you can’t maintain control over your own household, what does that suggest about your ability to maintain control elsewhere?”

Gabriel’s lips curled into a tight, thin smile. “I built this brand before Adrien ever saw a camera. I incorporated him into it because I enjoyed having my son at work—not because I saw him as a crutch.” His voice was smooth but firm, like marble polished to a gleam. “My decision is perfectly rational. Adrien needs time for his studies and personal growth.”

Tomoe tilted her head, her expression unreadable behind her sleek glasses. “He can study in his own time at home, under a well-paid tutor,” She countered. “What possessed you to send him to the public cesspool that is the education system? Mixing with all the low-lives of Paris.”

Gabriel let out a soft, humourless chuckle. “You can’t prepare for the world behind an ivory tower, Tomoe. You need to experience it for yourself.” He stepped closer to his desk, fingers brushing against a silver pen. “There are some lessons that can’t be learned at home.”

Tomoe’s lips quirked, though there was no humour in her expression. “What?” She asked dryly. “Like how to join a gang?”

His shoulders tensed at the jab, but he forced himself to remain composed. “Adrien did that behind my back—and he is currently being punished for it.”

“It wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you disciplined the boy right,” She snapped back, her tone sharpening.

Gabriel’s hand tightened around the pen. “My methods are not your concern.”

“They become my concern when your weakness risks infecting our shared interests.” She took a step closer to him, the hem of her robes sweeping across the floor. “You’ve lost control of him, Gabriel. And if you cannot bring him back in line, others will start to question whether you’ve lost control of other things as well.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. He knew what she was really saying—what she was really asking—but she didn’t know. Not yet.

“Adrien will return to his role when I say he’s ready,” Gabriel repeated, a steely edge creeping into his voice. “And if you think otherwise, I suggest you focus on your own house before questioning mine.”

Tomoe let the silence stretch between them, her smile a blade hidden beneath silk. “I have no doubts about my house,” She said finally. “My daughter is an exemplary heir. She understands duty.” Her gaze drifted pointedly to the family portrait on the wall, and her smile thinned. “It’s a shame you cannot say the same.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “Careful.” A flicker of anger sparked behind Gabriel’s ribs. “My son is my concern.”

“And yet he’s becoming everyone’s problem,” Tomoe countered. “I told you from the beginning—weakness is unacceptable. If Adrien can’t handle his responsibilities—”

“He can handle them,” Gabriel snapped, his voice cold and cutting. “And I don’t need you to tell me how to manage my family.”

Tomoe tilted her head, her expression unreadable behind her glasses. “I wonder,” She murmured, tapping a long finger against her arm. “Your emotions seem… Compromised lately. Distracted, even.”

Gabriel bristled, his fingers curling into fists beneath the desk. “My focus is exactly where it needs to be.”

He looked away from her, but he could hear her drawing closer, every click of her heels booming through the recesses of his mind. “Are you sure? Because if Adrien further spirals out of hand, it will be both our images dragged through the mud.” She was close now. How close, Gabriel couldn’t be sure, but close enough for him to be uncomfortable. “I perish the thought that my daughter’s future suitor will devolve into a hoodlum.”

“Suitor?! What are you-” He paused, then the memory came to him, and he couldn’t help but let a bitter laugh escape him. “Are you still on about that? I never signed that agreement.”

It had been a cute little joke between parents on the days before him and Tomoe had decided to join their brands. Back then, she’d just been the rising star of the tech industry with a budding company that Gabriel had commissioned to develop and maintain Emilie’s medical equipment with few questions. Emilie had coaxed Tomoe into showing off a picture of her daughter and made a few comments about how cute she’d look with Adrien at the time.

And apparently, behind the scenes in conversations that Gabriel hadn’t been privy too, the two had talked more until it became a serious possibility. Emilie was convinced that Adrien and the girl he’d never met would make such a perfect couple. Part of him wondered if it was a symptom of Emilie’s condition, that she was desperate to secure Adrien a fairy tale future she’d never live to see, just so she could die imagining that he’d be taken care of.

After Emilie’s death, during the period where Tomoe returned as a titan of industry and commissioned Gabriel’s aid in helping her aesthetics, Tomoe had taken Emilie’s conviction to heart. She floated the idea of a contract that would unite the two brands by uniting the faces of those brands.

Admittedly, back then, Gabriel hadn’t rejected the notion more than he tabled it to be discussed at a later date. Had he truly considered practically selling his son off like that?

When he turned around, he found that Tomoe had her sword pressed against the floor, leaning on it like a cane. Not a walking cane, but more like he would use it; a showman braced against their own rhythm.

“But both of us already know that it is the only logical conclusion.” She gestured upward with an elegant flick of her wrist, unphased by his mockery. “Our children, our brands, bound together as the perfect alliance.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, a chill settling over his expression. “And what if my son doesn’t desire Kagami’s company?”

Tomoe didn’t flinch. “Who would be better suited for Adrien than my daughter?” Her voice was silk wrapped around steel—soft, but unyielding. “Unless you’d rather your bloodline be diluted with the common rabble.”

A bitter growl scraped its way up Gabriel’s throat. “I’ll remind you that I was one of that ‘rabble’ before I married Emilie.”

Tomoe’s lips twitched in something close to amusement—but not quite. “And how did that turn out for her?” She asked, tilting her head slightly. “So much drama, so much pain… Just think of how much you put that woman through just to fit you into her life.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched at the insinuation, but he couldn’t bring himself to protest. How much had his wife been forced to sacrifice just to sate his selfish desire for her love? How much time after their marriage, after Adrien’s birth, did he have to dedicate to making it all up to her? He humiliated her, tainted her; his love ruined her life. And in the end, it took her life.

If he’d never met her, or if he’d left her alone, what life would she be living now? She’d be alive, married to a man who could fulfil all her needs, someone from high society who’d understand her better than Gabriel’s low born broken character ever could. That husband she’d never have to ask if it was all worth it. That husband she’d never worry about embarrassing her in front of her friends. That husband she’d never have to remind to act like he belonged there.

That husband would have made her happy.

That husband wouldn’t have killed her.

But that husband wouldn’t have blessed the world with Adrien.

Gabriel found his eyes flittering back to Emilie, her gaze suddenly more judgemental, asking him how he’d solve such an impossible paradox. His wife and his son, he loved them more than life itself, but only one of them was allowed to live.

Of course, he knew the truth, that if he’d held the peacock miraculous, if he’d made the sacrifice, then they’d both be alive, they’d both be happy.

It’s like Nooroo told him, isn’t it? Every world is better off without Gabriel Agreste.

Alas, despite the pity party, Gabriel still had enough ego to make suicide too undignified for his tastes. The miraculous, the wish, that was the only hope Gabriel had of making things right for Emilie and Adrien; of redeeming himself.

Still, Tomoe’s shadow seemed to loom over him, expanding until it drowned out anything that identified him as existing.

“Would you truly wish the same fate upon Adrien?” Her voice softened—not out of compassion, but with a cold, calculated edge. “Kagami is the perfect wife. She would keep him happy, safe, and immortalize their union as the perfect couple the world will marvel at.”

Gabriel's breath sharpened, his fingers curling into his palm until his nails bit into skin. He had spent a lifetime sculpting perfection—chiseling away at every flaw, every imperfection, in himself, in his work, and now, it seemed, in his son. But perfect was a fragile thing, wasn’t it? Beautiful to behold, yet breakable in an instant. Just like Emilie.

And yet, Tomoe spoke as though perfection was something you could simply engineer. A bloodless, clinical equation. Kagami plus Adrien equals a legacy untouchable by time.

He hated how much sense it made to his twisted mind. Hated that, before Adrien became Chat Noir, before everything changed, Gabriel might have been convinced.

Tomoe’s expression didn’t flicker in the face of his silence—no offense taken, no satisfaction gained. Just the relentless precision of a woman who had long since stripped herself of sentimental distractions. “You’re being emotional,” She said. “We both know this is about more than either of us. Our brands will outlive us—but only if they are protected by the next generation.”

“And if Adrien hates that life?” Gabriel demanded, stepping closer. “If he resents every moment of it?”

A faint, almost imperceptible shrug rolled through Tomoe’s shoulders. “He will adapt.”

The casual dismissal of Adrien’s freedom struck something deep in Gabriel—something primal and raw. He had spent years controlling every aspect of his son’s life, dictating his every move—but at least it had been his hand guiding the strings. The idea of Tomoe bending Adrien to her will—shaping him into a creature more palatable to her sterile ideals—unsettled him in a way he refused to name.

Gabriel ignored Hawkmoth whispering ‘hypocrite’ in his ear.

“You speak of duty,” Gabriel said, forcing his tone back to a simmering calm. “But it’s control you want. You’ve already claimed your daughter’s life—do you think I’ll let you take my son’s as well?”

For the first time, something close to irritation cracked through Tomoe’s mask. “You speak as though he’s free now,” She said, her voice sharper, cutting through the air like her sword. “But Adrien Agreste has never belonged to himself—he belongs to his legacy, the same way we all do. Or are you still pretending otherwise?”

Gabriel’s stomach twisted, but he wouldn’t let her see it. “You know nothing about what I give my son.”

“I know what you take from him,” she countered, unyielding. “The freedom you dangle just out of his reach. You shape him like you shape your designs—until there’s nothing left but your reflection. Don’t pretend you’re any less calculating than I am.”

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell her that Adrien wasn’t some product to be molded and sold to the highest bidder. But deep down—deep in the part of himself he rarely dared to look at—he knew the truth. He wasn’t angry because she was wrong.

He was angry because she was right.

Gabriel’s glare sharpened, a cold, biting thing that might have cowed anyone less sure of themselves—but Tomoe wasn’t just anyone. She held his gaze without flinching, her composure an impenetrable wall. The weight of her words hung heavy between them, settling into the cracks of his resolve.

“I think it’s time for you to take your leave,” he said, his voice low but edged with venom.

Tomoe inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of mock-politeness more than respect. “Think about what I’ve said, Gabriel.” Her tone remained smooth, but there was a sharp undercurrent beneath it—one that promised she wasn’t finished with him. “I’m building an empire, and I’d hate to not have you at my side.”

He bit back the urge to scoff. At your side? No, she meant under her thumb.

She turned away, pausing by the door only to leave her last parting words. “You need to focus on getting your son back in order before it’s too late. It may seem like small acts of rebellion and petty crimes now, but he’ll grow into bigger disrespects in good time.”

 Tomoe barely glanced over her shoulder before disappearing out the door. “Act quickly, unless you hope to one day see your son in the electric chair.”

The office door shut behind her, leaving only the faint echo of her words ringing through the room.

For a long moment, Gabriel stood motionless, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The audacity. The sheer arrogance of that woman to step into his space and imply—no, threaten—his legacy.

His son.

Gabriel turned toward Emilie’s portrait once again, but her face offered no comfort. Only silent judgment.

---

On the other side of Paris, the day was quickly drowned out by the blackness of a dark and stormy night. The bright streams of headlights was the only thing that could break through the relentless fog of rainfall on the street, cars were locked in a steady snails pace as they filled out the road, fearful of how easy it would be for one wrong turn to cause a pile up.

One car in particular was feeling the tension flood, despite the merry occasion that had followed the occupants inside.

Fleur, a radiant woman of long dark curls wrapped in the finest, glittery blue dress, was glowing brighter than any light the car had to offer. The dreary weather simply could not exist in her world, her surroundings melted away to make room for the engagement ring shining on her finger.

“Oh, it’s so darling.” She squealed, holding the ring to her chest in an attempt to hug it. “It’s the perfect ring, how ever did you pick it out?”

Her groom-to-be sat in the drivers’ seat in a slump, tightly gripping the wheel. He knew that he was happy with his decision, he’d spent months agonizing over the perfect time to pop the question, but he couldn’t escape a strange tension that rested in his stomach. It wasn’t regret, he knew that, it was fear; like there was something that had gone wrong that he’d neglected.

“I went to your mother for advice.” Philip replied dryly, he tried to laugh but it just came out as choking. “We spent over three hours in that store with her dragging me by the ear.”

The unease must have become obvious because Fleur’s voice became concerned. “Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look sick.” Her hand felt so cold against his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

“It’s nothing.” He assured her, taking one hand off the steering wheel, which immediately made him feel unsafe, to rest on her thigh. “I guess I’m just still processing how well this is going. I was so convinced that everything was gonna go wrong and I’d get my heart broken, so I’m… Well, still waiting for this all to be an optimistic dream.”

Her lips pressed against his cheek, and he’d never been so relieved to know that her kisses still warmed his heart. For a moment, he was afraid that he was having second thoughts, but the way his body reacted to her proved the opposite.

“There was only ever going to be one man I’d choose to spend the rest of my life with, Honey, and that’s you.” She said so sweetly.

That had to be it, just some paranoia from a guy who was as cynical as they come. It’d wear off in the morning when they announced their engagement to everyone else. In the meantime, his fingers fiddled with the radio; some music would calm him down.

The radio crackled faintly as Philip spun the dial, the hum of static giving way to a smooth, velvety voice that cut through the tension like a knife through silk.

“Ah, my dear listeners, it brings me so much joy to give you this gift tonight,” The radio host purred. “A little something to warm your hearts on this cold, stormy evening. Consider it a celebration of love—and of the lengths we’ll go to keep it.”

Philip felt a shiver crawl up his spine, an involuntary reaction to the strange phrasing. The lengths we’ll go… He brushed the thought aside—he was being ridiculous. It was just a song.

“This next piece is a personal favourite,” The host continued, his voice growing softer, more intimate. “A reminder that even the most beautiful dreams can become nightmares—if you’re not careful.”

 

The song began softly—gentle percussion tapping like distant footsteps beneath a sweet, airy melody. It should’ve been harmless. Something to hum along to. But as soon as the chorus hit, Philip’s chest tightened.

"Oh, darling, don’t you know?
Love’s a game, just touch and go."

His fingers twitched against the steering wheel. His breath came shallow and sharp. Something was wrong—deeply wrong—but he couldn’t name it.

He jabbed at the radio, flipping stations. Static hissed, then—

"I whisper soft, I hold you tight,
A fleeting kiss, then say goodnight."

—the same song.

“What the hell…” Philip muttered under his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Fleur turned toward him, her brows furrowed with confusion. “Sweetheart, what are you doing? The radio’s been broken all week.”

Her words barely registered. He hit the button again. And again. Every time, the song followed, wrapping around him like velvet shackles.

"I’m a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell?
Wrap you up in heaven, then send you straight to hell."

His heart hammered against his ribs, too fast—too much. It wasn’t normal. The music seeped under his skin, curling its way into his bloodstream. The rhythm throbbed in his head, rattling against his skull like it belonged there.

Philip dragged a hand through his hair, knuckles trembling as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. The car in front of him crept forward, but the glare of its brake lights felt impossibly bright, too red. Like blood.

“Philip?” Fleur’s voice softened. “You’re scaring me.”

The concern in her tone pricked at him—why did she care? Just some woman. Why did he care?

His thoughts twisted, tangled. There was someone else. Someone important. Waiting for him. Out there, just beyond the rain.

He caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye. A slender figure gliding along the sidewalk, umbrella tilted low enough to obscure her face. She shouldn’t have stood out—there were dozens of people out tonight—but Philip’s breath hitched as soon as he saw her. His pulse surged so violently he could feel it in his fingertips.

She was the answer.

The woman. He needed to find her. She would make everything right.

“Philip, watch the—!”

Fleur’s voice ripped through his haze too late. He jerked the wheel, narrowly missing the curb as the car skidded around the corner. Horns blared behind him. Somewhere in the distance, the screech of tires and the sickening crunch of metal followed.

He didn’t care.

He barely registered the sound of Fleur’s panicked voice calling his name as he slammed the car into park. The second it jolted to a stop, he was out—his door left wide open, the cold rain crashing against his skin as he stumbled onto the street.

"I’m a heartbreaker, one touch and you’re through,
Oh, I’ll make you mine, then I’ll make you blue."

The lyrics echoed louder now, no longer bound by the car’s speakers. They burrowed straight into his mind, teasing his senses with each honeyed note.

“Philip!” Fleur called after him, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she scrambled to catch up. “Philip, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His gaze was locked on the figure ahead—still walking, still just out of reach. His heartbeat matched the song’s tempo, driving him forward with desperate, feverish intensity.

When he reached her, when he touched her, the ache in his chest would stop. He just knew it.

Philip’s shoes slapped against the rain-slicked pavement as he chased her—the woman, the only thing in the world that mattered now. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest tight, but the pain meant nothing. Not when she was so close.

She drifted ahead of him, her steps graceful and unhurried, leading him down a narrow alleyway where the city lights faded into muted shadows. The air was thick—too thick—and every heartbeat throbbed harder than the last.

"I’m a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell?
Wrap you up in heaven, then send you straight to hell…"

The song wouldn’t leave him. It buzzed inside his head, each syllable winding tighter around his thoughts until there was nothing else left. Only her.

Philip swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Wait—please!” he called out, his voice shaking. “I—I need you…”

The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned toward him.

A pink cloak draped over her shoulders, its silk edges brushing against the rain-soaked ground. An umbrella tilted above her, shadowing her face, hiding everything but the pale curve of her mouth.

Philip stumbled closer, his vision blurring around the edges. His heart thudded with unbearable pressure—too fast, too much. But none of that mattered. Not if she could save him.

“You… You can help me, can’t you?” His voice cracked as he reached toward her. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. I’m yours—I’ve always been yours.”

The silence stretched unbearably long. Rain dripped from the edges of her umbrella, the patter a cruel reminder of how far he’d fallen.

Then she spoke.

“You?” Her voice rang out, pure and sweet like a lullaby—and the sound pierced straight through him, flooding his veins with molten adoration. “Why would I ever want a pig like you?”

The words slammed into his chest harder than any physical blow. Philip staggered, his knees threatening to give out beneath him.

“But—” He gasped, clutching at his heart. “But I love you. I— I can be better. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. I swear—I swear!”

She tilted her head, watching him with cold curiosity. “You had your chance,” She said, her tone light—dismissive. “And you ruined it. You’d just end up breaking Fleur’s heart, too. Isn’t that what you always do?”

"I’m a heartbreaker, darling."

A whimper escaped his lips as he dropped to his knees. The ground was cold, the rain soaking through his clothes, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the unbearable, crushing ache in his chest—like his heart was swelling beyond its limits, straining against his ribs, struggling to contain the love she refused to accept.

“I—I can change,” He begged, clinging to the hem of her cloak with trembling fingers. “Please… Please, don’t leave me like this.” His voice broke into a sob. “I just want to make you happy. Let me make you happy.”

"I’m a heartbreaker, darling."

The pressure in his chest twisted sharply. His heart pounded so hard it shook his entire frame, a wild and irregular beat—like it might burst free at any moment.

The woman leaned closer, her face still hidden behind the umbrella. “You’re pathetic,” she whispered softly. “And I don’t want you.”

Philip’s body convulsed as pain ripped through him—a searing, unimaginable agony. His vision blurred at the edges as his heartbeat quickened to a frantic, uncontrollable pace.

"I’m a heartbreaker, darling."

He gasped, his hands slipping from her cloak to wrap around his chest as if he could hold his heart together through sheer willpower. But the pain was too much. Too overwhelming.

And still—she smiled.

It was the last thing he saw before his heart gave out. Before the world tilted sideways, and everything went black.

The police would later say that he died from shock-induced heart failure brought about by immense stress.

The newspapers would say that he died of a broken heart.

Notes:

Next Time - Something Miraculously Fishy:

“I wasn’t gonna touch.” Volpina pouted, ending up by the table where several other officers surrounded the main event. “Just taking a good look. I mean, you called us here because you wanted our observations, didn’t you?”

Ladybug finally built up the nerve, while clamping her fingers down on her nose, to press forward into the room. “That’s a good question. Why did you call us? I thought you only wanted us for miraculous matters.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly as she joined Volpina’s side. Thankfully, the body was covered by a modest sheet. However, just being able to make out the vague shape of what lay underneath, and knowing what it was; Ladybug couldn’t help but feel a lump form in her throat. “Not to sound too cold, but isn’t a murder a little mundane for us?”

“That’s the thing.” Roger nodded to his fellow officers, who proceeded to rip the sheet off the corpse, baring the bloody remains to the world.

Ladybug reeled back in disgust; her hand crammed over her mouth to stop the vomit from reaching the outside world. She thought she was prepared for it, but god did she hope for at least a little more warning. The lifeless face, the pale skin, the bloodstains; it was all too much.

However, before she’d ripped her gaze away, her eyes so easily caught a glimpse of an important detail about the corpse the police wanted her to note.

Namely, the hole, perfectly carved into the shape of a love heart, in the man’s chest.

“There’s no natural explanation for this.”

Chapter 37: Heartbreaker: Something Miraculously Fishy

Summary:

Nathalie thinks back to the day she met Adrien, all while Ladybug and Volpina start their very first murder investigation.

“Oh, Nathalie, thank god you’re here.”

There was an old adage; the worst days of any job start with your employer being relieved to see you. So, there was little exaggeration for Nathalie in saying that when Emilie Agreste skated (she was literally wearing roller skates indoors) through the office doors, Nathalie likened it to an ambush. She had no fear or consideration of her husband’s neatly stacked paperwork lining the tables as she glided across the room, though maybe that was just because she was far too graceful for a collision to be a concern.

She hopped over the gap created by the little platform made for Gabriel’s drawing station, twirling in the air before hitting the ground and catching herself on the edge of Nathalie’s desk. Of course, this forced Nathalie to lurch forward and grab the computer monitor before it was knocked over by the desk shaking.

Emilie planted her elbow beside the keyboard, and Nathalie had to quickly look away. This was a woman who was too bright to ignore, bringing the shine of a golden sun to any room she entered; as such, looking up at her too closely made Nathalie’s eyes burn.

She popped her lips. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“Mr. Agreste has insisted that this inventory report can’t-”

If Emilie had heard her, it didn’t stop her from punching the computer’s power button and shutting it off. “Perfect! I need you to do me a maaaaaaajor favour.” She curved her head around Nathalie’s sight line so she couldn’t be avoided, pinning Nathalie down with that sickeningly sweet grin of hers.

Panic fluttered in Nathalie’s chest as an hour’s worth of writing had just been flushed down the toilet, but her stoic mask betrayed nothing. She cocked her head to the side, forcing her flair of irritation escape as air softly blown through her nose. “Unless you need something filed, I don’t think I’ll be of much use to you, Ma’am.”

“No, no, no, Nat.” Emilie pressed her hands together in prayer, her lips splitting into a mischievous, toothy grin. “I think you’re just the woman for the job. And, as you already know, I’m a great judge of character.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly up, adding “Isn’t that right, Duusuu?”

The blue kwami in question emerged from under the desk, clapping her little paws as she zipped up to sit on the computer. “She’s right, Miss Nathalie; you’ll do great!”

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tone dry. “I believe Mr. Agreste has made it clear how he feels on you wearing the Peacock in the open without his supervision.”

It felt odd to still refer to Gabriel so formerly after the years of history that had transpired between the three, with the two stressing that Nathalie was a friend before she became an employee. But still, she had to stress using Gabriel’s title during work hours, because Emilie always looked at her oddly when she used his name.

Perhaps Nathalie said it with too much fondness behind it, and Emilie was worried that Nathalie was getting too comfortable.

Emilie blew a raspberry. “He may be my husband, but he’s not my owner.” With a pout, she scooped up Duusuu in her palm and held the kwami out to Nathalie, both her and the kwami pushing their eyes to bulge in that glistening, innocent look. “And is it truly fair that Nooroo gets to lounge around with Gabriel while poor little Duusuu is forced to hide away like a forgotten shoe?”

Nathalie resisted the urge to rub the bridge of her nose, settling for a quiet sigh. “Of course, Miss.”

Emilie ducked her head down, a low whine rumbling in her throat. “Anyway, I’m begging you here.” She tilted her head up slightly, just enough for Nathalie to see one eye opened and a small, shit eating grin. “And by begging, I mean ordering, ‘cus I’m your cool boss.”

Despite the fact that Nathalie primarily worked to aid Gabriel, Emilie was still technically correct. Nathalie couldn’t actually go against her wishes, inconvenient though they may be.

It seemed that Emilie already knew that this was a forgone conclusion, jumping up with a cruel grin knowing that Nathalie’s compliance was just good manners at this point. “I have to go out for a bit, won’t be back until dinner time. Or bedtime.” She idly tapped her chin, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Maybe morning?”

“Do you need me to leave Mr. Agreste a message?”

“Oh, right!” Emilie snapped her fingers, eyes lighting up. “You should probably tell him that I went to work or something.”

Nathalie massaged her forehead, already feeling a migraine coming on. “That implies that your errand isn’t work related.”

“Your job is to assist, not pry.” Emilie shot back far too quickly, throwing her arms together and leaning her head back in a huff. “I’m going out, that’s all you need to know.”

Nathalie’s eyes moved to Duusuu. “With the peacock?” She asked carefully.

An overly dramatic gasp escaped Emilie, the woman holding one hand to her chest while thrusting Duusuu up over her head. “Of course! I could be accosted by some disgusting, devious thug and chopped up into little perfect pieces to be mailed back to Gabriel.”

Duusuu nodded in solemn agreement.

“You have a bodyguard.”

Emilie scoffed. “Duusuu is the only bodyguard I’ll ever need.”

Nathalie bit back the retort burning on her tongue. There was no point arguing with Emilie when she was in one of these moods—flippant, playful, and utterly impossible to reason with. It was an energy that had always been uniquely hers, an effortless defiance that not even Gabriel could rein in. And god knew he had tried.

Still, Nathalie had a job to do. And right now, that meant trying—trying—to keep things from spiralling too far off course.

Sucking in her breath and bracing herself, she leaned back and asked. “What is it that you need me for, then?”

“Gabriel’s going to be working for a few more hours, soooooo-” Emilie crouched down by Nathalie’s knees, grinning up at her like she was about to drop the most exciting opportunity in the world. Nathalie had long since learned that a giddy Emilie always ended in disaster. “I need you to take care of Adrien for me.”

Nathalie blanched.

Then she spluttered.

And then any hope of retaining that stoic, cold mask was shattered in a hail of panic.

“…What?” She squeaked.

Emilie patted her on the knee and pushed herself back, skating around to the front of the desk with a lazy wave. “Thanks in advance.”

Nathalie was on her feet in an instant, suddenly feeling like the world was crumbling around her. She swallowed enough courage, and trepidation, to slam her hands down on the desk. “I-I must protest, I’m an assistant. I help organize your husband’s affairs, that does not include babysitting.”

“Didn’t include tomb raiding either, but you had that stuff down pat,” Emilie quipped, twirling a lock of blonde hair between her fingers as if the memory of nearly being crushed by ancient traps was nothing more than a cute anecdote.

The reminder nearly made Nathalie choke. Her composure wavered for a fraction of a second—How was she this casual about it?—before she snapped back into focus. “We almost died several times.”

“But we didn’t.” Emilie beamed as if this was an irrefutable point. “How could a little boy be worse than that?”

A little boy. The words sent an unfamiliar jolt of panic through Nathalie’s chest. It was one thing to follow Gabriel’s demands or to help with Emilie’s increasingly reckless “hobbies,” but… a child? Their child? She wasn’t equipped for that. There were reports to finish—projects to organize—things she understood. She could keep track of a million moving parts in Gabriel’s budding empire without breaking a sweat, but a five-year-old was an entirely different battlefield.

“I am not a babysitter,” Nathalie said stiffly, folding her arms across her chest in a desperate bid to maintain her dignity.

Emilie only giggled. “Come on, Nat, it’s not like you’re unqualified. You took good care of Tony back when we were teenagers.”

“Tony was a goldfish,” Nathalie hissed, her throat tightening as memories of that poor, fragile creature resurfaced. She had agonized over keeping him alive—adjusting the pH balance of the water, ensuring the temperature was perfect, following a strict feeding schedule. And he had still died within a month. What hope did a human child have under her care?

“Point is, you’re a natural carer.” Emilie continued, flicking her wrist in a dismissive wave, “And I’m not giving you a choice.”

The panic gnawed harder, clawing at the edges of Nathalie’s carefully maintained calm. For the first time in years, the prospect of failure loomed—loud and sharp and personal. She could handle the crushing weight of Gabriel’s impossible standards. She could face ancient, deadly traps. But a vulnerable child who needed warmth and kindness—qualities she knew, deep down, were not her strong suit?

“I… My reports—” She tried again, grasping at straws.

“I’ll tell Gabriel you’re working late,” Emilie chirped, already halfway to the door again. “Thanks, Nathalie, you’re the best friend I’ve ever paid.”

“Your husband pays me.” Nathalie muttered weakly.

“And I tell him how much—it’s a team effort.” Emilie paused at the doorway, tilting her head back with a gleam in her eye. “Come on, you’re not going to leave Adrien all alone now, are you?”

That wasn’t fair. And she knew it. Nathalie’s chest tightened at the unspoken weight behind the words. He’s just a boy. Their boy. Emilie wasn’t just asking for a favour—she was trusting Nathalie with the one thing that mattered most.

A long, heavy breath escaped her lips. She straightened her posture, tamping down the panic and falling back on the one thing she knew how to do—obedience.

“Of course, Ma’am,” She said through gritted teeth. “I would be happy to help.”

The silent approach towards the far end of the upper floor, to the one room in the house that Nathalie had never entered before, had Nathalie left feeling like she was approaching her own execution. And, for some reason, her executioner was on roller skates. It was one funky execution- She was nervous. She was seriously nervous. This wasn’t a goldfish, it wasn’t a plant, it was an entire person she was being trusted with.

Okay, ‘trusted’ sounded like too positive a spin on it, as if it were something she earned from her moral character. This was Emilie passing off a task to the first person who was convenient. Nathalie had never taken care of a child before. In fact, she’d go as far to say that she actively avoided children. And they avoided her, treating her like the creeping death whenever she passed them on the street. Gawking at her as they would the boogey man. Her parents had only ever made the ‘When am I getting grandchildren?’ joke once before realizing that such a possibility would never come to pass.

They were loud, poorly trained, ill-tempered, disgusting little goblins that did nothing but make a mess. Why the Agreste’s had been willing to plunge head-first into haunted temples and deadly mountain climbs just for a chance to have one of their own, Nathalie would never understand.

Emilie had only gotten the door half-open before she was assaulted by a tiny golden blur tackling her stomach at full speed. It was a marvel that the woman not only managed to stay upright, but simply dragged her attacker along with her, spinning him around in her arms.

“Momma!” The golden gremlin moaned, harshly tugging on the expensive fabric of Emilie’s shirt. “You missed it.”

Nathalie had naturally receded into the shadow of the door’s towering frame by this point, peering down at the small child with the curiosity of a prey studying the nearest predator; purely identifying the most threatening characteristics.

The boy hung from his mother’s waist, his tiny form barely covering her legs, but clearly making up for it in how much he weighed her down. He wildly waved back into his bedroom, by the window. “Dere was a kitty-kat right dere, and it was- it was, um, chasin da pigeon, and- and- and-”

“Slow down, Sweetheart.” Emilie coo’d gently, setting him. “What did I say about speeches?”

“I gots tah breathe.”

Nathalie had to admit, as snot-nosed five-year-olds went, Adrien was as close to ‘cute’ as she could imagine any of them being. Obviously, that only made the boy more dangerous.

She remained frozen just inside the doorway. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her blazer, knuckles pale. She had faced down collapsing tombs and cursed artifacts, but this—this was far worse.

A child.

A small, fragile, emotional child.

And not just any child. Their child. A child who could break far more easily than any artifact—physically or emotionally—and would no doubt hold her personally responsible if so much as a hair was out of place. If he cried, if he fell, if he—God forbid—asked her to play, she would be hopelessly out of her depth.

Her mind spun with alarming speed, scrambling for an excuse—any excuse—to hand this over to someone else. Would a family friend not be more qualified? What about the nanny—surely they had a nanny? But her protests died in her throat when Emilie bent down, brushing back a messy lock of blond hair from her son’s forehead with a tenderness that made Nathalie’s stomach twist.

The sight was too… personal. Like she was intruding on something delicate, something she had no business being part of.

“There we go. Don’t you feel better.” Emilie said, her voice softer now. “Now, I’d like to introduce you to someone very special. This is Nathalie.”

Nathalie took a slow, deliberate step forward, emerging from the shadowy doorway with all the grace of a horror movie villain creeping into frame. Wonderful. That’s exactly what this child needs—a jump scare.

Her shoes clicked softly against the polished floor as she straightened to her full height, hands clasped tightly behind her back in an attempt to appear… approachable? Professional? Non-threatening? Whatever the goal, it clearly wasn’t working.

Adrien’s wide green eyes locked onto her immediately, his expression shifting from curiosity to stiff, frozen wariness. His tiny fingers curled tighter into his mother’s blouse as his body instinctively leaned closer to Emilie—like she was the only thing standing between him and whatever fresh hell Nathalie represented.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

She didn’t trust herself to. What was there to say? Despite working for the Agrestes for years—despite risking her life to help acquire the artifact that allowed his birth—this was the first proper introduction she’d ever had to their precious son. She had always made it a point to keep her distance, to stay at Gabriel’s side, and out of the way. She was there for the business, for the work, not for—this.

Still, she'd seen glimpses of him over the years. A flash of blond trailing after Emilie as she breezed through the house. His small voice, bubbling with questions while Gabriel muttered half-hearted replies. Sometimes she’d catch him watching her from across the room—quick little glances, full of curiosity. But never like this. Never so directly.

Now, she was under full scrutiny.

And by the sharp furrow of his brow, he did not like what he saw.

Adrien shuffled further behind Emilie’s legs, only the top of his tousled head visible as he clung to her for dear life. His voice, when it finally came, was soft and tremulous. "S-She's the creepy lady that follows f-father around." His breath hitched slightly. "What's special 'bout her?"

Nathalie stiffened.

She had faced down mercenaries in a Peruvian jungle without blinking. Survived a collapsing temple in Tibet. Wrestled a cursed artifact out of the hands of a man who absolutely intended to murder her. But somehow, nothing—nothing—cut quite as deeply as being dismissed by a five-year-old as creepy and unimpressive.

Emilie snorted.

Of course, Emilie found this funny.

Emilie crouched down to Adrien’s level, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face with that soft, unshakable warmth that made her the jewel of any group. “Ah, she’s a very special person. Why, without her, you’d have never been born.”

Adrien’s mouth fell open, eyes widening in a way that made Nathalie’s stomach twist. He tilted his head, face scrunching up in deep thought before blurting, “…She’s like… a storp?”

“No, honey,” She cooed, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Even better than a stork.” She cast a quick mischievous glance over her shoulder. “She’s more like… A peacock.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.” He stared at Nathalie now with renewed awe, his previous suspicion softening into genuine curiosity. “Like, with the feathers?”

“Exactly,” Emilie said, leaning in conspiratorially. “A very serious, very important peacock.”

Nathalie massaged the bridge of her nose. Great, now I’m going to be remembered as the weird feather lady.

“And,” Emilie continued breezily, “she’s going to be taking care of you while I’m out.”

The awe in Adrien’s face melted instantly, replaced by a sharp, wounded look as his hands clutched tighter to her blouse. “You’re leaving again?”

“Only for a little bit,” She promised, patting him on the cheek. “Your father will be back in a couple hours. I’m sure you and him can—”

“But Dad’s always here,” Adrien groaned, flopping dramatically against her. “And he’s so booooring. I don’t wanna do the girly dress things with him—I wanna go and have fun with you!”

Emilie laughed, smoothing his hair back with practiced ease. “Well, if that’s what you want, I’m sure my friends will be okay with letting you sit in on our Boring History of Girly Things class.”

Adrien visibly recoiled. “…I’ll stay home…”

“Smart choice, kitten,” She teased, booping his nose with her finger. “And you’re going to be the perfect little gentleman for Nathalie, right?”

The boy nodded rapidly, though his grip on her sleeve never loosened. “Uhuh. Uhuh.”

“Good.”  She turned her head, lightly tapping her fingers against her cheek. “Give mommy a kiss.”

The boy glanced towards Nathalie, who swiftly offered him no sympathy or exit strategies. He shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet before slowly leaning in, practically pecking at his mother’s cheek before shamefully shuffling away.

Unfortunately for him, Emilie caught him by the arm and dragged him back.

“Adrien, that’s not how you kiss your mother.” She said sternly. “You do it like THIS.”

With not mercy, Emile wrapped her arms around the boy, pulling him off the ground and smashing her lips down on his forehead, his nose, his cheek, anywhere she could get to there was a big, wet, red mark as Adrien struggled against her grip. Every kiss proceeded by a loud, drawn out “Muuuuwah! Muuuuwah!”

“Mooooooom, that’s gross.”

“Gross?!” Emilie gasped, clutching her chest like he’d personally wounded her. “This is pure motherly love, young man! And if you keep insulting it, I might have to kiss you more.”

“Noooo!” Adrien shrieked in protest, his laughter bubbling up despite himself as he fought to escape her relentless affection.

From her place by the door, Nathalie stood as still and rigid as a marble statue, unsure whether to intervene or call for help. It was difficult to decide which was more unsettling: the sheer chaos unfolding before her eyes, or the fact that this—this shrieking, squirming little goblin—was the heir to the entire Agreste empire.

And parents do this with their kids regularly? God, was she ever thankful that her parents were never this embarrassing with her.

“Okay, okay,” Emilie relented at last, planting one final kiss right between his brows. “I’ll stop—for now.” She placed him gently back on his feet, smoothing down his tousled hair while he pouted dramatically.

Adrien huffed, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “You’re mean.”

“And you love it,” she quipped, pressing a quick peck to the top of his head. With a graceful spin on her skates, she turned back toward Nathalie, who was already wondering if it would be socially acceptable to fake an emergency and leave.

“Thank you again, Nathalie.” She patted Nathalie on the shoulder as she passed. “Don’t worry about him, he practically takes care of himself.”

If he could take care of himself, you wouldn’t need me here, but okay…

“See you soon, Adrien.” She called over her shoulder. “Now, you two play nice. And remember, Nathalie will eat you if you’re too rude.”

“I—what—?” Nathalie sputtered, but Emilie was already gliding toward the door, leaving chaos in her wake.

Nathalie, to her credit, resisted the urge to throttle her employer as she vanished down the hall, humming to herself. She was left standing there—looming, as Adrien no doubt saw it—while the little boy clung to the doorway as his last semblance of sanctuary.

A tense, heavy silence settled between them.

He squinted at her with open suspicion. “...Do you eat people?”

Nathalie blinked, thrown entirely off balance. “I—what? No.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Not even a little?”

Her lips twitched against her will. “Not even a little.”

That, at least, seemed to soothe his fears slightly, though he still watched her like she might sprout claws at any second. “...Okay,” he mumbled, though his hands never loosened from the doorframe. “But if try to eat me, I’ll know.”

Nathalie sighed through her nose. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Adrien continued to eye Nathalie with deep, borderline insulting suspicion, his tiny fingers curling tighter around the doorframe like he was prepared to make a run for it if she so much as twitched the wrong way.

For her part, Nathalie simply stood there, as stiff and formal as ever, hoping that her usual tactic of exuding a “don’t talk to me” aura would somehow work on a five-year-old. It didn’t.

“…So,” she said at last, tone clipped and professional. “What do you usually do during the day?”

“Stuff,” Adrien said vaguely.

Nathalie waited. “…Stuff,” she echoed flatly. “I see.”

Kill her now. Quickly, slowly, she didn’t care, just get the blood going and promise her an end to this miserable silence.

His face scrunched up like he’d bitten into a lemon. “That’s kinda creepy.”

Nathalie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.“I’m not being creepy,” She corrected, as though that was a normal thing to have to clarify. “I’m supervising.”

“What’s the difference?” He challenged, his voice edging into a dramatic huff.

“I’m being paid to do it.” She said, deadpan.

That earned her a small giggle—an honest, warm sound that threw her completely off guard. As much as he looked at her like she was a cryptid lurking in his home, the laughter softened the suspicion in his eyes just a little.

“You’re funny,” he decided, though his grip on the doorframe remained ironclad.

“I’m not,” Nathalie said automatically. It wasn’t a joke—just a fact.

Adrien, however, only grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah, you are. You sound all serious, but you say weird stuff. Like a robot.”

Nathalie did not deign to respond to that.

For a moment, silence settled over them again—thicker, but not quite as tense. Nathalie had the distinct impression that she was being studied, though what conclusions the little goblin was drawing remained a mystery. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, he released his grip on the doorframe and took a hesitant step forward.

“Do you wanna see my toys?” He asked. A peace offering, she assumed.

Objectively, Nathalie did not care about his toys. Subjectively, she had no other plan for keeping him occupied until his parents returned.

Adrien didn’t wait for an answer. As soon as Nathalie gave the barest nod of approval, he grabbed her wrist—grabbed her wrist—and pulled her toward the centre of his room. She was so startled by the touch that she allowed herself to be dragged without protest, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.

“This is Mister Fuzzles!” He announced, holding up a slightly worn brown bear with one button eye and a red ribbon around his neck. “He’s a secret agent, but like, not a boring one—he’s the kind that fights bad guys with laser beams and karate and stuff. He’s saved the world like, a billion times.”

Nathalie adjusted her glasses, attempting a professional nod. “Impressive.”

Adrien beamed, already moving to his next prize. “And this—” He plucked a bright green dinosaur from the shelf, “—is Sir Chompsalot. He’s a dinosaur knight. He fights dragons and protects the kingdom and sometimes eats the bad guys if they’re extra bad, but only if the queen says it’s okay.”

“…Of course.” Nathalie’s tone remained carefully neutral, though she couldn’t help but wonder why a dinosaur knight would have jurisdiction over dragons. She decided not to ask.

Adrien prattled on, introducing her to a dizzying cast of stuffed animals and action figures—each one with an elaborate backstory more convoluted than the last. His hands moved in rapid gestures as he spoke, clearly caught up in the excitement of sharing his world with someone. The words poured out of him like he was afraid they’d dry up if he stopped.

It was… A lot.

Still, Nathalie listened. She wasn’t entirely sure how to listen to a child, but she stood there, arms stiff at her sides, interjecting the occasional “Hm,” or “I see” whenever he paused for breath.

“And this,” Adrien finally announced, lifting a black cat plush from his bed with obvious reverence, “is Chat.”

Nathalie arched an eyebrow. “…Chat?”

“Like a kitty,” he clarified. “Daddy made him for me. All by himself!” His voice softened slightly, pulling it tightly into his chest. “He said kitties are silly, but they’re always there when you need ‘em. So now I got one, even if it’s not real.”

For reasons she couldn’t quite place, Nathalie felt an odd, uncomfortable twist in her chest at that. She shifted her weight, the familiar click of her heels grounding her.

“That was… Thoughtful of him,” She managed, though the words tasted foreign coming out of her mouth. Gabriel didn’t strike her as the handmade-plushie type, but—well. People were complicated.

Adrien nodded, curling Chat against his chest before turning his gaze back to her. His earlier enthusiasm seemed to dim slightly, his smile slipping just a little. “…You don’t really get it, do you?”

Nathalie blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly far more subdued. “You keep making your serious face,” he mumbled. “Like the one Mommy makes when I talk about my stories. Like you’re thinking about something else.”

That struck an uncomfortably familiar chord. For the first time since stepping into his room, Nathalie was annoyed with herself instead of the circumstance. Am I that obvious? She thought she’d been playing along well enough—or at least, as well as someone like her could manage. But clearly, to Adrien, it wasn’t enough.

He huffed softly, flopping down on his bed and hugging Chat tighter. “S’okay,” he muttered. “Nobody else really gets it either.”

Nathalie remained rooted in place, watching the way his shoulders curled inward as if to make himself smaller. He wasn’t throwing a tantrum. He wasn’t even pouting. He just… seemed tired, like someone who’d given up hoping for anyone to understand.

It was unnervingly familiar.

She thought back—farther than she wanted to—back to long, quiet afternoons spent alone in her childhood bedroom. The way her parents were always busy, always occupied, too caught up in their own world to spare much time for hers. She remembered spending hours creating imaginary adventures in her head because no one else was there to listen.

And, like a crack forming in her perfectly composed mask, she sighed.

“I didn’t have toys when I was your age.” She said suddenly.

Adrien’s head popped up, eyes wide with surprise. “…What?”

“I didn’t have toys,” She repeated, her voice quieter. “I had books. History, mostly. Dry, complicated books that my parents thought were more ‘useful.’” She tilted her head slightly. “If you ask me, your dinosaur knight sounds much more interesting.”

The boy stared at her, processing this unexpected confession. “…Wait. So, you never got to play at all?”

“I wouldn’t have had anyone to play with.” She said simply.

For a moment, the room was quiet again—but the weight of it felt different now. Softer. Nathalie half-expected Adrien to ask more questions, to pry deeper into things she wasn’t used to sharing.

Instead, he scooted to the edge of the bed, held out Chat toward her, and said, “Here. You can hold him, if you want.”

Nathalie blinked, stunned. “…Why?”

“’Cause everyone should have a kitty.” He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Even creepy robot ladies.”

Her lips twitched despite herself.

She took the plush cat gingerly, feeling its soft, worn fur beneath her fingers.

“You’re… Very generous.” She said at last.

“I know,” Adrien chirped, brightening again. “Mommy says I’m a delight.”

Much like Adrien had earlier, she pulled the cat into her chest, tucked tightly against her as she cradled it. She couldn’t remember the last time she was given a gift, especially one so thoughtful. Maybe this child could be the exception to the rule of all children being the worst. Though, now she felt indebted to the boy. It would be rude of her to hold his precious toy companion without giving him something in return.

An idea came to mind as she spied her purse dumped at her feet. Shifting Chat to tuck under her elbow, she ducked down to pluck her purse off the floor and move to the bed. Seemingly sensing something shift, Adrien wordlessly followed her exploits, his eyes wide in wonder.

She sat down on the side of the bed, rifling through the purse. “Are you hungry, Adrien?”

The implication of a treat was enough to have the boy bounding towards her like the golden retriever he was in spirit. “Only, like… All the time.”

Nathalie stopped her rifling and leaned in, talking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I have some macaroons in my purse if you want some.”

Adrien tilted his head, adorably confused. “Mac-Ah-Runes?”

“They’re a pastry.” A blank stare proved that to be too vague a description. “…Like a biscuit?”

Realization lit up his eyes, only for disappointment to dim them. He looked away, lips pursed and a sigh escaping him. “Oh. Momma says I shouldn’t eat that stuff.” He wrapped his arms around himself, taking one big gulp of air before launching into a lightning speed tangent. “They’ll make me fat, and heavy, and I’ll get stuck in the doorway or in the toilet and she’ll have to get a crane to-”

“Breathe, Adrien.”

Adrien gasped in a dramatic lungful of air, as if he truly believed he was moments away from inflating like a beach ball. Nathalie gave him a moment to recover before pulling a sleek, black tin from her purse and popping the lid open to reveal four perfectly arranged pastel macaroons.

“I sincerely doubt one biscuit will trap you in the plumbing,” She said dryly.

His eyebrows knitted together in serious suspicion, staring her down. It was the perfect, childish mockery of his father’s inquisitive scowl. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’m smart.” And, in a moment of immature logic, Nathalie pointed to her spectacles, speaking with full sincerity and deadpan finality. “I’m wearing glasses, aren’t I?”

Adrien nodded furiously about how much sense that made.

“Besides, your mother isn’t here. And what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Adrien’s mouth fell open into a shocked ‘O,’ his hands clamping over it. “That’s a secret.” He whispered, equal parts scandalized and thrilled.

Nathalie hummed, holding the tin out toward him. “I trust you can keep one?”

He nodded so quickly she half-wondered if his head might pop right off. “I’m really good at secrets.” He declared, puffing his chest out proudly. “I never tell Momma about the bugs I bring inside, or the time I spilled grape juice on Daddy’s papers, or when—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure your discretion is impeccable,” Nathalie interrupted before he incriminated himself any further. “Now, would you like one or not?”

She barely finished the question before his little hand snatched the brightest pink macaroon, clutching it as a treasure. He plopped down on the bed beside her, legs kicking in the air as he took his first bite—and immediately lit up.

“Whoa.” He mumbled around a mouthful. “It’s like a marshmallow and a cookie got married.”

 For the next hour, Adrien pulled Nathalie into the wacky world of a child’s imagination. She sailed the seven seas inside a coffee mug, raced Adrien across pools of lava atop sofa cushions, piloting a ship through a blackhole from his bed, and took cover in the bathtub as the enemy plushies cornered them in the bathroom.

By the time they were playing superhero, Nathalie and Adrien riding to the crime scene in ‘Cat Dude’s’ cat-alac (i.e a large space hopper that she had to settle Adrien on her knee to use), Nathalie could maybe admit that there was something resembling fun in playing with Adrien. There was a glimmer of her inner child enjoying the opportunity to reclaim the moments she never got to have back then. There was also a tiny, minute, practically non-existent part of her that was satisfied with making Adrien happy.

At one point, the ball slipped on one of it’s bounces, sending both of them rolling back. She secured her arms around Adrien, embracing him for the impact as her back hit the floor. It didn’t hurt, she’d barely registered that she’d moved. She just closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Adrien’s laughter. It was doing strange things to her chest, and it took a while for her to assure herself that it wasn’t a heart attack.

And then she opened her eyes, and her face paled.

“S-Sir?!”

“Hey Dad!”

Gabriel Agreste stood in the doorway, looming as only he could—like some spectral warden materializing to catch her mid-crime. His arms were crossed, sharp as the lines of his suit, with one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in silent judgment.

Nathalie scrambled upright, dragging Adrien with her as she hastily untangled herself from the ridiculous space hopper. Her mind raced for an explanation—I was simply monitoring the child’s motor skills. Testing reflexes? Evaluating spatial awareness? Nothing sounded professional enough to justify the sight he had just walked in on.

For a long, tense moment, Gabriel said nothing. His gaze flicked over the mess of plushies scattered across the room—the makeshift lava course still stretched across the floor—the half-eaten macaroon tin left carelessly on the nightstand.

Finally, his cold blue eyes settled on Nathalie.

Gabriel’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer—long enough to make Nathalie fight the urge to fidget. Finally, he spoke again, tone clipped and even. “Those reports didn’t get done, did they?”

Her stomach twisted. “I—I’m so sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to—”

His hand came up to silence her.

“Emilie’s gone again, isn’t she?” Gabriel exhaled, a slow, weary sound that carried the weight of a dozen unspoken grievances. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, suddenly managing to look unkempt despite his perfectly ironed clothing.

“I apologize for my wife’s disregard for your time, Nathalie,” He said, voice soft, but still distant. “She shouldn’t shoulder you with such responsibility on short notice.”

“It… Wasn’t all bad, Sir,” She offered, surprising herself with the honesty in her voice. She shifted Adrien slightly in her arms, the black cat plush still tucked beneath her elbow.

Adrien perked up immediately. “I even made her smile!”

Gabriel’s lips twitched faintly—amusement finding it’s way to quirk up his lips. “I didn’t know you were capable of smiling, Nathalie.”

“I didn’t know you were watching, Sir.” She said instinctively, immediately finding her heartbeat stuttering over how odd sounding it came off to her.

To her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. A ghost of a smirk. There, and then gone. He didn’t dignify her comment with a response, instead shifting his focus back to the boy still dangling comfortably in her grasp.

“Did you behave yourself, Adrien?”

“Ya-huh, ya-huh!” Adrien nodded so enthusiastically his hair flopped in every direction. “I was the perfectest gentleman, just like Momma said! I even shared my bestest toy!” He reached over and patted the black cat plush with a tiny, possessive hand. “See?”

Gabriel regarded the stuffed toy with faint curiosity. “Your best toy, hm?”

Gabriel’s gaze lingered on the plush for a beat longer before flicking back to his son. He crossed the room in smooth, measured strides, the usual tension in his frame easing just slightly. His sharpness softened—just a little—as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Adrien’s head.

“And what were you two doing, exactly?” he asked, his voice lighter now.

Nathalie shifted uncomfortably, aware of how ridiculous she must look sitting on the floor, clutching a stuffed animal like it was her only line of defense. “We… were playing superheroes,” she admitted. “The ball is our car.”

“It’s called the Cat-alac,” Adrien added, making sure to emphasize the most important detail.

Gabriel’s expression remained inscrutable as he glanced between the deflated space hopper and the general chaos strewn across the room—plushies, makeshift vehicles, a pillow fort in one corner that looked dangerously close to collapse. Nathalie braced herself for the inevitable disapproval.

But instead, he nodded solemnly. “I see. Very impressive.”

Adrien beamed. “It is!”

Gabriel stepped past them; hands loosely clasped behind his back as he surveyed the battlefield. His polished shoes came to a halt beside the black tin perched on the nightstand. With one smooth motion, he plucked it up and flipped the lid open. His brow lifted.

“Macaroons?” He asked, the faintest trace of amusement curling his words.

Nathalie swallowed hard, already preparing a hasty defence—something about keeping the boy calm, or how one macaroon wouldn’t ruin his carefully regimented diet—but Adrien beat her to it.

“She gave me one as a secret,” he blurted, wide-eyed. “Don’t tell Momma.”

Gabriel exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound barely audible. “Only if you allow me steal one. Otherwise, I’m selling you up the river.” He assured his son, plucking a pale green macaroon from the tin and inspecting it idly. His sharpness was still there—always there—but it was blunted by the warmth creeping into his features. He lowered himself into the sleek armchair by the window, still examining the treat between his fingers.

“I suppose,” He mused, “if you’re playing superheroes… I should be one too.”

Adrien’s face scrunched up immediately in fierce disapproval. “Noooo,” he protested, shaking his head like Gabriel had just suggested he juggle fire. “You’re too scary to be a superhero!”

Gabriel’s brows shot up. “Too scary?”

“Uh-huh.” Adrien nodded solemnly. “But you can be the supervillain!”

“And what if I don’t want to be a villain?” He countered, though his tone was far too indulgent for any real protest.

“You can be a super cool villain,” Adrien bargained.

The flicker of a genuine smile cracked Gabriel’s façade. He popped the macaroon into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back into the chair. “A super cool villain…” He repeated, turning the idea over in his mind. “I suppose I could manage that.”

Adrien, for his part, took his father’s acquiescence as a total victory. “Good,” He declared. “Because every superhero needs a super cool bad guy to fight!”

“And what does a ‘super cool villain’ do, exactly?” Gabriel asked, settling into his new role with an alarming ease.

Adrien gasped dramatically, scrambling out of Nathalie’s lap and making a beeline for the toy chest. “I’ll show you!”

Gabriel’s gaze slid back to Nathalie, the sharpness in his eyes softened by something she couldn’t name. “A productive evening, then?”

“I… Suppose so.” She admitted, her voice steadier than she felt. “Do you want me to go back to the reports now?”

“They can wait.” Gabriel shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on the macaroon. “We can’t have Adrien driving the cat-alac by himself now, can we? He doesn’t have a licence.”

Both of them watched Adrien rifle through his toy chest in silence. Not as awkward or tense as Nathalie thought the silence would be, just both of them enjoying the moment.

“Emilie’s been disappearing more and more lately.” Gabriel admitted, though he restrained his tone enough to not let any emotion leak through. “And Audrey’s going to run me ragged soon enough. Adrien doesn’t get enough play time lately, not when we’re not around to supervise him.”

She chose her words carefully. “He… seems happy enough, Sir.”

Gabriel’s gaze didn’t leave Adrien. “He seems a great many things.”

Her eyes fell to the floor. She didn’t like to think of how much of Adrien’s easy laughter was for show—how much of it was designed to please the adults in his life.

“He’s a resilient child.” She said at last, her tone measured. “More so than you give him credit for.”

When his gaze finally shifted, it felt as if the entire room moved with it. And then his gaze, and the rest of the room, rounded on her.

“I don’t mean to force this on you, I only wanted to ask…” He drew out the pause, making sure she was paying close attention to his sincerity before continuing. As if she wasn’t already hooked on his every word. “How would you feel about watching over Adrien more often? I’ve been meaning to get somebody to watch out for him in times like this.”

The words were caught in her throat for a moment. She expected to deny it flat out, to gasp out every excuse she ever had for avoiding children, but all protest was so easily burned away looking at Adrien. “Wouldn’t you be better off hiring a nanny?” She asked meekly.

“Maybe, but we both know that Adrien is a… Special case.” He hummed, so casually, as if any of this should be casual to them. “I need somebody I know I can trust.”

“T-Trust, Sir?”

“Nathalie, please. You couldn’t honestly think that, after all we’ve been through, I wouldn’t have any trust in you.”

Nathalie had drifted through life as an associate. Her parents, short-lived ‘friends’, anyone she made contact with no matter the situation, she always felt like was somebody’s third wheel attendant, only included to serve a purpose. Even the Agrestes were just supposed to be a job, she worked for Emilie, then she reunited with them years later for another job, a job that turned into many jobs, and then a different job, and then an invitation to come home with them.

She’d accepted that, was fine with it; or at least she’d grown numb to it. So numb that there was only a cold chill inside her heart where she sat alone with nothing to let inside. But standing here, with Gabriel looking at her like that, like she meant more to him than the job he paid her for, like their situational friendship during her years of supporting his and Emilie’s relationship hadn’t been as one sided as she thought; it breathed something warm, something alive back into her heart.

“He’s your son.”

“You’re my friend.” He responded curtly, already assuming that firm, disappointed CEO tone. “And on more than one occasion you have been my saviour.”

She bit back the words she so quickly wanted to say, stopped herself from blurting out how many times he was unknowingly her saviour, how grateful she was to be his… Well, his anything.

But when Adrien turned around, beaming as he held up a mismatched duo of a toy dinosaur and a princess figurine, she didn’t need any more words.

“I think the cat-alac needs backup.” He declared.

Gabriel exhaled a quiet breath—almost a laugh. “You heard him, Nathalie. It seems you’ve been drafted.”

With a resigned sigh, she bent down and plucked an action figure from the floor. “For the record, Sir.” She muttered. “I expect a raise.”

---

It was a fond memory. A rare warmth that would be consume by a cold storm of the dark times ahead, of a marriage tested, of a husband forcing himself to become the fortress of ice that would secure him a place as a fashion icon, of a wife falling prey to the snares of her power, of a lonely woman falling in love with a married man and caring for his son as her own.

In the face of a story told of a broken family and their desperate quest to heal, Nathalie held that memory close and locked it somewhere deep in her heart.

Her trip to the Dupain Cheng Bakery, which she now patiently stood in front of the counter of, was what brought the memory to the forefront. More specifically, the absolutely delectable set of macaroons on display. Things had changed so much since then, but Nathalie still held hope that Adrien’s love for the macaroons as the two’s unofficial peace offering, still held strong after all these years.

There was a bitter irony to the fact that Adrien had been so adamant as a child that he saw too much of his father, that he didn’t want to be apart of Gabriel’s world. And now, of course, Adrien weeps for the connection lost, and remains desperate to see his father more, and longs to become a pilar of Gabriel’s world so deeply that he would recklessly risk his life in a stunt to show how deserving he is.

She supposed that was just the way growing up worked; you live long enough to become nostalgic of the things that once frustrated you.

“Sorry about the wait, we’ve been having some trouble in the kitchen.” Mr. Dupain’s humble, soft voice reached her ears long before the contrast of his immense frame came into view, shuffling through the door with an array of freshly baked goods in his arms. "Honestly, we're starting to think about putting up fliers for more employees."

He carefully placed his loot on the counter, snatching a napkin from his pocket and dabbing at his sweat-laced forehead. When his eyes actually focused on Nathalie, there was a flicker of excitement that made his mushy moustache wobble. “Oh, right…”

Nathalie blinked. Why was he reacting like-

“You’re Mrs. Agreste, right?” His hand shot out to claim hers as red overtook her cheeks. “How’s Adrien doing?”

He thinks- I’m not- Like her- Oh god. Oh no. Oh dear. No. No. No.

“Assistant.” Nathalie spat out in a strangled cry, the words scraping against her throat like rusty nails. “I’m this assistant. Just the assistant. Gabriel’s wife has long since passed.”

Emilie was gone. But not gone, gone. She was temporarily gone. She was coming back, eventually. So, there was no way Nathalie was trying to take her place. Nope. No, sir-ee. Nathalie wasn’t using an alter ego to flirt with Gabriel, nor earlier revelling in being able to make him blush.

She was just an assistant.

A very, very guilty assistant who was quite good at repressing what few morals she had whenever Gabriel entered the picture.

Tom let out a thoughtful ‘ooooooh’ that sounded far too knowing for her liking, wielding a cheeky grin that confirmed that whatever idea he had in his head, it was the wrong one. “Oh, so you’re the ste-”

“Dear, I hope you’re not trying to make the nice woman uncomfortable.”

Sabine Dupain-Cheng was so short compared to her husband that Nathalie was entirely convinced that the woman had been there this whole time without her noticing. Only made clear by her sudden interruption pulling Nathalie’s gaze from looking up at Tom.

The man chuckled boisterously, scratching the back of his head. “I’m not! I’m just making casual conversation.” He dropped his elbow on the counter, leaning across with that criminally mischievous grin.

Why was he looking at her like that? Was he making some private joke that he was expecting Nathalie to understand? Did he catch Nathalie out for something? She hadn’t committed any crimes today, damn it!

“You still haven’t answered me about Adrien.”

Nathalie cleared her throat, resisting the urge to adjust her glasses—an old nervous tic she refused to acknowledge. “Adrien is doing well.”

Tom and Sabine both raised their eyebrows in unison, a synchronized movement that made Nathalie feel like she was being sized up by a particularly judgmental panel of bakers.

“Though I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way,” she admitted with a sigh, “considering his father is having him clean the mansion top to bottom.”

“Ah, I see,” Tom said, stroking his chin. “You’re here for enough pastries to shove in his mouth when he starts moaning.”

“That’s not… Inaccurate,” Nathalie muttered.

Sabine chuckled, shaking her head. “We know how it goes, believe me.”

Tom nodded sagely. “You wouldn’t know it now, but Marinette used to be such a moody little girl.”

Sabine joined in, her smile warm and far too knowing for Nathalie’s comfort. “Couldn’t get her to clean her plate without moaning about it first.”

“Oh, the drama.” Tom said with mock seriousness. “You’d think we were torturing her instead of feeding her.”

“It was the tragedy of the century,” Sabine added.

Tom sighed dramatically. “And now look at her—baking on her own, running herself ragged, barely moaning at all.”

“Truly, she has come so far,” Sabine agreed.

Nathalie stared at them, watching the back-and-forth like a deer caught in headlights. Just like when Emilie ambushed her with taking care of Adrien that first time all those years ago. “That’s… Nice?” She managed, feeling increasingly like she had stumbled into enemy territory. Were they testing her? Was this an important test? Was she failing it?

Why did she care?!

Tom leaned in with a knowing grin. “What about Adrien? Is he still in his ‘everything is terrible’ phase, or has he reached the ‘Father, I crave validation’ stage?”

Nathalie stiffened. She would not dignify that with a response.

Sabine patted her arm in mock sympathy. “Oh dear, I think you just confirmed it.”

Nathalie closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaled deeply, and reminded herself that she had not committed any crimes today and was not about to start now.

Would it be inappropriate to simply buy the entire stock of macaroons and make a run for it?

In the most dignified retreat she could think of, Nathalie cleared her throat, locking her arms by her sides and letting her head sway back and forth in conflicted interests. “Speaking of Marinette, is she here?”

Tom stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s in the back. We’ve got her on car wax duty for the foreseeable future.”

Sabine shuffled over to the door dividing the bakery front from the rest of the building, sticking her head through the doorway and calling out. “Mari, darling, how’s the car coming along?”

A series of thumps, crashes and squeaks followed. For a moment, Nathalie was sure that something terrible had happened, but Tom and Sabine’s smitten expressions told her to remain calm.

Eventually, an out-of-breath squeal reached them. “I’ve finished the second coating!”

“…Mari.”

Something about the low, growling tone his wife used made Tom’s grin beam brighter.

There was a groan, Marinette’s next reply being in a low, barely audible, murmur. “I mean, I’m just starting the second coating now.”

Sabine clasped her hands together. “That’s my girl.”

Nathalie blinked. “You have her waxing a car?”

Tom nodded proudly. “It builds character.”

Sabine hummed in agreement. “And teaches accountability.”

“What do you need her for?” Marinette asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

Nathalie straightened. “Oh, I was just…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I know that she’s currently being punished for being at the Freedom Fighters’ base that night, but—”

She exhaled sharply. “I wished to extend my thanks.”

Tom blinked. “Thanks?”

Nathalie clasped her hands in front of her, staring at some indeterminate spot on the counter. Yes, what exactly would Nathalie be thanking Marinette for that wouldn’t expose everything?

There were little ways to do Nathalie’s gratitude justice that wouldn’t have her reliving that moment of horror, of seeing that image of Chat Noir’s blood running down his chest, of seeing every strike Dauntless laid that came so close to ending the fight for good. There were little ways she could express how she failed without telling them that her own foolishness had been what lured Gabriel away when he could have been there for his son.

Nathalie inhaled deeply, steeling herself against the memories clawing their way to the surface. If Marinette hadn’t shot at Dauntless, if she hadn’t dragged Adrien out of there, if she hadn’t protected his identity…

She shut her eyes briefly. It was too much to think about. Too much to dwell on.

“If she hadn’t distracted that villain from finishing off Chat Noir…” She paused, voice measured, betraying nothing. “Well, who knows who else they would have hurt? Adrien was there that night. I can’t help but think—”

Tom’s expression softened as he reached over, placing a large, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we understand.”

Sabine nodded. “Times like this, you can’t help but fill your mind with all the horrible what-ifs about your kid.”

Tom wiggled his eyebrows. “Or your boss’s kid.”

Nathalie’s breath caught. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, keeping her expression neutral.

Sabine gave her a warm smile. “What’s important is that they’re okay now, and we can be thankful for that.”

Nathalie nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

Tom clapped his hands together. “Anyway, let’s try and lighten up, okay? What are you looking for?”

Nathalie straightened, pushing down the lingering weight in her chest. “Those macaroons are calling to me. Adrien always loved the—”

“Passion fruit, right?” Tom finished with a knowing grin.

Nathalie blinked. “Uh, yes?”

Sabine chuckled as she began packing up a fresh batch. “Our daughter has told us a lot about Adrien’s tastes.”

“Has she now?” Nathalie mused, watching Sabine wrap up the pastries with meticulous care. For a moment, all three of them shared a conspiratorial, knowing look that only parents (o-or assistants!) could share about their kids.

“These are our best batch yet, if I do say so myself,” Tom said proudly, nudging the package toward her. “I’m sure they’ll brighten up Adrien’s day.”

Nathalie picked up the bag, weighing it in her hand before nodding. “Well, if he’s done an adequate amount of cleaning before I get home.” She glanced up at them, eyes glinting. “Otherwise, I’m going to make him watch me eat them.”

Tom let out a hearty laugh. “Oof, that’s just cruel.”

Sabine smiled knowingly. “But effective.”

---

QueenBug: @MothMan, what the fuck did you do to Chat Noir?

MothMan: Again, with the pointless swearing.

FoxyLady: Just answer the question, she won’t stop spamming my DMs about it.

MothMan: Why are you under the impression I’ve done anything to my son.

QueenBug: I’ve been bugging him with puns all week and I haven’t had one response!

MothMan: How bad were these puns?

QueenBug: Bite me, asshole.

QueenBug: Where is Chat Noir!?

MothMan: Christ, he’s in the living room, sulking because I confiscated his miraculous.

QueenBug: I want a picture.

MothMan: For what?!

QueenBug: I don’t trust you.

MothMan: He’s my son, what do you think I’m doing, waterboarding him?

QueenBug: I wouldn’t put it past a supervillain.

MothMan: Let me make one thing clear, Bug. No matter what evils I indulge in for the sake of my mission, I would never harm my little boy.

QueenBug: You don’t protect him from harm either, it seems.

QueenBug: Or did I just imagine you abandoning him to get turned into a pincushion?

MothMan: Oh look, the stupid little girl talking about matters she knows nothing about. Again.

FoxyLady: Okay, I’m putting my miraculous on silent ‘cus you guys are pumping out these hate messages too god damn fast.

QueenBug: Look who’s still dancing around the subject.

QueenBug: Where the hell were you while your son was getting killed, Hawkmoth?

ButterBoy: We were indisposed. We had no way of knowing of or intervening with Chat Noir’s battle.

FoxyLady: Guys, who the hell is FeatherFatal?

FeatherFatal: Oh, that’s me.

FeatherFatal: I’m Mayura.

FeatherFatal: I didn’t want to interrupt, but… Hello there.

QueenBug: Mayura?

MothMan: Does that empty head of yours retain even a shred of information?

MothMan: The Peacock user I told you about.

FeatherFatal: You told them about me?

FeatherFatal: Wait.

FeatherFatal: Is that how they were avoiding Optigami!?

FeatherFatal: You cheap, cheating clown.

MothMan: I wanted you dead, you think I was going to fight fair?

FeatherFatal: I thought a gentleman would know better than to expose a lady’s secrets!

FeatherFatal: Why, what if Ladybug ended up crashing our date?

MothMan: IT WAS NOT A DATE.

QueenBug: Hold on.

QueenBug: Did you leave your son for a bootycall!?

FoxyLady:

Chester: 

GlitterGirl: How dare you.

GlitterGirl: Their love is so much deeper than a booty call~~

MothMan: Duusuu, shut up.

MothMan: Shut up, right now!

FeatherFatal: Believe me, that man is too easily flustered to be a booty call.

FeatherFatal: I couldn’t even hold his hand without turning him into a wreck.

QueenBug: I regret having eyes.

Chester: You and me both, Pigtails.

FreakyTikki: PLAGG!

MothMan: Wait. Plagg?!

MothMan: How are you here?

Chester: Hey, until my holder renounces me, I can still communicate even from inside my miraculous.

FreakyTikki: Unfortunately.

Chester: Also, I heard that crap about threatening to melt down my miraculous.

FoxyLady: Hawkmoth, the fuck?

FoxyLady: That’s like, their house.

MothMan: I was bluffing!

Chester: It hurts, man.

Chester: I thought we had a connection.

MothMan: Our connection is entirely cheese based.

QueenBug: I imagine that’s the closest thing you have to a real connection in your entire life, Hawky.

MothMan: Are you trying to start something, Bug?

MothMan: Because I have an akuma with yodelling-based powers ready to go.

QueenBug: Why don’t you come fight me yourself, chrome dome.

MothMan: I am not bald!

QueenBug: Where’s all that hair sitting then? In the mask?

MothMan: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

FoxyLady: So… How was the date?

FeatherFatal: It got complicated when we got sent to another dimension.

FoxyLady: Oh?

FeatherFatal: We were fighting over the horse miraculous. It activated. Became a whole thing.

ButterBoy: Which is why we weren’t there when Chat snuck off to do his thing.

FoxyLady: So, who got the horse miraculous?

MothMan: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

GlitterGirl: The demon guys who ambushed us when we got back.

FoxyLady: Figures.

FoxyLady: The aircraft crash, right? Hawkmoth killed all those guys?

MothMan: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

MothMan: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

ButterBoy: Master can be very efficient when he stops holding back.

FoxyLady: Noted.

FeatherFatal: Did you know that Santa Clause is real?

FoxyLady: Obviously.

FoxyLady: Did you not?

FeatherFatal: We also met Big Foot in that other dimension.

FeatherFatal: Pretty cool guy all things considered.

ButterBoy: He makes some amazing tea.

MothMan: [Redacted]

QueenBug: [Redacted]

FoxyLady: Is anyone catching what they’re saying?

Chester: Nah, Sugarcube’s working overtime.

FreakyTikki: I’m honestly shocked and appalled by the foul, problematic language my holder is capable of.

ButterBoy: I’m not shocked by mine.

ButterBoy: But I will add that he’s going through a tough time right now.

FreakyTikki: @QueenBug @MothMan If you continue like this, I will mute both of you.

MothMan: She started it!

MothMan: She had no right to say that about my mother.

QueenBug: Hey, it’s not my fault that it’s the only sensible explanation for you  being a shitty excuse of a father.

FreakyTikki: Ladybug. I’m serious.

QueenBug: Fine, I’ll stop…

FoxyLady: Wow, did the big bug just get scolded by her kwami?

TrixxOrTreat: Couldn’t be us.

FoxyLady: Love ya, Trixx.

TrixxOrTreat: Also, hi Duusuu. Been a while.

GlitterGirl: You still owe me big time.

TrixxOrTreat: Are you still mad about that?

TrixxOrTreat: It was just a prank.

GlitterGirl: A prank that got my holder killed.

FoxyLady: I’m not touching that.

TrixxOrTreat: And this is why I love you.

MothMan: Seriously, Bug. My son is alive and… Well. Despite his foolish choices.

QueenBug: Just tell him that I’m the hero here, so he shouldn’t be jumping into a crumbling building to save anyone.

MothMan: On that, we can agree.

FoxyLady: Honestly, I can’t blame Hawkmoth. It’s not his fault.

FoxyLady: It’s in his nature.

MothMan: Huh?

FoxyLady: I mean, we both know that if the Butterfly were here, this wouldn’t have happened.

MothMan: …

MothMan: A screaming, yodelling maniac will be terrorizing Paris in under two hours.

MothMan: Have fun sleeping, assholes.

---

Ladybug looked over her messages of the past week for the fourth time that night, and admittedly, she was a little irritable. Standing on the edge of the roof adjacent to the police station, with a trio of smokers just below wafting their noxious choking hazard up to irritate her nose, wasn’t helping. It wasn’t like she was concerned about Chat Noir or something, but it was her duty as a hero to make sure that even her super villains were being raised in safe environments, okay?

Besides, it was her parents who wouldn’t stop bugging her about if she’d seen Chat Noir again. They were the ones who cared so much. They were ones who were panicking because Chat had missed his weekly visit which she was never keeping track of because what did she care if that mangy, smug, beautiful bastard may or may not visit-

Okay, Marinette was a little more irritable lately. And snappy. And hungry. And tired. Which was weird, because she was doing fine. She was eating well, she actually got a good amount of sleep after the hospital visit and she… She didn’t think she was mad at anyone? But waking up today to a message from Volpina telling her that they’d been personally called in by the police, she’d instinctually thought of blowing it off, that it was too much work.

Marinette wouldn’t say that she’s never been lazy or dismissive, but she’s never been so direct about it. She’s convinced herself with some excuse, or weasel her away out half-way through, or something. Because Marinette Dupain Cheng, barring special circumstances, was way too afraid of disappointing people to just blatantly go ‘this is beneath me, I’ve got way too much slobbing about to do.’

It was only after that hospital visit, she knew it. Ever since she was dismissed, she’d been feeling this sensitivity hitting her in waves. Like, just suddenly, for a minute or two, everything felt harder. The wind was ice, the people were too loud, her body was too heavy to move, and she kept trying to huff in the air like she was afraid of drowning.

“Careful, Buggy. You look like you’re about to go over the edge there.”

Ladybug hadn’t attuned herself enough to Volpina’s presence to catch her sneaking about, but she still managed enough to stop herself from jumping when the fox popped into existence.

“I’m pretty sure I’d survive from this height.” Ladybug hummed, cocking her head over her shoulder to find Volpina sitting flat against the chimney, flute over her knee.

“You’d survive someone stabbing you.” Volpina said bluntly, her tone light, but her eyes heavy. “Doesn’t mean I want someone doing it.”

She pushed herself off the chimney and strolled up to Ladybug, not so subtly pushing herself in front of Ladybug and in the way of the edge. “You okay there, Buggy?”

“I’m fine.” There was a pause before Ladybug shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

It was so tempting to lie about it. Just shrug it off as Marinette’s problem, not Ladybug’s. But if it wasn’t that big a deal, why would Ladybug hide it? Besides, Volpina was her partner, Ladybug trusted her to have her back in life-and-death battles; if she could trust her with that, why not this?

“I’m just feeling out of it. And I don’t really know why.”

“Ah yes, rest and relaxation, known for making people uncomfortable,” Ladybug deadpanned.

“Normal people? No. Someone like you? Hell yeah.”

Ladybug raised a brow. “Oh?”

Volpina smirked. “You know, you’re one of those overthinkers. You always have to be doing something. When you’re not, your natural instinct is discomfort, ‘cause you need to feel like you’re accomplishing something.” She raised a close fist to Ladybug’s forehead, gently knocking on her mental door. “And you do love the thrill of being Ladybug.”

Ladybug scoffed, but the corner of her lips twitched upward. “That’s what you think this is? Just something I can work out with some good old action?”

“Maybe. I ain’t a doctor,” Volpina shrugged.

“No, but…” Ladybug hesitated, then exhaled. “Thanks. I feel better just having you here.”

Volpina rolled her eyes, but Ladybug could just glimpse her smirk softening. “If it’s anything serious, we’ll work through it. We’re too badass to get taken down by junk like that.”

Ladybug nodded, feeling some of the weight on her chest ease up. Maybe Volpina was right—maybe she just needed to move, to get back into the rhythm of things. Or maybe it was something deeper. Either way, at least she wasn’t dealing with it alone.

On the other side of the street, the two spotted Sabrina’s father, Roger, pulling up to the station. He spotted them as he exited his car, giving them a small nod and gesturing inside before making his way into the station.

Volpina looked to her, unsure. “Do you want me to do this solo?”

Ladybug scoffed. “They asked for both of us, I can’t have them thinking I’m flaking on them.”

A teasing smirk returned. “Since when have you cared about your rep?”

“Since you told me to care.” Ladybug admitted, unclipping her yoyo from her belt.

However, before she could unfurl it completely, Volpina’s hand came in to catch her by the wrist. Wordlessly, Volpina snatched the yoyo out of her hand, meeting Ladybug’s confused scowl with a wink. “Just in case you think about slipping or anything on the way down.”

Ladybug groaned, rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest, letting Volpina wrap her arm around Ladybug’s waist and cast out the yoyo to the nearest lamp post. Instead, Ladybug focused herself with a question. “Are you sure that the cops didn’t give any hints to why they called us?”

Volpina shrugged. “They just said needed to miraculous badass bitches down at the station to take a look at something for them.”

“Uhuh, and that’s the exact wording they used?”

“It’s how I pretty much remember it.” The yoyo string fastened as Volpina yanked on it and, together, they took the plunge. “Worst thing that could happen is that they’re setting up a trap for us and completely forgot that we can easily kick their asses.”

Ladybug snorted as the two of them swung toward the police station entrance. “Great. That’s totally reassuring.”

“Hey, if it is a trap, at least we’ll get some action,” Volpina teased.

“Uh-huh, because nothing says ‘a fun night out’ like getting tackled by a bunch of officers with tasers.”

Volpina let go of the yoyo line, twisting mid-air to land gracefully on her feet before Ladybug even had time to brace herself. The fox hero gave a smug little bow as Ladybug landed beside her with a dull thump.

Ladybug huffed, crossing her arms. “Show-off.”

“Flatter me more.”

Rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the tiny smile creeping up, Ladybug turned toward the station doors and took a deep breath before pushing them open. The inside of the police station was as busy as ever, with officers shuffling through paperwork, suspects in cuffs being escorted into holding cells, and a low hum of conversation hanging in the air.

Roger stood at the front desk, nervously tapping his fingers together as muttered conversation passed between him and another officer. He did not brighten up upon seeing them, brisky breaking away from the desk to approach them with his hand outstretched.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” He said as Ladybug took his hand for the shake.

Over his shoulder, Ladybug could only frown as Volpina had almost immediately ditched her side to go over to the desk and take a selfie with the excited officer.

Ladybug cleared her throat. “You’re looking pretty grim there, Officer. Should I be worried?”

His gaze flickered over Ladybug’s with something that almost resembled concern. “I’m just… Remembering that you’re a young girl.”

He hadn’t meant it as an insult, but Ladybug still took it as one, moving her hands to her hips and puffing her chest out to project some power on her behalf. “I’m still a superhero.”

“I need you to look at a dead body.”

And she immediately deflated. “Oh. Is that all?” She croaked.

“I wouldn’t have called you down here if it wasn’t serious.” He sighed, wiping sweat off his brow. “Believe me, none of us would want to interrupt your work unless we were absolutely sure that it was something we needed you on.”

Ladybug swallowed, shifting slightly on her feet. She could handle fighting supervillains, dodging akuma attacks, even making high-risk, split-second decisions in the heat of battle. But a dead body? That was something else entirely.

Roger must’ve seen something in her face, because his expression softened—just a little. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to,” He offered. “But we figured you might have insight. Something… Unnatural happened to this one.”

That got her attention. “Unnatural how?”

Before Roger could answer, Volpina slid back into the conversation, shoving her phone into her pocket. “What’s this about a dead guy? You calling us for ghost-hunting duty now?”

Roger exhaled through his nose, clearly unamused. “Follow me.”

He led them down the hallway, past a few rows of offices, before stopping in front of a closed door. The blinds were drawn, but even through the frosted glass, Ladybug could make out the vague silhouette of someone lying on a table inside.

Roger hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Last chance to back out.”

Ladybug clenched her fists. “Just open the door.”

With a nod, Roger pushed it open, and the smell hit her first—a mix of antiseptic and something stale, something… wrong.

Ladybug was hesitant to cross the threshold into the morgue, but Volpina showed no such hesitation. She bounded ahead like a kid in a candy store, marvelling at the selection of cadavers with rapt, but shortly lived, attention.

“You do realize that we’re surrounded by corpses, right?” Ladybug groaned, her nose fighting against the thick odour of sterilizing chemicals immortalized in the cold chill.

“Hey, we’re all gonna end up here eventually.” Volpina said way too casually, skipping over to the surgical table at the end of the room. Would it be called a display table? An observation room? Urg, why did she have to think about these things in the first place? “I, for one, think it’s perfectly natural to be curious about where they’re gonna cut you open before they package you for the underworld.”

“Please, don’t touch anything.” Roger pleaded, his hand over his face. “This is not a playground.”

“I wasn’t gonna touch.” Volpina pouted, ending up by the table where several other officers surrounded the main event. “Just taking a good look. I mean, you called us here because you wanted our observations, didn’t you?”

Ladybug finally built up the nerve, while clamping her fingers down on her nose, to press forward into the room. “That’s a good question. Why did you call us? I thought you only wanted us for miraculous matters.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly as she joined Volpina’s side. Thankfully, the body was covered by a modest sheet. However, just being able to make out the vague shape of what lay underneath, and knowing what it was; Ladybug couldn’t help but feel a lump form in her throat. “Not to sound too cold, but isn’t a murder a little mundane for us?”

“That’s the thing.” Roger nodded to his fellow officers, who proceeded to rip the sheet off the corpse, baring the bloody remains to the world.

Ladybug reeled back in disgust; her hand crammed over her mouth to stop the vomit from reaching the outside world. She thought she was prepared for it, but god did she hope for at least a little more warning. The lifeless face, the pale skin, the bloodstains; it was all too much.

However, before she’d ripped her gaze away, her eyes so easily caught a glimpse of an important detail about the corpse the police wanted her to note.

Namely, the hole, perfectly carved into the shape of a love heart, in the man’s chest.

“There’s no natural explanation for this.”

Volpina let out a low whistle, leaning in far too close for comfort. "Damn. Someone really went for the whole ‘wearing their heart on their sleeve’ thing, huh?"

Ladybug shot her a horrified look. "Volpina!"

"What?" She shrugged, nodding toward the perfectly cut heart-shaped hole in the corpse’s chest. "I'm just saying, whoever did this was committed to the bit. Like, this is serial killer levels of themed dedication."

Roger sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can you please take this seriously?"

"I am taking this seriously," Volpina countered, crossing her arms. "I'm seriously saying this is beyond messed up."

Ladybug forced herself to look again, even as her stomach twisted. The wound was too clean. Too precise. It wasn’t the work of a knife or claws—it was as if the heart had simply… Vanished, leaving behind a perfect cutout.

“The victim’s name is Philip Vergo. He’d just gotten engaged to his long-time sweetheart, Fleur Petal when all this happened.” Roger’s voice came off as a distant drone. He flicked open a folder and shoved it in Ladybug’s face, thankfully blocking her view of the body. “He crashed his car into the corner of the street. Witnesses caught him sprinting through the streets calling out for somebody, turning into an alleyway where his bride-to-be found him like this.”

“And I’m guessing nobody got a look at who he was after?” Volpina asked.

“Nope. Not even a glimpse.”

“You’re saying Fleur found him like this?” Ladybug steadied herself. There was a killer on the loose, this was serious, she had to stop shaking. “Do we have an estimated time of how long she lost sight of him before finding the body?”

“She said she’d been right behind him, saw until he turned into that alley way. Got caught in the crowd.” Roger scratched his head. “Couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds.”

Ladybug breathed in deeply before closing the folder, letting those same observant eyes that connected lucky charms to solutions roam over the corpse. “You’re saying this man had his heart carved out in a perfect shape and the killer vanished from the scene, all in under thirty seconds?”

Roger shook his head. “His heart wasn’t taken out.”

Both heroine’s heads snapped at attention. “What?”

“It’s still in there, it’s just… In pieces.” Roger made a vague clockwise motion with his finger, gesturing to the inside of the body. “Forensics say that the internal trauma and the trajectory suggest that his heart exploded inside his chest. Theres some fresh burn marks on the bones of his ribs, splash marks from the inside out.”

“Ah, so the symbol isn’t the cause of death. Just a calling card.” Volpina tapped her chin, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Guess that confirms that this wasn’t just a mugging gone wrong, or a crime of passion, they were hunting this man down specifically.”

She fixed her eyes on Ladybug. “Some ritualistic sacrifice, maybe?”

“No, it’s a vendetta.” Ladybug said with surprising certainty.

“What makes you think that?”

“Look at the shape again.” Ladybug summoned up enough courage, or at least enough focus to distract her from the chills racing up her spin, to hold her hand over the body. She traced her finger over the middle of the cut, where the two hills of the love heart met and then down to the pointed tail. “Theres more cuts here.”

They were small enough to be an easy miss, a zig-zag pattern that stretched out barely an inch. Ladybug had her finger go back and forth, drawing an invisible line between the two points, mimicking the zig-zag pattern.

“It’s not just a heart.” She breathed. “It’s a broken heart.”

Volpina let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s creepy.”

Ladybug’s stomach churned as she stared at the broken heart carved into the man’s chest. The deliberate nature of the wound, the eerie symmetry—it was all too intentional. Too pointed.

“He’s not the only victim either.” Roger turns to a different page on the folder. “Carlos Menkin. Big time racing star. Was found dead a few weeks back just before a race, same cause of death. Witnesses even spotted him running off calling out to someone too.”

Roger crossed his arms. “That’s why we called you. There’s no known weapon that could do this. No signs of a struggle, no external burns—just this.” He gestured grimly at the corpse. “We’re looking at something unnatural, right?”

Ladybug nodded stiffly. “There’s probably a natural explanation that could be made about all this, but the number of contrived coincidences that would have to align for it would make it even more out there than magic.”

Later that night, Volpina clicked her tongue, her tail flicking behind her as they made their way out of the morgue. “So, what are we thinking? An akuma?”

Ladybug shook her head. “This doesn’t fit Hawkmoth’s style.”

“We only know how Hawkmoth’s style applied to us,” Volpina pointed out. “If this was something personal, he might act differently. I mean, he already admitted to killing all those demon goons.”

Ladybug frowned, arms crossed as she mulled it over. It was as strange feeling, both in her gut and in her mind, to defend Hawkmoth. He was her enemy, she wanted to assume the worst of him, but he had a brand, and he stuck to it. Unless he had some secret history with this random guy, she couldn’t see him making an akuma to make a theatrical show off breaking the man’s heart.

The demons were the one exception, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that was because they were a threat that was willing to be far more brutal than Ladybug and Volpina. The man was an enthusiastic love of the chase, of the game of the fight, and wasn’t in it for murder if he could help it.

He had opportunities to kill Master Fu during the Mirror Mistress incident, he’d even first confronted the guardian whilst Fu was untransformed according to the master, yet he still didn’t take the easy kill despite Fu being the only thing standing between him and his goal.

“I don’t know…” Ladybug admitted. “We need more information.”

“What I do know,” She continued, eyes narrowing, “is that I don’t think this will be the killer’s last attempt. They didn’t make this a show just for nobody to see it.”

Volpina’s smirk faded slightly. “Yeah. This doesn’t feel like it’s gonna be over anytime soon.”

They reached the station’s exit, stepping into the cool night air. The weight of the case pressed down on Ladybug’s chest like an unseen force. Somewhere in Paris, the killer was still out there. Watching. Planning.

And she needed at least one reassurance.

She flipped open her yoyo, bringing out the phone function, pressing the first contact on the list before pulling it to her ear. Volpina watched her with a raised brow but said nothing.

After a few rings, he picked up.

“Look, if you’re calling just to yell at me again, you picked a seriously bad ti-”

“Just shut up for a minute, Hawky.”

A beat passed where Volpina just snapped at attention, eyes narrowing in disbelief at Ladybug’s action. She didn’t speak, just mouthed ‘Are you serious?’.

Ladybug waved her off, accepting the silence as Hawkmoth indicating that she should continue. “Did you release any akumas a couple weeks back? One we didn’t take down?”

“Bug, you know my akumas don’t commonly last more than a day.” Hawkmoth groaned, cutting himself off with a yawn. “The only one I’ve used for a long period of time was the one I used to track down Mayura. But she was purely a scout, she didn’t even get a costume; she certainly didn’t cause any collateral damage.”

Her breath hitched. “I didn’t mention any damages.”

He managed a laugh, though it was strained by exhaustion. “Obviously, the only reason you’d call to inquire about an unknown akuma is because you suspect an akuma was running amok and wreaking havoc.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to before he cleared his throat. “Listen here, girl. My sole reason for taking on the mantle of Hawkmoth is to acquire your miraculous. Any akuma I make is with the intention of luring you to your defeat via a public spectacle that plays on your pathetic and desperate need to save others.” He hissed it with so much spite, but somehow it didn’t feel as sharp or hurtful as he probably intended it. “If I release an akuma, I damn well sign my work and make sure you know that it’s me.”

She nodded, shooting a confused Volpina a ‘zip it’ motion.  “I understand.”

“Is that all?”

“Can you think of any of the remaining miraculous that could make a heart explode?”

The question left her lips before her mind could catch up, but she couldn’t really regret it, even if Volpina looked at her like she was crazy. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Hawkmoth was smart. Sometimes he could be shortsighted or overlook the obvious when lost in his lust for theatrics, but he was knowledgeable. When he allowed himself to focus, he managed to concoct a scheme to trick the miraculous of creation, he managed to expand the ways he could use his miraculous and knew far more about all of their powers than she did. And with Fu in hiding, Hawkmoth was easier to get a hold of.

So yes, she knew that he was one of the best people to ask. There was danger in asking, of course, since it more or less confirmed for him that they had potentially found a lead on another wild miraculous, but if it helped save a life, she was willing to risk it.

In the background of the call, she could hear him flipping through stacks of paper, muttering incoherently. “Technically…” He murmured. “You could find a way to do that with more than one of them.”

Besides, what does a villain like more than having an excuse to hear themselves explain things to the idiots. “The miraculous’ power can’t be narrowly defined as a specific ability, they’re a concept, and that concept is flexible if you’re creative enough. Tricky enough to be annoying even if they can’t do everything.”

He continued with more fervour, his tiredness become less and less prominent. “Like, the Bee miraculous is so easily used as just a blanket stun attack, but one user figured out how to extend ‘subjugation’ to stunning time itself. Or giving someone a magical lobotomy; ‘stunning’ their mind. And there was a black cat holder who’d use their cataclysm to heal people.”

There was the tapping of a pen. “Maybe the turtle miraculous? Maybe they could make a shield inside a body and then just expand it…”

“Your suggestion is… Noted.” Ladybug let an uneasy frown communicate the sudden nausea she was feeling to Volpina. “Your advice is appreciated.”

“I must say, Bug. I didn’t expect you to be so willing to let me in on this.” He hummed. “You must be desperate.”

“I’d never expect you to give us the heads up on Mayura either.” She shot back. “Consider this me repaying that debt.”

Notes:

Gabriel Internally at little Adrien's pun game: "THAT'S MY BOY!"

You know your life has become strange when you can just casually call up your arch-nemesis to ask if he's been doing a murder and he's offended you even had to ask.

Huh, I wonder what could possibly be wrong with Marinette.

Next Time - Troubled Teens:

“Gabriel Agreste isn’t afraid of anything.” Adrien huffed, looking about ready to rip off the rubber glove and smack the mop bucket with it.

Nathalie’s gaze remained rooted to the painting, that daunting display that hung over the mansion, an eternal reminder of a family broken by loss no matter which side of the mansion it came from. She shook her head, moving to crouch beside Adrien.

“Your father is as capable of fear as any other man.” She corrected him, waiting until he begrudgingly looked back at her before continuing. “Do you know the one thing that scares him most of all?”

Curiosity broke through his unbelieving, petulant eyes, It was unbecoming of the boy, but it was still an adorable, almost childish, display of trying not to let on that he cared at all. He was dedicated to his teenage rebellion, obviously.

But Nathalie paid that no more mind, reaching over to gently bump his nose.

“You.”

Chapter 38: Heartbreaker: Troubled Teens

Summary:

Nathalie has an Assistant-Son talk with Adrien about being grounded while Marinette and Lila end up stumbling upon a valuable clue.

Did it count as a pun to say that Adrien looked like a grumpy cat squashed into a tiny space? Because that was all she could think about when she found Adrien curled up inside one of the kitchen cupboards. The pipe that ran across the top towards the sink, that had been where he decided to level his glare, as if the metal personally offended him.

Nathalie gently wrapped her knuckles against the cupboard door, peering down at the boy, folded at odd angles just to fit. “May I ask why you’re down there? And whatever has the plumbing done to offend you?”

“I’m cleaning.” Adrien mumbled, lazily pulling out a sponge from his hip, barely able to cover up a yawn. “And there’s a stain on this pipe that looks just like father’s face.”

Nathalie arched a brow. “And your first instinct was to glare at it?”

Adrien lazily swiped the sponge across the pipe with no real effort. “It was mocking me.”

“…The stain?”

“Yes.”

Nathalie sighed. “Adrien.”

“Nathalie.” He mimicked her tone, stretching out her name with an exaggerated huff, before thumping his head against against the side of the cupboard. Completely intentional, of course. “Why are there so many pipes? Why is the kitchen so big? Why does everything need to be polished? Who even comes in here to see if the pipes are clean?”

“Your father.”

Adrien groaned dramatically, letting his body go limp and flop half down onto the kitchen floor. “Of course he does.”

Nathalie crossed her arms, peering down at him, unimpressed. “Perhaps next time, you’ll exercise more caution before pulling off any more impromptu solo mission.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side.” Adrien moaned, attempting to cross his arms and mimic her stare, only to find his right arm still awkwardly trapped in the cupboard. “All I did was try to take some initiative for once!”

“I mean, really, I tried to do the responsible thing.” He continued as he waved the sponge around. “I tried to get us another miraculous. And what do I get for my efforts? My miraculous taken away, a lecture, and dish duty.” He scoffed. “Great incentive to be proactive.”

Nathalie stared at him for a moment before leaning against the counter. “You’re acting like we put you in a dungeon.”

Adrien’s sunk further into the floor; his head squashed as he looked up at Nathalie upside-down. “At least a dungeon would be thematically appropriate.”

She let out a short breath—not quite a sigh, but just enough to betray a hint of amusement. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just listened to your father before running into danger alone.”

Adrien scoffed. “Oh, sure, because he listens so well when I try to talk to him.”

Nathalie’s gaze softened, just slightly. “He worried about you.”

Adrien huffed. “He worries about the brand; about how much I embarrass him.” He tossed the wet sponge up into the air angrily, only for it to bounce off the frame of the cupboard door and land on his face. Still, he continued on as if it hadn’t happened, albeit his speech was muffled. “Cawn’t ‘ave da tophy boi thanking for ‘imself, e might ‘ave an ohriginal fought and guv farter a heat attack.”

For a minute, Nathalie watched in silence as cleaning fluid leaked from the sponge and dripped down the side of his face, all while Adrien pretended that nothing was wrong. Even while a very visible red rim was developing around his eyes.

Nathalie hand her fingers over her face, stifling a groan. “You are not just another item in your father’s collection.” She reached down to snatch the wet sponge from his face, but Adrien just looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. “Adrien, look at me.”

He managed to fish his arm out of it’s prison just in time to finish his crossed arm mimic. Though, in his case it looked less dignified and more petulant, curling his body in such a way that Nathalie forgot that he wasn’t as small as he used to be.

“I can’t, the betrayal hurts my eyes too much.”

“I’m sure that’s the soap.” She said with a blank stare, thinking back to a simpler time where she didn’t have to worry about Adrien acting out. But no nostalgia could save her from the fact that Adrien had the energy to keep this up for hours if he needed to, and she already had barely enough patience for his over dramatic father. “You’re being dramatic.”

Nathalie supposed that this could be considered a good sign. Adrien being childish was grating, but it was natural, it was what a regular teenager was supposed to act like. They were supposed to act out because they’re annoyed at something they can’t understand about their parent’s decision. And Adrien hadn’t had a chance to be a regular teenager, he was raised to be obedient, and proper, and always be respectful even when he’s angry.

This had to be nature healing, right? Proof that the changes brought about by Hawkmoth and Chat Noir actually did benefit Adrien, that it was more than two reckless adults dragging their son into something dangerous that he has no business being a part of?

“I’m being independent.” Adrien grumbled, taking to ‘subtly’ raising his shoulder to rub his eye in order to avoid looking like he was rubbing his eye.

Nathalie took a deep breath and, locking her arms behind her back as was her comfort, nodded her head in agreement. She’d play along fine. If Adrien was going to act his age, she supposed that she needed to pivot to more age-appropriate pettiness. “I suppose I’ll just have to eat these macaroons on my own then.”

“Wait, what?”

Adrien shot out of that cupboard so fast he went skidding across the floor, forcing Nathalie to side step his head sliding past her. It was a monumental task not to split into a satisfied grin, but Nathalie managed to simply turn away and stalk over to the table, keeping her simple cadence.

“Since you’re so independent, you’d probably never accept a handout like this.”

Adrien scrambled up to his feet, practically tripping over himself to follow. “I can make exceptions!”

Nathalie didn’t even acknowledge him as she plucked one from the box, taking an unhurried bite. “Mmm. The Dupain-Chengs really outdid themselves this time.” She watched Adrien out of the corner of her eye, and shoo’d him away with her free hand. “Don’t let me stop you, just get back to work.”

“But Naaaaaathalie, I’ve been at this for hours.” Adrien gasped like she had just committed a war crime.  “I already polished the rest of the kitchen, and the living room, and trimmed the hedges in the garden, and- and- Please, don’t let me starve!”

Not that she didn’t believe him, but she made a show of dramatically sweeping her critical gaze around the room, finding that, indeed, all the surfaces were shining. She sat herself down at the table, sweeping a finger down the side, making one big, slow arc to bring it under her eyes. Adrien’s sweat practically echo’d in her mind as she narrowed her gaze at invisible dust.

She let out an unimpressed ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’.

And, without looking at him, she spoke. “Will you listen to me?”

“Promise.”

She gave him a sideways glance, watching him practically vibrate with desperation. Then, after a long pause, she set the box down and nudged it half an inch closer to him. After clicking her fingers, she pointed to the chair next to her.

Adrien plopped down so fast the chair scraped against the floor with a horrible screech. He didn’t even flinch. His entire body was still poised, ready, waiting.

Nathalie, in a move of sheer cruelty, took her sweet time selecting another macaroon for herself, inspecting it with the care of a connoisseur. “Now,” she said slowly, taking a small bite, “tell me what you learned.”

Adrien didn’t hesitate. “That getting stabbed really hurts.”

She gave him a flat look.

Adrien squirmed, pressing his palms together in mock prayer. “And that I should… probably have a plan before running headfirst into danger.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“And that maybe, possibly,” he stretched the word out like it physically hurt, “I should at least pretend to listen to my father sometimes.”

Nathalie slid the box an inch closer.

Adrien snatched a macaroon with all the speed and precision of a hawk, not even bothering to discard his rubber gloves. He barely took a breath before biting into it, a near-religious experience washing over his face.

Nathalie watched, finally allowing herself the smallest of smirks. “Drama queen.”

Adrien, cheeks full like a chipmunk, waved a hand at her. “’ndependent.” He corrected through a mouthful of pastry.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

As they devoured their mini-feast, Nathalie took her time examining the person in front of her. A lot had changed in seven months. Gabriel pulled himself away from his work more and more often, the company’s brand model was switched out, Gabriel had changed his clothes to a purple colour scheme with more butterfly accents (he enjoyed the idea of basically advertising his identity right under everyone’s noses), her dynamic with the family had become far more casual than she’d ever considered; life had returned to the mansion little-by-little even if it brought complications.

And the biggest change of all sat before her, Adrien. He wasn’t quite the boy she knew, nor the man she knew he’d become.

The transitional period was the roughest parts of development, wasn’t it? When he was just the child dragging her to his toy chest so they could play superhero, it was innocent, it was a fun fantasy where they took on the whole world from the comfort of his bedroom. They were invincible, they were simple, and they were always cool.

Now it was no longer a fantasy; he was a costumed powerhouse, albeit on the opposite side of the alignment of his previous expectations. Only now is the part of development, the key pillar of becoming a man, where the fantasy is stripped away only leaving the mundane realities. The world was too big to take on from the bedroom, they could barely take on Paris from the streets. Things were complicated, things were ugly; and Chat Noir found out that he wasn’t invincible.

You don’t want your kids to get hurt, to be in that path of danger, but part of growing up is inevitably finding yourself out of your depth out in the world and recovering from the fantasies that experience shatters. The job of the adult was to ensure that they learned the right lessons from it, walking that thin line between ensuring that they don’t just plunge further into denial, but also pulling them back from seeing what parts of the fantasy stood their ground.

She supposed that Gabriel and Emilie covered both ends of that spectrum, which meant she had to play the middle ground.

Adrien slowed his chewing to shrink his body language again, casting frightful glances her way as he sunk into his seat. “Did you- Uh, see Marinette while you were down at the bakery?”

“She’s completely fine, Adrien.” Nathalie assured him. “Her parents have her waxing their car.”

Adrien exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief as he absentmindedly picked at the edges of his macaroon. “I… I almost lost her, Nathalie.” He said in such a weak voice. “Dauntless did a number on her, I saw all the bruises, that black eye and I just… I just went feral. I was so scared.”

Nathalie remained quiet for a beat, watching him carefully. The way his eyes couldn’t leave his fingertips, the way his fingers clenched up and released like they were summoning claws, the way his skin seemed to slap and deflate. When it became too much to watch Nathalie let her gaze take her elsewhere, drawn to a panting of Emilie set up by the window. Gabriel had made sure to have one painting of her in every major room of the house. No matter where they went, they couldn’t escape her presence or the mission they were set to complete.

Then, she spoke, her tone even. “Has it occurred to you that your father might be afraid as well?”

The pivot to Gabriel seemed to drown out his despair with anger.

“Gabriel Agreste isn’t afraid of anything.” Adrien huffed, looking about ready to rip off the rubber glove and smack the mop bucket with it.

Nathalie’s gaze remained rooted to the painting, that daunting display that hung over the mansion, an eternal reminder of a family broken by loss no matter which side of the mansion it came from. She shook her head, moving to crouch beside Adrien.

“Your father is as capable of fear as any other man.” She corrected him, waiting until he begrudgingly looked back at her before continuing. “Do you know the one thing that scares him most of all?”

Curiosity broke through his unbelieving, petulant eyes. It was unbecoming of the boy, but it was still an adorable, almost childish, display of trying not to let on that he cared at all. He was dedicated to his teenage rebellion, obviously.

But Nathalie paid that no more mind, reaching over to gently bump his nose.

“You.” She said simply. “You are the single most terrifying thing to a father.”

Adrien blinked. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. He scoffed, leaning back on his hands. "Me? Right. Sure. Like he's ever actually—"

“Adrien.”

Nathalie thought about telling him.

About what Gabriel had said earlier—his insistence that he should have been the one to die instead of Emilie, that every second spent watching Adrien bleed on the television with fresh wounds reopened something raw and unbearable inside him. That it dragged him right back to Emilie’s bedside, forced to watch as she slowly withered away, powerless to stop it.

For a moment, she considered saying it. Maybe if Adrien understood just how much losing him scared Gabriel, he’d stop thinking his father only saw him as some fragile, controlled extension of the Agreste brand.

But… no.

That was a private moment. A confession Gabriel had shared with her alone, in the quiet of her apartment, hands shaking against the kitchen counter as though holding himself upright was the only thing keeping him together.

She couldn’t betray that.

So instead, she let out a measured breath and kept her voice steady.

“You don’t listen, you complicate everything, and you go out and pull stupid stunts that could get you killed.” Her words weren’t cruel, but they were blunt, unwavering. “He created Hawkmoth with a strict plan and attitude in mind, and yet he threw that all out of the window the moment you joined the picture. Suddenly, everything needed to be tweaked, everything was made extra threatening.”

Adrien’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t argue.

“You’re right about one thing; he desperately wants control over you.” She finally looked back at him, meeting his eyes without hesitation. “Because you are the most precious thing in the world to that man, and he can’t protect you all the time.”

For once, Adrien had nothing to say.

He just sat there, fingers idly fidgeting with a stray thread in his gloves, his jaw tightening before loosening again. She could see the thoughts running through his head, the war between what he wanted to believe and what she was telling him.

It wasn’t her place to push him one way or the other.

So, she didn’t.

“He seemed more angry than worried about me.” He murmured, a tautness and colour returning to his skin as his body language became more open.

Angry isn’t the word Nathalie would use. Detached? Strict? Stiff? Anger just sounded too uncontrolled for a man whose #1 skill was repressing his emotions into a fine steel. She sighed. “Your father doesn’t know how to talk to you. He doesn’t know how to be afraid in front of you. But he is afraid, Adrien. He’s just handling it the only way he knows how.”

Nathalie hesitated, then softened. “Fear and anger aren’t as different as people think. And sometimes… It’s easier to be angry than to admit you’re scared.”

She gave him a moment before continuing. “If you won’t believe that you worried him, will you believe that you worried me?” Her hands reached across the distance, landing on his forearm. She prayed that he could still see the woman who, once upon a time, he trusted his favourite toy to, he trusted the sanctuary of his toy box to. “That it was gut-wrenching to turn on the news and get a high definition image of you getting run through by a sword? That my… My s- My… My… My c-charge was…”

He returned her touch full force, clashing his hand over hers and running his fingers up her arm, urging her closer. His eyes drooped and, for a moment, she imagined Chat Noir’s ears flopping down. “I-I didn’t mean to, Nathalie.”

“I know.”

Adrien exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to where his other hand’s fingers curled over the edge of the table. “I just wanted to feel needed.” He muttered. “I’ve lived my whole life mooching off my parents' legacy, getting handed everything on a silver platter, and the one time I finally try to help out—” his voice wavered, frustration seeping through “—it all goes wrong.”

His grip tightened. “Can’t he see that I just want to stop being a burden on him? That I want to prove I’m worthy of being his son?” His voice dipped, shoulders hunching as he mumbled, “He’d replace me with Félix if he could.”

Nathalie arched an eyebrow. “Has your father actually said any of these things?”

“…Well. No.” Adrien hesitated. “But he implied it!”

These fucking two, I swear to God.

Nathalie let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Adrien, you are a teenager.” Her voice was firm but not unkind. “You’re supposed to mooch off your parents. You don’t know how to be an adult yet.”

Adrien scoffed, shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t do more.”

Nathalie studied him for a moment before leaning back, crossing her arms. “No matter what you think, Adrien, your father is the head of this household.” She spoke plainly, keeping her voice even. “You would be better off working with him instead of against him.”

There was no reply to that, just lips opened for a snarky response that never manifested. Instead, Adrien just sighed and popped another macaroon in his mouth. Conveniently, the macaroon perfectly prompted Nathalie for her next thought.

She rubbed her hands together, chipping away at the crumbs clinging to her fingers. “However, if you really want some responsibilities to prove yourself, how about you start off simple.” She suggested thoughtfully.

Adrien perked up, even if his brow laid heavy with confusion. The bait was set, now she just needed to hook him. “What do you mean?”

“The Dupain Bakery is thinking about hiring a young person to help them out part-time.” She explained, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s a job, no connection to your father, no chance of your getting grievously injured, and you get to earn money all for yourself.”

Hope sparked, but an uncertainty kept the fire dim. Adrien peered back at her. “Would Father even let me?”

If he knows what’s good for him. Nathalie said in her head.

“After you’ve served your punishment, he will.” Nathalie said out loud.

“I… I…” After a few moments of jaw wobbling, hope was finally allowed to anchor for the day, and Adrien’s face broke out into a bright smile. Before Nathalie could think on it, she found herself pulled into a hug. “Thanks, Nathalie. I’m sorry I called you a traitor.”

Trying to push back all the warm, fluffy feelings bubbling in her stomach, Nathalie cleared her throat. “You’ve called me worse.”

It felt too good for her, a softness and comfort she’d never deserve, an illicit vice that she shouldn’t be indulging in; but no shame could stop her from enjoying how fulfilling it was to see Adrien smile. Eventually, Adrien pulled away and pumped his fist into the air. Already Nathalie was missing the embrace.

“This is awesome!” He called out. “Do you think I’ll get to work with Marinette?”

And just like that, Nathalie allowed a small, teasing smirk to claim her lips. “You seem to like this Marinette girl a lot.” She tapped her chin, watching a new kind of nervous take over Adrien as he immediately moved on to avoiding eye contact. “Wait, is she the one you were asking me about a couple of months back?”

“…Maybe.”

Nathalie sighed. “That poor girl.”

“Hey!” Adrien protested.

But Nathalie wasn’t listening to him, she just let that thought settle in her mind. “Hm, being a fashion designer probably gives her some points in Gabriel’s book.”

Adrien was on his feet in seconds, lunging forward and defiling Nathale’s personal bubble.  “You cannot tell Father about this. I mean it!” He pleaded. “I already have enough problems with her without Father being an overprotective parent or, even worse, tries to play wingman.”

Nathalie tilted her head, the bemusement too strong to clear just yet. “Problems, you say?”

Bashful, and a little flushed, Adrien pulled back, hunching over and twiddling his thumbs. “W-Well, while I’m stuck in the house doing all these dumb chores, Marinette is out hanging around with this new guy.” His voice fell bitter. “Some stupid guitar guy called Luka, with the lamest hair colour in the world.”

It was adorable.

“Wow.” Nathale exclaimed. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” He protested, stomping his foot with an attempt at a withering look. An attempt that immediately failed when his panicked expression broke through the mask. He groaned and hissed. “Okay, I am so damn jealous right now. Luka and Nino are even going to perform at some club in front of the rest of our friends, and there’s nothing more romantic than watching a boy play for you!”

Nathalie covered her mouth, fingers desperately clamping down on her temptation to grin, but she managed to wait it out. At least until her ears caught the interesting implication. “Wait,” She spoke soft enough make Adrien feel safe. “how do you know all this?”

And from his safety, he spilled the beans easily. “Well, Nino’s been texting me about it.”

The peaceful trick feel, leaving the good old scowling Nathalie in his face, staring through narrowed eyes. “Texting the phone that’s been confiscated?”

“…No.”

“Adrien.”

“He’s been texting the backup phone Chloe bought me just in case.”

---

“Marinette, may I have a word with you?”

Her entire body froze up, just one finished step away from being out of the door and home free.

It had been two years since Marinette had last been told to stick around after class, an occasion that had been marked by a series of errors that resulted in Marinette’s hand being coated in glue… And some poor classmate’s hair. The good news was that it did grow back. The bad news was that girl would never forget the month she spent with a bald spot.

Alya caught her gaze from halfway down the hall, shooting her a teasing wink before abandoning her best friend to the classroom. With a snicker, and no rebuff to Marinette mouthing the word ‘traitor’, Alya disappeared into the crowd with Nino.

Stiffly, Marinette backed her way back into view of Mrs. Bustier’s desk, plastering on the polite smile of someone facing the police officer that just stopped them on the road. “Sure, Mrs. Bustier.” She squeaked. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

Desperately, Marinette racked her brain for anything she’d done lately that could be considered misbehaving. She was late to class a few times, but that was normal for her. She talked a little too much and too loudly to Alya? Okay, that was breaking the rules, but that wasn’t detention worthy. Oh no, what if Bustier found out about all the arts-and-craft equipment she ‘borrowed’ from the storage cupboard for a home project?

Her thoughts died to the sudden grave expression the teacher was given her, folding her arms over the desk to give Marinette her full attention. It was never a good sign when a teacher was giving you their full attention. “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

“Trouble? Me?” Marinette scoffed a little too quickly, a little too loudly and too much Marinette. She slid down the desk, arching her back to flex her forced smile. The perfect picture of cool and composed in Marinette’s mind. “Heh, sorry to say, but I don’t live an interesting enough life to be in trouble.”

By the way in which Bustier’s stare did not waver, it seemed that Marinette’s ploy was not very effective. “Marinette, this is the sixth time I’ve caught you distracted or sleeping through my class.”

Air made Marinette’s lips billow with a wet buzzing noise, the girl pulling her arms over her chest and shrugging. Isn’t that just what Marinette and most of the other kids do already?

“Okay, sorry about that, but I don’t think that’s anything to worry about. That’s just me getting caught up with my friends?” Her voice pitched up an extra octave or two as she shrugged. “Totally normal teenage stuff.”

Bustier sighed but remained firm in her voice. “It’s more than passing comments with your friends, even when Adrien’s here for you to stare at - Don’t give me that look, you’re not subtle – you still kept your eye on the ball.” She whipped out a pen from a spilled over cup, positioning it on the edge of her grip and pointing the back end at Marinette’s nose. “This is you staring off into space or walking into class looking like you’re about to collapse.”

Marinette blinked, her forced smile faltering. "W-Well, I’ve just been… busy?"

Bustier arched an eyebrow. "Busy with what, exactly?"

Marinette’s brain scrambled for a response. She could say schoolwork, but Bustier had already seen her struggling to stay awake in class, so that wouldn’t hold water. She could say designing, but then Bustier might suggest she cut back, and that wasn’t happening. She could say superheroing, but—oh, right, secret identity.

So, instead, she just stood there, mouth flapping like a fish out of water.

Bustier sighed, soft but firm. "Are you sure that this isn’t because of your recent injuries? Maybe you’ve returned to school too early."

Marinette found her next words coming out quick and sharp, like the lash of a whip. "Look, do I still turn in my work?" She didn’t intend for her voice to hit such a sour note, but she didn’t try to take it back.

Bustier blinked at the sudden shift. "Yes."

"Am I still paying attention in class?" Marinette continued quietly, with a hint of venom, pressing her fists int the desk.

Bustier hesitated. "For the most part, yes—"

"Are my grades suffering?"

A pause. Then, carefully, "…Not yet."

Marinette exhaled sharply, throwing her hands up. "Then I really don’t know why we’re having this conversation. It sounds like I’m doing everything I need to do. Hard work makes me look like a mess, but I’m still getting it done."

To be honest, she didn’t really know where the sudden burst of aggravation came from, just that she suddenly felt like she was wasting her time here and Bustier was forcing her to waste more. She did her work, saved Paris and gave nobody any grief; was it too much to ask to just be allowed to walk home and rest?

Bustier pressed her lips together, clearly choosing her next words with care. "Marinette, I’m not saying this to insult you. It’s just that you have a history of taking things too hard."

Marinette clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Oh great, here we go.

"I want to make sure that you’re not pushing yourself into an early grave," Bustier continued, "or doing anything dangerous."

That made Marinette pause, confusion overtaking her annoyance. "Dangerous?"

Bustier nodded, eyes scanning her carefully. "Many people your age, under all this pressure, can fall into some dangerous habits to take the edge off."

Marinette's face twisted in disbelief. "Wait—hold on—do you think I’m on something?"

Bustier raised her hands in a calming motion. "I’m not accusing you of anything, Marinette. I just want to be sure—"

"Oh my God." Marinette half-laughed, half-gasped. The audacity, the sheer audacity of Bustier to even think about levelling that at her. Yeah, Marinette was a bit of a weirdo at time, but she was honest, she was hard working, and she wasn’t a junkie. And she didn’t think it was egotistical to say that she earned the benefit of the doubt in that regard. "You think I’m popping pills or something?!"

"I never said that."

"But you implied it!" Marinette sputtered, voice rising.

Bustier sighed again, this time looking really tired. "Marinette, I’m your teacher. It’s my job to check in when I see a student struggling."

"I am not struggling! I am thriving! This is just my face!" Marinette threw up her hands. “For your information, the only thing I’m high on is life!”

Bustier hummed, her gaze unreadable. “If you say so.”

Marinette bristled. Oh, so now she was just humouring her? She crossed her arms tightly, nails digging into her sleeves. “I do say so.”

Bustier didn’t argue, but the look in her eyes—calm, patient, and slightly amused—somehow made Marinette even more irritated.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Can I go now?”

She wasn’t on anything. She wasn’t self-destructing. She was fine. Okay, sure, she was exhausted all the time, and yeah, maybe she was a little overwhelmed lately, but who wasn’t? That didn’t mean she needed a lecture from Bustier of all people.

Bustier’s reply was cut off by the notification chime on her phone. Her entire demeanour shifted as she made a quickly lunge to snatch the phone off the edge of the desk, looking down at its content with a frustrated frown. “Oh damn, another traffic jam? I‘m going to be late at this rate.”

Marinette found herself chuckling at the sudden shift in energy, leaning in with a teasing grin. “Ooooh, who’s that? You got a hot date or something?”

It felt good to be on the other end of the teasing for once.

“I’m helping someone with funeral arrangements.”

She instantly regretted everything.

“Holy crap, I’m… Uh sorry.” She mumbled, stumbling over every word.

“It’s alright.” Bustier said without a thought, a sad smile playing on her face as she waved Marinette off.  “I’ve had Phillip on my mind all day, God rest his soul. I suppose that’s why I’ve been so insistent on you.”

“Do you mean Phillip Vergo?”

Five feet of air was cleared that day when shock rocketed Marinette’s body to the stars. She landed in a stumble, nearly swallowing her tongue as she whipped around, pressing her back against the wall to find the last person she wanted to see today staring back at her.

Lila stood in the doorway, completely at ease, her expression smug in that subtle way that made Marinette’s blood pressure spike.

“Gah! Lila!” Marinette wheezed. “When did you get there?”

She tilted her head in a mimicry of innocence. “I’ve been here since you started screaming about being high on life.”

Marinette groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course you have.”

Lila cast her a single, withering glance, her lips twitching like she was barely restraining a laugh at Marinette’s expense, before shifting gears entirely. Her posture softened, her brows knit together in concern, and in one smooth motion, she stepped forward and thrust a bouquet of lilies into Bustier’s hands. “Anyway, I’m soooo sorry for your loss, Miss. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Bustier, who had barely had time to process the whiplash of Lila’s entrance, blinked down at the flowers. “Oh—Lila, that’s very kind of you.”

Marinette tensed, narrowing her eyes at the display. Something about that name was familiar, relevant even. Where had she heard it before- She hadn’t heard it; Ladybug had!

“Wait, isn’t Phillip Vergo a murder victim?” Marinette blurted out, realizing too late how rude the inquiry sounded.

“I believe so.” Bustier was calmer than Marinette expected, continuing on like it was a normal conversation, unhampered by the dower subject matter. “I don’t know much about the circumstances surrounding his death, only the tragedy of it happening on his engagement night.”

Bustier knew the victim of the, temporarily named, Heartbreaker Killer. This had to be some of Ladybug’s luck rubbing off on Marinette, a clue about the case being dropped into her lap if she was patient enough to explore it.

Surprisingly, it was Lila who picked up the questioning, though her tone was more measured, more caring; unlike Marinette’s too blind to see manners approach. “How do you know him?”

“Oh, we went to school together right here in Dupont.” Bustier lightened up a tad, pressing her hands together and letting out a nostalgic sigh. “Those days feel like a whole other lifetime. Back when he and Carlos were convinced that they were going to rule the world.”

“Carlos, huh?” Marinette muttered.

She chewed on that name for a moment before it hit her.

Carlos Menkin, the first victim. It had to be him; it was too much of a coincidence. There were two victims so far, and Marinette just found a connection between them. They went to school together. Did that mean the killer was someone related to their school days? A fellow student perhaps? If there was any time to get a personal motive for murder, it would be school time.

However, if that was true, and Bustier was friends with him too; did that mean that Bustier could be on the killer’s list?

Unfortunately, neither Marinette nor Lila were quick enough before Bustier pushed herself off her desk, gathering up her things to leave. “But enough dwelling on that, we all have places to be.” She rounded on Lila. “Was there anything you wanted from me?”

There were questions on her tongue, but none of them came to bare. Lila thought better of them, and it didn’t look like anything was gonna keep the woman there. “No, Miss, not at all. I came back to check on Marinette.” Marinette found herself needing to exercise a monumental amount of restraint when Lila chose that moment to sling her arm around Marinette’s shoulder. “I was oh so worried when I heard that Marinette was called back into class and decided to wait it out.”

Marinette stared at her through gritted teeth. “Well, I’m fine, you can go now.”

Without another word, Marinette spun on her heel and power-walked out the door, shoulders stiff and head held high, determined not to let the conversation rattle her. But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, Lila’s hand caught her arm.

There was no time for protests as Lila yanked her along with her. “Don’t be like that Mari, it’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to get in some girl time.” She giggled, forcing both of them to take off down the hall. “Come on!”

All too easily, Marinette was dragged, left to moan “Hey, where are you taking me!?” while she weakly slapped at Lila’s arm. Either Lila was stringer than she looked, or Marinette was really lacking in her normal form. Either way, Lila was enjoying herself too much for Marinette’s comfort.

“Just somewhere we can chat.”

And that’s how Marinette ended up shoved into an empty bathroom, cornered by the cunning liar who seemed to have it out for her, with any route of escape blocked off by the main threat. All in all, it was the perfect set up for a future crime scene and Marinette was already scrambling to find something she could use as a blunt instrument. But all Marinette could find was an empty corner to shrink into, unable to fight off her own fearful features.

Lila took one look at the panicked, trembling girl and laughed. “Geez, Mari, what’s got you so worked up?”

“You’re cornering me in an empty bathroom, there is no movie where that ends well.” Marinette stammering, her volume bouncing between growling and murmuring. “You’re gonna dunk me in the toilet, or splatter something on my shirt, or shank me or something!” She waved her arms about, pretending for a moment that she was wielding something more than air. “Get back, or I swear I’ll scream so loud that-”

Lila’s hand clamped down on Marinette’s mouth, amusement and annoyance battling for dominance in her eyes. “Oh my god, Mari.” She groaned. “Do you ever slow down?”

When Marinette’s energy dissolved into just glaring at the girl for this blatant personal space violation, Lila mercifully released Marinette’s lips. She tapped Marinette on the nose, a gesture of treating Marinette like a dumb, snot-nosed kid. “You should know me well enough by now; I can’t believe you think I would hurt you like this.”

She pulled back, taking in Marinette’s following eye roll with a giggle as she threw her arms out. “I live off of crowd work, there’s no point in putting on a performance if I have no audience.” Lila’s hand came up to cup her own chin, fingers strumming the edges to make a thoughtful expression. “This isn’t like the fashion contest.”

Marinette gaped, hand slapping the side of the sink as her apprehension was drowned out by offence. “You did sabotage me on purpose! I knew it.” Her hand lunged forward with a mind of it’s own, jamming an accusatory finger into Lila’s throat. “You’re a cheater and a liar, and I was right not to trust you.”

Lila caught Marinette’s finger on the third poke, drawing out a sigh at the girl’s ‘tiresome’ antics. “Yes, yes, congratulations and all, but can we stop talking about the past.”

Using her leverage on Marinette’s finger, Lila yanked the rest of Marientte’s arm in front of her, locking a confused Marinette in place as she leaned forward to peer into Marinette’s eyes. Marinette didn’t want Lila in the same building as her, much less having her so close that the two’s noses were almost touching.

Sufficiently awkward, Marinette squealed out. “What are you doing?”

“Bustier’s right, you are acting weird.” Lila’s eyes narrowed, not in amusement or judgement, just curiosity. “Are you really on something?”

Marinette’s instincts reacted without thought, surpassing her fear and her logic and skipping straight to shoving Lila Rossi back as hard as she could. “Fuck right off.”

Unfortunately for her ego, as hard as she could was still not enough to break Lila’s smug grin as she collided with a soap dispenser.

“That’s not a no.” She sang back.

Marinette clenched her jaw, gripping the edge of the sink to keep herself from lunging at Lila again. “Did you really just drag me away to try and get a drug lie you can spread about me?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to cause you grief.” Lila righted herself, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves like Marinette’s shove had been nothing more than a light breeze. “My mind’s too preoccupied with something else to focus on screwing with you.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Oh, what an honour.”

Lila pressed on with no acknowledgement of Marinette’s remark, busying her hands with fiddling with her hair strands. She stared into the bathroom mirror as she did so, humming and appraising herself. “I wanted to ask what you know about Dutch.”

A snigger escaped Marinette. “You know, if you want the guy’s autograph, he has a public address.”

That snigger died when Lila loomed over her, making Marinette feel like a garden gnome before an oak tree. “I don’t want anything from him; the man’s shady.” She stated simply, peering over her nails to observe Marinette. “I don’t trust him and, if you’re half as observant as I think you are, you don’t either.”

She wasn’t wrong, but Marinette wasn’t going to admit that. Instead, she turned her head to the side, scoffing indignantly. “Then what do you want?”

“Well, I was talking to Chloe-”

Already, Marinette could hear a migraine coming on. “What, are you two buddy-buddy now?”

“I went to talk to her about arrangements for the group hang out tonight” Lila shrugged.

An internal groan. Of course, Lila was invited too, why wouldn’t she? Was Marinette going to have to worry about this sort of ambush all night? Maybe t wasn’t too late to cancel and hide under her bed until her mother pulls her out.

Lila continued uninterrupted, taking on a ponderous look. “Mostly to confirm that Nino really did invite her, and she really did accept.”

Honestly, Marinette wanted any excuse to mock Lila, but found herself falling flat. She couldn’t make heads or tails of Chloe’s situation either. It had to be some sort of humiliation ritual from a bet or something. “I can’t believe it either. I’m starting to think we’re missing something, because Chloe’s been acting stra-”

Once more, Lila’s fingers invaded Marinette’s personal space and snatched away her voice. “My point is that the buzzy little bee complained that you were asking her weird questions about her mother’s delivery trucks, in relation to Dutch.”

Lips released. Marinette still glowered, even if slightly surprised that Chloe would bring up some late-night phone call to anyone. “She did?”

Lila sniggered from behind her fist. “Chloe’s very easy to get information out of if it’s framed as a way to bitch about you.” Smoothly, she wiped her fist over her cheek, transitioning to a thinker pose. “I wanted to know if you found anything interesting after that call. You were at Dutch’s base, weren’t you?”

Marinette debated her next move. Admitting anything to Lila felt like loading a gun and handing it to her but denying it outright would make her seem even more suspicious and that would make Lila motivated to find other ways to pester her. Of course, there was a little bit of ego that admitted how fun it would be to have something Lila wants and to deny her.

“Look, all I found is…”

That was a good question. What did she find? She found the trucks and then she- Then she…

Huh. She was drawing a blank on that one. There was a blurry mental image of feeling up the trucks. Then an image of Adrien making her feel nauseous as they climbed in the back. Then she was trapped in the office. And then with Dutch. Chat saved her, didn’t he? And then she was back in the truck. And then Dutch… And then Dutch…

Marnette suddenly felt sick, but she couldn’t tell why.

She scratched the back of her head, her voice quiet and meek. “Uh… I don’t remember. Huh.”

On any other day, she’d revel in leaving Lila Rossi unimpressed and disappointed. “Seriously?”

“It was a dramatic night, okay? Everything about it is fuzzy.” Marinette snapped. “There was something off about the trucks… And he was meeting someone important in his office…”

Lila scoffed, arms crossing as she leaned against the sink. “Great. You’re useless.”

Marinette let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, that doesn’t really sting when I don’t want to help.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care about Dutch anyway?”

“Because he’s wrapping the public around his finger, and quite honestly, I’m sick of it.” Lila flicked her hair over her shoulder, a sour twist to her lips. “Paris is my city, dear Marinette; and I won’t accept some rival con artist making me look like a chump.”

Marinette let out a short, incredulous snort. “This is rich—your ego is fuming that some old dude managed to con more people than you?”

Lila gave her a flat look.

“You know,” Marinette continued, smile growing, “it might not be my place to say this, but he’s so much more charming than you now that I think about it.” She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “I can see why you might feel threatened.”

Lila’s jaw tensed, but her smirk never wavered.

“Oh, Marinette.” She purred, stepping just a bit closer. “You really think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Marinette lifted a shoulder, grin not fading. “I try.”

“You know, I do enjoy it when you have some bite to you.” Lila hummed, eyes scanning Marinette as if she were sizing her up. Then, with a sudden shift, she leaned in slightly. Marinette’s immediate response was to yelp and shrink away from her, bracing like she was expecting a hit. Only, Lila’s smug, cheshire grin was more painful than any physical blow. “Pity that it’s stifled by your lack of spine.”

“I’m not scared of you…” Marinette whimpered fearfully from her worthless hiding spot.

“Try that again, but make it sound convincing.” Lila coo’d like she was talking to a baby, offering Marinette a delightfully patronizing pat on the cheeks before pulling away. “Anyway, I do have places to be. Do update me if you remember anything.”

Distance gave Marinette courage to squeal out. “Why would I tell you anything?”

Lila didn’t break stride, only showing Marinette her back and a sliver of her nauseatingly satisfied smile. “Because I am very useful to have as an ally.” With the giggle of a hyena, she brought her hands together. “Hell, I might even get you some details on Adrien if you’re a good enough girl. I’m told you’re used to living vicariously through others.”

Through gritted teeth, Marinette offered spite instead of resistance. “You’re a real creep sometimes, you know?”

“Not as creepy as whatever’s happening in your head right now.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Marinette gripping the sink with white-knuckled hands, heart hammering in her chest, and mind reeling with all the ways she should have handled that better.

Notes:

Chat Noir: You took everything from me.
Luka: I don't even know who you are.

In the next chapter, Chloe swears that she will not have a fun night out with Nino and his friends.

Next Time - House Of Joy:

“What are you even saying right now, Bro?” Nino ducked into a side passage of the club, a finger in his ear doing very little to block out the pounding music. “You’ve totally met Luka before.”

“No!” Adrien’s voice was loud, insistent and vying with the music for dominance. “I’ve never met the guy. He’s not even in our class.”

That didn’t sound right. It couldn’t be right. Luka had been a bro for months now, he was a solidified member of the group and Juleka’s older brother, there’s no way Adrien could have missed him. Nino posted social posts with his fellow musician all the time.

Unless…

Nino’s lips puffed out in a pout. Was Adrien not keeping up with Nino’s feed? After God knows how many cat memes Nino retweeted for Adrien?

“Really?” Nino clicked his tongue. “What about when Desperada crashed our party on the Liberty?”

Jagged Stone’s jilted ex-guitarist was a true menace with a gnarly wardrobe. Almost had Ladybug and Volpina pegged until Luka ended up tricking the akuma into turning Chat Noir into a sticker; Hawkmoth was not happy about that one.

There was a rush of scraping cloth and distant mutterings as Adrien very obviously hid his phone from his father, making some joke about the voices in his head (something about trying to remember a cat’s voice?) before loudly mopping the floor.

After a few seconds, Adrien’s voice was back in a low whisper. “I had to take a raincheck that day, remember?”

“What about the Captain Hardock incid-” Nino stopped himself right out of the gate, snapping his fingers and groaning. “Oh wait, your father kept you back then as well.”

He glanced over to where the rest of the gang were huddled around a table, throwing out a thumbs up to a curious Marinette looking over at him. After his reassurance, she turned back to cuddling up to Luka on the sofa, gushing over his guitar.

“That was a bummer, Luka looked stoked when I told him about how good you would be on a keyboard.” Nino ran his fingers through his hair. “What about-”

Adrien’s voice was an eruption of noise that nearly made Nino drop the phone. “You were literally with me when that happened.”

“Damn, I can’t believe you two have just kept missing each other. It’s wild.” Nino laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two should really meet after you’ve finished with your dad’s lame punishment. Assuming you can pry Marinette off him, of course.”

Adrien was quiet. For some reason, Nino could imagine his eyes twitching. “Bro? You still there?”

“I was just… Laughing… Over how funny your quip was.” Strange, Adrien’s ‘amusement’ sounded more like a bitter growl. “I mean, can you imagine? Marinette. On Luka. Stuck. Why… Why… You should change your career to stand up, Nino.”

Chapter 39: Heartbreaker: House of Joy

Summary:

The Gang go clubbing, Chloe's plan doesn't go as planned, and a certain rat-faced prick activates Lila's protective instincts.

Chloe’s closet was designed with a built-in spotlight at the back, and a small, raised platform at the door, ensuring the perfect dramatic flair of a runway model when she emerged from it. Usually, this was to her credit, but on a day like this, it felt like it went against what she was planning.

She rocked up the edge of the miniature stage in what the rich would consider ‘punk’; i.e. a ruffled denim jacket, ripped jeans, a base-ball cap and a pair of sneakers that were actually affordable. Her hip popped, swinging her body to pivot on her heels and cock her head back. “Alright, Sabrina, what about this?”

Her audience, Sabrina and several stuffed animals, erupted into applause. Sabrina jumped to her feet cheering. “Whoa, you look stunning! Absolutely drop dead gorgeous.”

In the face of all this adoration and praise, all Chloe could do was grit her teeth, rip the cap off her head and throw it down on the ground before angrily stomping it.

“God damn it!” She cried, throwing her head back with a whimper and covering her eyes with her forearm. “I’m too beautiful.”

The ‘woo’s lowered to a stutter, Sabrina pulling her hands into her stomach and shoot Chloe a sheepish grin. “That’s a bad thing?”

“It is when I’m trying to look unattractive and insignificant!” Chloe groaned, dropping to her knees, the metaphorical pain too much for her poor heart to handle. “I can’t just show up to Nino’s gig shining like a diamond, otherwise everyone will notice me and think I’m trying to stand out to Nino.”

Sabrina knew that she had to be diplomatic when talking the delicate subject of Chloe and matters of the heart, approaching her best friend much like her father would approach a hostage situation. Calm, composed and non-threatening. Keeping her hands visible and maintaining eye contact.

“Chlo, I think you’d have better luck trying to get your mother to wear burgundy.” Reassuring smile, bowing the head submissively, gesture vaguely to a few assurances. “Nino’s already said that you’d be hot even if you were wearing a rubbish bag.”

Chloe belted out a throaty, aggravated groan that came straight from the stomach. Her body fell flat on her back, fists pumped into the air, reaching for some form of comfort. “I don’t know how Dupain-Cheng pulls off the unremarkable and frumpy look 24/7. It’s, like, the sole talent she has.”

“I don’t really get it.” Sabrina sighed, shuffling over to side beside Chloe’s dismayed form. “You’ve never fussed over your outfits like this before. You’ve been rocking basically the same wardrobe for over a year now, as long as it was gold and expensive it worked.”

Chloe leaned up to pat Sabrina on the cheek. “My dear Sabrina, you still have so much to learn.”

With a grunt, she pulled herself to her feet and stormed back into her closet, her earlier despair repressed like a sardine tin. Clothes were ripped from hangers and hurled to the floor with reckless abandon as Chloe chattered to herself like a woman on the verge. “Okay, okay, okay — We need something lowkey but killer. Effortlessly cool, effortlessly cool… What screams ‘I’m not trying but you’ll think about me for a week’?”

Sabrina meekly raised a hand. “Um… A graphic tee and jeans?”

Chloe whirled on her like she’d suggested a burlap sack. “I’m trying to be memorable, Sabrina, not a background character in a coming-of-age movie!” She dove back into the racks. “I need… Mystique. Like, ‘ooh, who’s that girl who’s definitely not here for a boy but also radiates natural charisma and tragic allure?’”

“…Tragic allure?”

“Yes! Like I’m secretly haunted by my past but too cool to talk about it.” Chloe yanked out a leather jacket with metal studs, considered it, and then flung it aside. “Like, ugh, I just happened to show up at this underground event, my dad doesn’t get me, but it’s whatever, pass me the aux cord.”

Sabrina shifted uncomfortably. “I thought you and your dad were really close?”

Chloe froze mid-toss, then spun, eyes blazing. “Not the point!” She hurled another piece of clothing. “The point is I need Nino to look at me and think, ‘Wow, I’ve severely underestimated how cool and desirable Chloe is, and I’ll never be in the same league as her.’ You know?”

“…Or you could just talk to him like a normal person?”

Chloe gasped. “What am I, insane?!”

Sabrina flinched. “Sorry, sorry!”

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling through gritted teeth. “Look, Sabrina. If I just go up to Nino like normal, he’s not going to see me as anything other than Chloe Bourgeois, rich girl desperate for a thrill who he might even think he has a chance with, but probably forget about.”

She huffed dramatically. “But if I show up looking like the kind of girl he’d write an indie song about, then I’ll leave an impression. And then—bam! He’ll never get me out of his head.” Suddenly, Chloe let out a disgusted sneer, holding out a green jacket as if it were hazardous material. “Urg, how did this abomination get in my wardrobe? I abhor the colour green.”

“…So, your plan is to emotionally haunt him?”

Chloe threw herself onto her bed, dramatically clutching a pillow to her chest. “Yes! Like… Like when he’s trying to fall asleep at night, he’ll keep thinking about me in that one cool lighting angle from the party. Or—or he’ll start randomly hearing songs that remind him of me, and he won’t even know why!”

Sabrina stared, visibly overwhelmed. “That sounds… Kind of sadistic?”

“It’s romantic!” Chloe insisted, rolling onto her stomach. “If I play my cards right, he’ll think he’s the one catching feelings. That’s the genius of it. I’m in control. I’m not some desperate, flustered, girly-girl chasing after him like a commoner. I’m…” She waved her hand like she was sculpting air. “A muse. An unattainable, enigmatic muse. When I have all the power, he won’t be able to use my feelings against me to make me feel lame. I’ll make him feel lame! And that’s why it’s killing me that I can’t get my look right.”

Sabrina tapped her fingertips together, hesitant. “I’m just saying, this whole crush thing is making you ac-”

“Oh. My. God. You can’t just say the word like that!” Chloe bolted upright, a wild, betrayed look in her eyes. “It makes my heart hurt just hearing it. We agreed, we only refer to this terrible curse in code.”

Sabrina flinched back. “I’m starting to think that you’re overthinking this cr- Uh… Situation.”

“You’re underthinking it!” Chloe snapped, burying her face into her pillow. “How can you not see how huge this is? I’m getting flustered, Sabrina. Flustered. Do you know how often that happens to me?”

Sabrina opened her mouth—

“Never!” Chloe answered for her. “I’m never flustered. I don’t get flustered. And especially not by some nobody.”

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve never had a ‘situation’ before, right?” Sabrina tried carefully. But then, Chloe didn’t respond right away, so Sabrina pushed on, leaning on the bed frame. “Right?”

Pulling back from her pillow shelter, Chloe curled her lips up in indignance, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course I’ve been… You know, to boys before.” Chloe flapped a hand dismissively. “That’s why I know that this is bad, because those never felt like…  Like this!”

She’d dated a guy once, son of some oil tycoon. Very rich, very boring, but her mother liked him so she had a few public dates where it was clear neither of them wanted to be there. Another guy was a real looker, could have been a model for her mother one day; but God did it feel like he was afraid of her. Always treated her like he was going to break her or make her mad.

Her best ‘relationship’ outing had been an ambitious guy, always spoke his mind, always argued with her, checked all the right boxes to at least being notable; then he broke it off because she was too blonde and stupid for him. Naturally, Chloe’s response to the break up was to drop a dumbbell on his foot.

So yeah, she’d liked boys before, but she never cared to remember more than how much of a  letdown they were.

“Like what?”

Like she was an idiot. Like she cared about more than his looks. Like she cared about him period. Like she had nothing to gain from having him. Like she’d want to see him again for anything more than the sake of it.

“Like, you know. Stuff.”

Sabrina rubbed the back of her neck, knowing she was swimming in uncharted territory for Chloe. She tried to be gentle, reaching up to pat Chloe on the knee. Chloe scowled, but didn’t scream, so Sabrina took it as progress. “Chlo, putting your problems into words instead of just vibes is how you start understanding them.”

“Like it hurts more than my pride not to have that with him.” She scoffed, shoving her hair back. “It’s so stupid. Some dumb boy I picked on for two years shouldn’t have this much power over me.”

“Then can’t you just…” Sabrina squinted. “Get that with him?”

“I can’t!” Chloe shrieked.

“Are you worried about Alya? She already rejected-”

All energy surged forth to bring Chloe bounding forward on the tip of her knees, shooting Sabrina a deadly glare. “I am not jealous of fucking Alya.”

Sabrina looked down at her knees, reeling back. “O-Okay, Chloe.”

“I just can’t!” Chloe threw her hands up. “You think I don’t know how this looks? I’m Chloe Bourgeois, for god’s sake. Nino’s like… One of them. He’s cool in that, like, grossly authentic way, and he’s friends with all those normal kids who hate my guts. And even if he did think I was kinda cute or whatever, the second his friends found out he liked me, they’d ruin it.”

Sabrina frowned. “I mean… Nino doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d care what other people think.”

“Oh, please.” Chloe scoffed Was Sabrina really that naïve after all Chloe and taught her? “Sure, he might think I’m not that bad now, but that’s just ‘cause he’s been away from the pack. The second they remind him that I’m Chloe Bourgeois, Worst Person Alive™, it’s over. He’ll drop me like expired caviar.”

“…So, you’re sabotaging yourself because you’re scared?”

Chloe’s mouth opened—froze—then snapped shut. “…It’s not sabotage,” she muttered sourly.

Sabrina gave her a pointed look.

Chloe groaned, flopping back against the bed with the back of her hand dramatically pressed to her forehead. “You don’t get it, Sabrina. Imagine what my mom would say if she found out.” She mimicked Audrey’s nasal, cutting tone, “‘My daughter? Pining? Over a boy who doesn’t even have designer headphones?’ She’d say I was an utter disappointment! I’d probably be exiled, disowned, and have my allowance cut.”

Sabrina winced. “…Okay, I get the allowance part, but—”

“It’d be social suicide!” Chloe threw her arms out. “I mean, have you seen the kind of people Nino hangs out with? Alya? Dupain-Cheng?” She spat the name like it burned her tongue. “My mother would never let me hear the end of it. ‘Oh, darling, have you finally decided to try blue-collar dating? Should I buy you a bread-making kit to fit in?’”

Sabrina shifted awkwardly. “…Would it really be that bad?”

“Yes!” Chloe barked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “God, my mom would probably start making ads about it. ‘My daughter is so charitable, dating a normie. Truly the face of modern compassion.’” She physically gagged at the thought. “And that’s if she doesn’t just cut me off entirely. Like, ‘Oh, Chloe, I thought I raised you to have standards. I can’t even look at you.’”

Audrey would think Chloe pathetic. The woman has no remorse for the insults she cuts down Andre with when they fight, while Chloe was actually starting to feel bad for Nino when she thinks she might have gone too far. Since when did Chloe have a ‘too far’ line!?

She jumped up again, clutching her hair. “Gah, why is this so frustrating!? I’m not supposed to feel things like this! I’m supposed to be the Queen Bee! The one who makes everyone else feel the crappy, dumb, weird emotions, not the other way around!” She scrambled off the bed, pacing like a caged animal. “I have to nip this in the bud, Sabrina. I have to make sure Nino never ambushes me with an invite again so I can go back to being the fabulous, carefree diva I know I am—without any of this guilt!”

“That’s it! I’ll just crank up the Chloe to max settings!” Chloe’s face lit up like a mastermind piecing together an evil plot. “I’ll be so insufferable that nobody, not even Nino, will ever want to see my face again. No more warm fuzzy feelings in the hallway, no more awkward ‘he smiled at me, I died a little’ moments, nothing! It’ll be like it never happened!” She clapped her hands, delighted. “Oh, I’m gonna slay. I’ll show up in, like, a full mink coat and sunglasses and treat everyone like my personal waitstaff. I’ll get them begging for me to leave.”

“…Including Nino?” Sabrina asked hesitantly.

“Especially Nino,” Chloe declared. “I’ll make sure he sees me being so unbearable that he’ll never even consider liking me. That way, I can just go back to being me and not… whatever this is.”

Sabrina’s hands twisted in her lap. “…Oh.”

Chloe frowned. “What’s with the horse face, Sabrina? This is a great plan. Be excited.”

“It’s just…” Sabrina bit her lip. “…I-I kinda liked the idea of us hanging out with everyone tonight.” Her voice was small. “Like, I know they don’t like us much, but… I dunno. I thought it’d be fun to just… Go out with friends for once. And not, like, all the people we pretend to tolerate at your parents’ fancy parties.”

Chloe’s smile froze. “…Why do you need all those losers, Sabrina?” She said, carefully controlled. “You have me.”

Sabrina’s stomach sank. “Y-Yeah. You’re right, Chloe.” She tried to sound cheerful. “I’m being dumb.”

“…I mean…” Chloe’s voice wobbled. She clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her arms. “…I guess I could figure out a different plan.”

---

Marinette felt pretty confident stepping under the streetlight, tugging the collar of her jacket forward into a daring, sharp edge. Enough so she shot Alya a cheeky smile and double finger guns. “How do I look?”

Alya demolished all that confident instantly with a chuckle. “Like you just rifled through your mother’s junk drawer.”

Marinette turned on her heel with a noise between a squeal and a squeak. “…Screw this, I’m going back to the bakery.”

However, her shoulder was easily caught by Alya’s hand, dragging the poor girl looking for an excuse back into the spotlight. Marinette threw her head back and groaned at the futility of it all. Why was she here? Why did she dress up just so Lila and/or Chloe could make her feel like crap and her intrusive thoughts could torture her?

“Nu-uh, Mari.” Alya tsked, pulling the grumpy girl into her chest. “You agreed to go for a night on the town for once, and I’m not letting you back out of it.” She then proceeded to move behind Marinette and push the girl forward while Marinette’s rigid body dug her heels into the street. Unfortunately, the heel strength of a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl was not enough to crack concrete or contest Alya’s longer arms.

But damn it, she made Alya work for it.

“Clubbing isn’t really my scene.” Marinette moaned, pushing her hands over her cheeks. “Are you sure I should be here?”

Alya scoffed, still steadily shoving Marinette toward the venue like a stubborn shopping cart. “Girl, you need this more than anybody.”

“I really don’t,” Marinette whined, feet skidding uselessly against the pavement. “I could be home right now, curled up in bed, watching that baking show where the host yells at everyone.”

“Oh, so that’s what you want?” Alya gasped in mock outrage, planting a hand to her chest. “You’d rather listen to some angry British man scream at cake than come support your friend’s musical debut?”

“Why did you phrase it like that?” Marinette groaned, red already climbing her face.

“Because I know guilt is the only language you respond to.” Alya shot her a smug grin over her shoulder.

Marinette’s glare could’ve wilted flowers. “I hate you.”

“Nino’s already gutted enough that Adrien can’t be here,” Alya added, booping Marinette on the nose before transitioning to grabbing and squeezing said nose. “Besides, you are not leaving me alone with Chloe.”

“If she even shows up.” Marinette muttered hopefully.

Alya snorted. “And miss the chance to bully you and boo Nino during a live performance?”

“You do realize that makes me want to come even less, right?” Marinette deadpanned.

“Ah, but if no one’s there to make sure Chloe behaves, then Nino’s night will be ruined,” Alya gasped with a dramatic whimper, wrapping her arms around Marinette and pulling her tight until the girl was left to wriggle uncomfortably in Alya’s unnatural grip. “And that would make us terrible friends, wouldn’t it?” She leaned in, her voice solemn. “It is our duty as his and Luka’s friends, to ensure this evening goes smoothly.”

Marinette groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Oh great. We’re babysitters.”

“Kickass babysitters.” Alya corrected proudly, releasing Marinette from her hold.

The ‘House of Joy’ was a fairly popular destination despite being so out of the way. It took up an entire street corner at the top of a hill, making it so you could see it’s neon glow peak above the horizon as you approached. The building rose high and stretched far, the signs hooked around its corners opening outwards like wings, open arms to welcome the clientele.

The entrance was a wide arc designed to look like an open mouth stuck in the midst of joyful laughter, a comically large nose reaching out to the start of the road as a makeshift roof. Fixed atop the nose was the neon pink letters of the establishment’s name, backed by flashing silhouette of dancing bodies.

It wasn’t hard to find Nino at the entrance, his hand wildly waving them over. Though admittedly, without his signature cap, Marinette had to do squint at him a couple of times to confirm that it was him. “Hey guys, over here!” He called out.

He and Luka emerged from the sea of people just as the girls reached them. Luka did it smooth, hands still in his pockets as he expertly slid between elbows and hips. Nino was just kind of spat out, his foot getting stuck partway between two knees and causing him to stumble straight past Marinette.

With holding their snorts, Alya and Marinette managed to catch him by the back of his coat and yank him upright before he spun out into the road. He bounced back with ease, falling into their joined arms and throwing his hands behind his head, trying hard to pretend that it was all exactly as planned.

If it wasn’t Nino’s big day, the two would be so damn tempted to drop his ass.

Instead, they gracefully pushed him back to his feet and let him stand up beside Luka, looking all-to-pleased with himself as he tugged on his dark green ensemble.  Coincidentally, this gave Marinette time to ogle observe Luka in his crisp grey shirt, with enough top buttons undone to expose the corner of his pectorals – and sat loose enough on his frame to tease his muscles instead of giving the game away.

It was enough to pain Marinette’s cheeks crimson, but she managed to keep herself from spiralling and look him in the eye. She immediately regretted it, as he was staring back at her the entire time and clearly enjoyed the attention, even being cheeky enough to shoot her a wink.

Alya broke up the unseen tension by diving in between them, hooking her arm around each other them and pulling them closer. “Damn, you two are dressing up nice today!”

Luka’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Nino for some extra detail he was missing. After turning up nothing, he looked down at Alya, confused. “Nino’s literally just wearing a button up shirt?”

“And it’s the one without stains on it.” Marinette corrected. “This is fancy for him.”

Nino pouted, drooping over Alya’s shoulders. “Way to bring a guy down, Mari.”

Mercilessly, Marinette just grinned back at him, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Gotta take you down a peg while I still can, before you become a big star and get an ego the size of Gabriel Agreste’s forehead.”

“It’s one gig, Mari.” Nino rolled his eyes.

Luka leaned over, his free hand shooting out to drag Marinette into the impromptu group hug. “Our first gig, you mean.” He boasted, his other hand flicking the back of Nino’s ear. “Unless you’re planning to bounce after we rock this joint.”

Marinette nodded from her position now squeezed between Alya’s forehead, Nino’s shoulder and Luka’s hand. “You should listen to Luka. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Nino smirked, cocking his head as the group untangled. “Just because he regurgitates fortune cookies all the time doesn’t mean he’s wise.”

“That hurts, Nino,” Luka gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “I also steal motivational quotes from obscure indie singers. Thank you very much.”

“…See?” Marinette gestured frantically, her voice an octave too high. “He’s wise.”

“He’s a walking Tumblr blog,” Nino shot back.

Luka grinned, pointedly ignoring Nino as he looked at Marinette. “You look great tonight, by the way.”

“Oh, really?” Marinette squeaked, desperately trying to play it cool. “I-I wasn’t really trying or anything, but if you like it, I guess I j-just gotta be that good.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re a natural.”

“I-I try.” Marinette laughed nervously, her hand scrubbing at the back of her neck. “…Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Sure I am.” Luka shrugged easily, his smile as laid-back as ever. “But that’s gonna get drowned out by how loud you guys are cheering us on.”

Marinette instantly perked up, her nerves momentarily forgotten. “Oh, don’t worry, I came prepared.”

“…Prepared how?”

“I brought a megaphone.”

There was a pause. Luka’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“What?” Marinette grinned, patting her purse proudly. “It’s called being prepared.”

Luka shook his head, laughing. “You’re one crazy lady, Marinette.”

“And you’re one underrated musician, Luka.” Marinette fired back, managing an ounce of confidence. “We’re both just being practical.”

“You know…” Alya mused towards Nino, thought Marinette could just catch it. “Maybe it’s good that Adrien couldn’t make it tonight. He’d be so jealous.”

Nino, who was in the middle of staring over Alya’s shoulder, distracted, only idly responded to her with a throw away. “Jealous of what?”

“N-Nevermind that!” Marinette practically screeched with the tips of her ears burning crimson.

Nino, thankfully, decided to break the moment before Marinette combusted. “Hey, have you guys seen Chloe yet?”

“Trust me, Nino.” Alya drawled, still side-eyeing Marinette’s blush. “If Chloe arrives, you won’t need us to tell you.”

“Right, right.” Nino laughed, but there was an odd, flickering glance toward the crowd before his shoulders slumped. Why did he almost look disappointed?

“I still can’t believe you actually want her here.”

He held up his hands. “I’m telling you, ‘Nette, Chloe can actually be kinda cool when she drops the brat act.”

“Okay, but you see how that’s not really a compliment when the brat act is 95% of her life, right?” Marinette fired back, crossing her arms.

“She’s got you there.” Luka snorted.

“Can you please just give her a chance?” Nino sighed, clasping his hands together and peering over his knuckles with his widest, shiniest puppy-dog eyes. “For me?”

Marinette raised a skeptical brow. “…Nino. I have been giving her a chance for two years.” But she folded after a few more seconds, groaning under the great weight of the journey she was about to embark on. “But sure. Fine. I’ll give her an extra one, for you.”

“You’re too good for this world.”

“Damn right, I am.” Marinette grinned. Truly, she was going above and beyond with her friend duties. She should get an award, hopefully with Chloe’s stupid, horrified face carved into it.

The group parted a little to have their own little conversations, Alya and Nino splitting off to greet some familiar classmates entering the club. Marinette hung around Luka, sitting herself down on a bin top to watch him as he scanned the crowd. Most likely, looking for the blonde heiress that all the fuss was about.

It only just occurred to Marinette that Luka had never had the displeasure of meeting Chloe before, he was completely unprepared for the frustration ahead. Marinette almost felt bad for him, but there was nothing she could do but pass the word along. She waved him over, starting off with a teasing grin to match his curious one.

 “I’m just warning you, Luka.” She began, propping her elbow on her knee. “I know you’re a patient guy, but Chloe will test you.”

Luka let his head drop slightly, brows raised in incredulity. “I’ve dealt with Bob Roth, how bad she can be?”

Marinette waved her finger about. “Don’t tempt fate, Luka.”

There was an ease to talking to Luka, an air of calm that was soft on Marinette’s skin. She found it strange. After all, she was fully aware that she was attracted to the boy, and panicking over people she had affection for was as natural to Marinette as breathing. Yet, she could talk to him quite easily, bar a few stuttering distractions when he blatantly flirts back with her.

Maybe that was the reason itself, she knew that he was attracted to her too. She spluttered and failed around Adrien, even after getting to know him, because there was always that ambiguity of the line between Adrien being nice and being interested that she feared crossing. Luka made it a point to never be that subtle, he was open and direct with her. In that sense, she’d made more progress with Luka in only a month or two than she had with Adrien in half a year. That had to be a sign, right?

Her hesitation made her feel slightly guilty, that she was wasting Luka’s time when both parties were clear in wanting more. Lord knows that Luka had the patience of a saint to put up with her sometimes. She’d flirted with the idea of asking Luka out many times, but had yet to convince herself that it was what she should do. Not for any logical reason, not even for fear of rejection or awkwardness, it was just something holding her back.

And she would die before she admitted that said ‘something’ had cat ears and a bell.

Luka was shuffling over to her side now, his eyes narrowed in thought as they swept over the crowd, homing in on Nino once again. “Nino’s talked about this Chloe girl a few times.”

“Yeah, she’s a real nasty piece of work. Bullied us hard the past few years.” Marinette groaned, leaning back and kicking her legs up. “Then Nino gets stuck being her slave for a week and suddenly he’s acting like she’s reformed. I know he’s just that sort of guy, but it’s weird to see.”

Luka hummed, his thumb lazily running over the edge of his pocket as his eyes tracked Nino weaving through the crowd. However, as she spoke, he found himself turning sharply to her, his eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, so they’re not…”

She tilted her head back, confused. “Not what?”

“I almost thought they were dating with how he talked about her sometimes.”

Silence fell between them. Marinette stared at him intently, so intently that the usually cool as ice Luka seemed to shrink under her eyes, looking side-to-side in discomfort.

Only to be startled by a sudden explosion of laughter from Marinette. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as a series of snorts and giggles escaped her, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“W-what’s so funny?” Luka asked, a bemused smile creeping up his face.

Marinette tried — really tried — to contain herself, but every time she looked at Luka’s genuinely confused face, she lost it all over again. “Hahaha— oh my god— hahahaha— Nino and Chloe?”

“…Yeah?” Luka’s smile faltered slightly. “I mean, he does talk about her a lot.”

“Pfff-HAHAHA!” Marinette slapped the side of the bin, wheezing. “O-oh my god, no— Luka, sweetie, I promise you; Nino barely tolerates her most of the time. If she wasn’t actively bullying us for years, she was ignoring our existence entirely. There is no way he’s into her.”

“…Huh.” Luka’s eyebrows knit together, his eyes darting back to Nino like he was trying to solve a math problem. “I dunno. He sounds pretty fond of her when he talks about her.”

“HAHAHAHA— ohhhhhh, you sweet summer child.” Marinette wiped tears from her eyes, still grinning like a maniac. “That’s just Nino being Nino. He’s like that with everyone. You could literally punch him in the face and he’d still compliment your technique.”

“…Huh.” Luka still didn’t look entirely convinced, which only made Marinette laugh harder.

“Trust me, Luka. If Nino and Chloe ever became a thing, I would personally walk into the Seine and stay there.”

Luka shrugged, his grin turning a little sly. “You laugh, but love is a magical thing, it can cross any boundaries.”

Marinette scoffed, still catching her breath. “That’s a lot of boundaries we’re talking here.” She jabbed her thumb toward Nino, who was currently trying to untangle himself from Alya after she put him in a friendly headlock. “Nino and Chloe? Ha, that’s absolutely insane. How would that even work? What would they even see in each other?”

Luka tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “I dunno. Maybe Nino would admire Chloe’s confidence.”

Marinette’s entire face scrunched up like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Confidence? You mean blatant, delusional superiority complex?”

He snorted. “Okay, fair, but… Maybe Chloe would like Nino’s sense of humor.”

“Which she’d immediately call ‘low-brow’ and then demand he never speak to her again.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “She’s the type of girl to think anyone who laughs at fart jokes is ‘beneath her.’”

Luka raised a finger. “But! Nino does have a taste for the finer things in life — like his music. Maybe that’s where they’d bond.”

“Ohhh, yes, the heiress to the Bourgeois fortune and the teenage DJ living off mixtapes.” Marinette snorted. “A true power couple, those two.”

Luka laughed, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, you can’t deny opposites attract sometimes.”

“Yeah, like magnets,” Marinette shot back. “And half the time, magnets repel each other.”

“Pfft, you’re so pessimistic about this.” Luka teased, folding his arms. “I’m just saying, stranger things have happened.”

Marinette pointed at him with the most deadpan stare she could muster. “If Nino and Chloe ever hook up, I’ll eat my own shoe.”

Luka grinned. “You promise?”

“With ketchup.”

Suddenly, a wave of aggravated groans and mutter swear words passed over the crowd, bodies scuttling to the side like they were avoiding the flood. Before she even came into view, Marinette could already hear Chloe’s loud entrance, forcing her way through the crowd and barking down anyone in her way with sneers and pre-prepared insults.

“Ooo, speak of the devil.” Marinette rolled her eyes, suddenly desiring more than anything else to slip into the bin and hide amongst the rotten food and wrappers.

As expected, Chloe swaggered onto the scene like she owned everything present. White gogo boots pushed her to tower over the peasantry, flaunting her plush green skirt that fed into a dark undershirt and a murky green jacket. Topped all off with her hair now bundled up and buried under a white beanie that looked weird on her yet still managed to work.

Marinette would give Chloe credit; she really could make anything look good on her.

Marinette hated that she had that thought, like it personally betrayed her entire moral code. Ugh, she could be dressed in a literal garbage bag and I’d still have to admit she looked runway ready. Gross.

Luka leaned toward Marinette. “Well… She’s got style. That’s something, right?”

“Don’t encourage her.” Marinette grumbled, glaring daggers as Chloe strutted forward like she was making a grand entrance at Paris Fashion Week. “She doesn’t need a bigger ego.”

As Chloe passed by, her sharp eyes immediately clocked Marinette. A sneer curled on her lips as she slowed her strut, and Marinette braced herself for the impending insult like a soldier on the battlefield.

“Yes, yes, your eyes are still working.” She proclaimed, raising her hands high, a monarch dictating to the rest of her kingdom from her balcony. It was only from this pose that Marinette could spot Sabrina hiding behind Chloe, adorned in a simple crop top and jeans combo. “I’ve decided to bless you all with my presence after all.”

Alya pretended to check her watch, groaning. “Wow, couldn’t even make it past the one second mark before being insufferable.”

Chloe didn’t break her stride, lunging forward to get in Alya face as she smirked at her. “And still I can’t beat your record of being unable to make it past the birthing phase before being insufferable.”

Marinette murmured to Luka. “This is a trainwreck waiting to happen.” However, as she came back, her eyes caught Chloe’s jacket and the confusion attached to it. “Wait a minute, are you wearing green? I thought you hated green.”

Chloe jumped, and Marinette knew immediately that she was at an advantage. “I do.” She began to splutter. “It’s an utterly gawdy colour. But I supposed that if I was going to be forced to-”

Nino swooped in and saved her from whatever she was failing to admit that embarrassed her, catching her by the arms (which of course gave Chloe even more of a jump), tugging on the fine material with the eye of a child seeing something for the first time. “Hey, you’re repping the team colours!” He cheered, making the other notice how both Luka and Nino shared the same colour scheme with primary green and dark colours. “Nice.”

“I am?” Chloe stood there momentarily stunned for a second, even looking to Marinette for some hint on how to respond. But as quick as it came, it went, leaving behind only Chloe stuttering over a taunt. “Of course, I am. Even if it looks so unfashionable.”

“What are you talking about? You look great.” Nino said with his full chest, clearly catching Chloe off guard. “Like cozy and everything.”

Whatever she was planning, it was clearly going awry as Chloe came to a stand still, unable to work her jaw correctly for a few minutes. Eventually, she calmed herself down from what impotent rage was brewing behind those bratty eyes and ripping her eyes away from him.

“W-Well, if you insist.” She huffed with a soft edge, crossing her arms over her chest.

The awkward silence lingered just long enough to become tangible, heavy like fog settling over a battlefield. Marinette could practically see Chloe’s internal struggle — she wanted to lash back, to regain her composure, but Nino’s unflinching and genuine compliment had blindsided her. The sheer audacity of him, treating her like a person instead of a menace.

Marinette couldn’t help herself. She leaned slightly toward Luka and murmured, “Is she malfunctioning?”

Luka, grinning wide, whispered back, “I think you broke her.”

It didn’t last forever, of course. Chloe managed to reboot, snapping herself back to her usual bravado like a rubber band. She tossed her hair and scoffed, though the pink still lingered in her cheeks. “Obviously, I look amazing. I always do. I could wear a potato sack and it would be Paris Fashion Week worthy.”

“That’s true.” Nino shrugged, completely unfazed. “But, like, the green still suits you. Makes you look chill.”

“Ha! As if. I don’t do chill.” Chloe spat the word like it personally offended her. “Chill is for people who can’t handle being fabulous.”

“Eh, I dunno. You seem kinda chill right now.”

Chloe’s jaw practically unhinged. “I do not!”

Alya, fully invested now, pointed aggressively toward Chloe. “Okay, hold up. Did Chloe just brush off a compliment?”

Marinette blinked, equally bewildered. “And… not take the opportunity to brag about herself?”

Alya spun around, grabbing Sabrina by the shoulders with all the urgency of a crime show detective. “Sabrina, be honest with me. What is Chloe planning?”

Sabrina flinched under the spotlight. “Uhm… To have a fun night?”

Alya’s eyes narrowed. “So, she’s planning a prank.”

“What?! No! That’s not what I—”

“Uh-huh. Classic misdirection. Got it.” Alya pulled out her phone, already typing something. “We’ll need to split shifts watching her, covering every angle.”

Marinette caught on immediately, nodding gravely. “If she goes to the bathroom alone, I’m tailing her.”

“Good, good. If she starts lingering near any equipment, Luka’s on distraction duty.”

Luka, despite his confusion, just shrugged. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“No, no, no, no!” Sabrina’s voice cracked under pressure. “She’s not planning anything! She really is just here to support you guys!”

Marinette patted her on the back, nodding sagely. “Thanks for the heads up, Sabrina.”

Sabrina buried her face in her hands, utterly defeated. “…I’m just happy to help…”

“Sabrina, right?”

She removed her hands to find Luka staring down at her, a soft smile easing her nerves a bit. The others had gone to crowd around Nino and Chloe, Marinette spitting out a few crass sarcastic remarks that Chloe easily deflected.

Clearing her throat, she hesitantly replied. “Uh, yeah?”

He held out his hand and, before she could even think, she was gripping it. “Luka. You seem a little overwhelmed.” He explained, both of their gazes naturally shifting over to the growing headache that was the rest of the group. “Need a hand?”

“Oh yes please.”

He laughed and gestured his head over to the club. “Come on, let’s get some drinks before these guys start something.”

---

The club wasn’t Dutch’s usual scene. Despite his wild and rugged appearance, his quality time was a quieter venue, where his thoughts were unbothered by all the terrible music and poor excuses for dancing. Where he could sequester himself in the corner and watch the smoke of his cigar slowly break away into nothing, and he could just linger on the air disturbed and then wiped away; thinking of better days that were so easily wiped away just like the smoke.

For one thing, his ideal spot certainly wouldn’t be accompanied by Darcy.

He had no idea when he allowed Darcy to get comfortable with shooting her mouth off at him, but he was going to regret it for the rest of his life. Sometimes, his ears literally could not keep up with the amount of crap that spewed from her mouth, spitting some inane gossip at him about whatever celebrity made some minor blunder today, or whining about some piece of jewellery she just had to have.

It was the perfect example of his fall from grace. Back when he was an up-and-comer in the Velenci, you’d never catch him suffering this petty crap. He was on the track straight to the top, a shoe in for the new head – he’d have had the Velenci running this damn city and retire to mountain of stolen riches.

Of course, then Lorenzo Velenci handed the reigns over to that little shit Louie. Then he took the big fall on Alessandro Velenci’s watch; little bro Louie got to move up the ladder while Alessandro was stripped of his name and left to rot until he became useful again. And now the Velenci is a shadow of it’s original might, talked about like some common street gang instead of whispered in hush rumours about the true kings of Paris.

But one day that name would hold power again. Dutch just had to be patient, be resourceful and be ruthless as he always was. He would get what he deserved in the end, because he was equipped to capitalize on anything. He built the Freedom Fighters up from scratch, and they would carry his ambitions to fruition; even getting attacked by the demons worked out in his favour.

Free press, pity donations, volunteers and- Well, as his hand dug into his pocket and fingers the package hidden within, he couldn’t help but think of the fortunate arrival of their new benefactor.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Darcy pouted, pulling he bangs of her wild hair over her eyes. She already looked like she fit in here, a punk rocker with hair that had been electrocuted into a stiff, puffed-up mane.

Dutch took his time to answer, downing half of his drink just to take the edge off before daring to start what would most likely be an exhausting exchange. “I wish I could tune you out.”

“You sure know how to make a lady feel special.” She rolled her eyes.

For the first time that night, Dutch felt himself overtaken by laughter. “No one would call you a lady if they knew what depraved, perverted thoughts went on inside that ugly little brain of yours.”

Darcy didn’t take any offense to him comment, she merely grinned that predatory cheshire smile. “That’s why we’re criminals and not honest folk.” She replied, cocking her head in his direction. “You seem especially grumpy today. Can’t you just enjoy the vibe and let off some steam?”

“We’re not here for fun, Doll.” He let his usual persona come out, casual and nonchalant. He leaned closer and flicked her across the nose, like one would a misbehaving pet. “We’re working.”

She scoffed in response, turning her head away. “You’re working. I’m just here sitting pretty; don’t even know why you brought me.”

He rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink. “Because I look like a creep if I show up at a hang out like this alone.” There was a pause as he chewed on the afterthought, clicking his tongue and gesturing towards her with his glass. “And because any time I leave you alone, something gets broken.”

Darcy snickered, not even attempting to defend herself. “I prefer improved.”

Dutch let out a rough exhale, rubbing his temple. God, she was lucky she was useful. “Just… keep your eyes open. We’re not here to mess around tonight.”

She flashed him a sly grin, already propping her boots up on the table like she owned the place. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell me twice, boss.”

He doubted that.

But as his gaze wandered, he found something that brightened up his day and proved that this night could be more productive; an opportunity. Over by the bar, where the loud group of teens had clustered, Dutch’s eyes locked on to the fading bruise left on Marinette’s eye by his own fist; and he grinned.

If he played his cards right, he could get two missions done tonight. “Well, well… Jackpot.”

Darcy’s brow drew together in disgust as she followed his gaze, shaking her head. “Why do you care about some little brat? It’s a waste of time.”

“She’s useful.” Dutch grunted back. “If I can get her under my thumb, we get access to some nice, gullible connections.”

“She pisses you off, you mean.” Darcy’s face split into a mocking grin. “You’re still sore that she almost came close to exposing you.”

Gabriel Agreste, some trumped up gutter rat draping himself in jewellery like fake royalty, who fashioned silly little dresses and suits for narcissists with no personalities and thought himself untouchable – it was bad enough that such a pathetic excuse for a man could look at Dutch like he was nothing, like he was some common hood.

But the indignity didn’t stop there. A brat, a stupid, worthless little bitch who wasn’t even old enough to drink, had almost figured him out. She went sniffing around his empire for one day and practically stumbled her way into uncovering his entire history and plan. She’s just as insufferable and lucky as her great uncle Hugo; and Dutch would make sure she was dealt with just like good old Hugo.

So yes, maybe on some level there was a bit of joy he took in seeing her face scarred by his hand, or noting the way she instinctively shrank as he approached, flinching from fear of a blow that her mind forgot but her body remembered. What was wrong with that? It wasn’t like he was wasting an opportunity to take care of some petty revenge; he was turning what had almost been his downfall into an asset, a girl who proved herself capable of great things if pushed right.

At the end of the day, he was winning, and he was loving it. That made him smart, made him superior. That’s why this city would be his one day.

“You know what your problem is, Dutch?” Darcy sneered, a sharp whisper over his shoulder as they moved throughout the club, still watching his face like she could read every little bitter thought. “You take everything so damn personally. You should just kill the brat and move on if she gets your hackles up so badly.”

Dutch’s hand clenched around his glass until it almost cracked. “It’s not that simple.”

Only the music of the band on stage sheltered their dark intentions from the ears of everyone around them. “Sure it is. Kill the brat, dump the body, problem solved.” She grinned. “Bam. I’m a genius.”

“Your problem, Darcy? You lack vision.” The words rolled off the tongue smooth as silk. “Your only concern is chasing the immediate pleasures of life. You don’t think about how you’ll maintain it, you don’t build any foundation, you’re just a dog chasing her tail. That’s why your interests are in boys who don’t even have their futures in sight yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mhm, that’s a lot of words. I’ll just assume they’re very insulting.”

---

Lila didn’t care very much for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She saw potential in her maybe being someone who could test her and, sure, Marinette’s talent was undeniable; but there was nothing personal about the spineless wet blanket that Lila would appreciate enough to care about her well-being.

And yet, the moment she spotted the wolf in sheep’s clothing eyeing up Marinette like one of the three little pigs, Lila’s instincts carried her clear across the club to intercept. She’d originally planned on just hanging back until the group noticed her, maybe trade some glares with Marinette and keep the girl on edge. Now, she zipped past Marinette, barely announcing her presence before jumping into the seat directly next to the girl at the bar. It was a really shoddy decision on her part, she’d admit.

“Jeez, Lila, who lit the fire under your ass?” Marinette naturally leaned away from her newly realized enemy, brows up in full alarm, awaiting some sort of ambush. On any other day, she’d probably be right to expect one.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t lose a seat with all of my friends.” Lila said simply, annoyed that she couldn’t hide the breathless edge to her voice that made it clear how fast she’d ran just to get here. “Do you know how awkward it would be if I had to stand all day?”

“Hey, Lila!” Alya leaned over Marinette’s shoulder, seemingly just realizing that she was there. “Almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“Imagine that.” Marinette grumbled through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Lila didn’t take her eyes off of Marinette, keeping up her shit-eating grin.

Any push back was buried under the flicker of pain on Marinette’s face when she glanced past Lila. An involuntary reaction that, just like at the hospital, clearly confused Marinette. That was twice now that Marinette’s instincts acted out without any understanding from her mind; and they were both caused by Dutch.

“Good to see you on your feet, Marinette.” His false chumminess was sludge on her ears as Lila turned in her seat to face him.

Fortunately for Lila’s curiosity, Marinette wasn’t the only one giving way to small flickers of instinct. Whenever Dutch’s gaze fell on the fading bruise on Marinette’s eye, his fingers on his left hand seemed to involuntarily flex into a fist, one that proudly displayed the old bruising on his knuckles. All while the smile that tugged at his lips and the fire in his eyes spoke not of relief but satisfaction, of pride; because he accomplished something.

Lila was now 90% certain that Dutch had something to do with Marinette’s injury, whether it be him committing the act himself or him merely being present for it. Which meant that Marinette knew or did something that would make her a target, and the memory of whatever that may be was locked away somewhere in her mind.

Marinette was unknowingly Lila’s best lead on Dutch and the bee miraculous, and because of that, she was in great danger. Lila had to figure out a way to bring this up to Ladybug without exposing herself in the process.

“I think I’m back up to 100% now.” Marinette murmured more than spoke in Dutch’s presence.

“More like 80%.” Alya scoffed. “You’ve been so sensitive and tired lately.”

“Don’t you start on me.” Marinette pouted. “I’m just stressed with… School and stuff.”

“Really now?” Something about Marinette’s predicament really tickled Dutch’s fancy, enough to give him that excited little twitch. He tried to lean closer, to pry, to corner Marinette, but Lila was stubborn enough to act as a barrier.

He smelled blood in the water, but why?

Lila clasped her hands together, giggling sweetly. “Yes, she’s such a hard worker. No wonder she’s out of it sometimes.”

“You could say that she’s our everyday Ladybug.” Nino added to the soft cheers of the rest of the group.

Lila had to stop herself from gagging. Pffft, what an insult. Marinette isn’t even worth two of my partner. But, for the sake of the act, she kept her mouth shut.

“I didn’t think we’d see you two here.” There was a clear, subtle struggle for Marinette to speak. Lila didn’t really understand why she didn’t just stay quiet other than manners.

“We don’t come here often.” Dutch shrugged. “But the attack destroyed our bar, so this was the second choice.”

A sympathetic gasp came from Alya. “How are the Freedom Fighters holding up?”

Darcy broke away from, as far as Lila could tell, staring at Luka to grin at Alya. “No one’s gonna keep us down for long. Especially with all the cash coming in from-”

Under the darkness of the club, Dutch’s foot came back and dug his heel into Darcy’s toe. He covered up her grunt of pain with a yawn and, after shooting her a warning glance, continued for her. “We’ve found some kind-hearted generous people willing to donate funds to rebuilding our compound better than ever.”

“That’s great.”

“I suppose that it’s in trying times like this that the real heroes come out.” Dutch mused, placing his glass down on the bar. “Well, I won’t hold you guys too long, just wanted to get myself a refill.”

“It was nice seeing you.” Alya chirped. “Tell Louie we said hi.”

“Will do.” Dutch gave a mock salute as he and Darcy disappeared into the crowd. “Enjoy the show, I hear the star of this joint is real… Enchanting.”

When they were gone from sight it was hard to keep up the happy demeanour, but Lila pushed that sickly sweet smile as far as it could go and smoothly fell back. Her arms reached out and pulled Marinette and Alya together. “Alya’s right, Mari, you’re not all there yet; I worry about you a little.”

“You do?” Marinette snorted.

“That’s right.” Lila said gently. “Which is why, just to be safe, I think one of us should be with you at all times.”

“That’s a great idea.” Alya added, pressing her cheek against Lila’s so they could both grin at Marinette.

Marinette opened her mouth, ready to protest and accuse them of treating her like a child, but then she glanced in Dutch’s direction and, with a little thought, found herself on the same wavelength as Lila. She nodded. “If you guys think that’s for the best…”

---

“What are you even saying right now, Bro?” Nino ducked into a side passage of the club, a finger in his ear doing very little to block out the pounding music. “You’ve totally met Luka before.”

“No!” Adrien’s voice was loud, insistent and vying with the music for dominance. “I’ve never met the guy. He’s not even in our class.”

That didn’t sound right. It couldn’t be right. Luka had been a bro for months now, he was a solidified member of the group and Juleka’s older brother, there’s no way Adrien could have missed him. Nino posted social posts with his fellow musician all the time.

Unless…

Nino’s lips puffed out in a pout. Was Adrien not keeping up with Nino’s feed? After God knows how many cat memes Nino retweeted for Adrien?

“Really?” Nino clicked his tongue. “What about when Desperada crashed our party on the Liberty?”

Jagged Stone’s jilted ex-guitarist was a true menace with a gnarly wardrobe. Almost had Ladybug and Volpina pegged until Luka ended up tricking the akuma into turning Chat Noir into a sticker; Hawkmoth was not happy about that one.

There was a rush of scraping cloth and distant mutterings as Adrien very obviously hid his phone from his father, making some joke about the voices in his head (something about trying to remember a cat’s voice?) before loudly mopping the floor.

After a few seconds, Adrien’s voice was back in a low whisper. “I had to take a raincheck that day, remember?”

“What about the Captain Hardock incid-” Nino stopped himself right out of the gate, snapping his fingers and groaning. “Oh wait, your father kept you back then as well.”

He glanced over to where the rest of the gang were huddled around a table, throwing out a thumbs up to a curious Marinette looking over at him. After his reassurance, she turned back to cuddling up to Luka on the sofa, gushing over his guitar.

“That was a bummer, Luka looked stoked when I told him about how good you would be on a keyboard.” Nino ran his fingers through his hair. “What about-”

Adrien’s voice was an eruption of noise that nearly made Nino drop the phone. “You were literally with me when that happened.”

“Damn, I can’t believe you two have just kept missing each other. It’s wild.” Nino laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two should really meet after you’ve finished with your dad’s lame punishment. Assuming you can pry Marinette off him, of course.”

Adrien was quiet. For some reason, Nino could imagine his eyes twitching. “Bro? You still there?”

“I was just… Laughing… Over how funny your quip was.” Strange, Adrien’s ‘amusement’ sounded more like a bitter growl. “I mean, can you imagine? Marinette. On Luka. Stuck. Why… Why… You should change your career to stand up, Nino.”

Nino pulled the phone down to his shoulder for a moment, moving out of the way of wondering strays and double checking that none of the group were close enough to eavesdrop. “Heh. You know, between you and me, I think Marinette has a crush on Luka.”

“Oh really?” Adrien laughed again, but it did not sound like a laugh.

“Yeah!” Nino continued on, oblivious and eager to just rub it in. “She can’t keep her eyes off him tonight, and she keeps holding his hand and blushing and all that romantic junk.”

“That’s… That’s great. Good for her. Good for them.”

Nino chuckled. Weird, for some reason Nino felt like Adrien would react badly to this. Then again, they were all super protective of Marinette, so maybe Nino just thought that Nino wouldn’t trust the guy. “Yeah, man. Honestly, it’s kinda cute to see Mari finally get a break, you know? Like, she’s been so stressed lately, and Luka’s just—”

“A great guy, yeah.” Adrien cut in, voice an octave too high and filled with something just shy of malice. “Total catch. Dreamboat. Mr. Perfect Guitar Hands.”

“Exactly! Like, did you hear how he wrote that whole song for her a few weeks back?” Nino shook his head. “Man, I’m telling you, she was melting. Dude’s got game.”

“Oh, I bet he did. He’s just so fucking sweet.”

Huh. Wait a minute.

That didn’t sound chill.

That sounded… Aggressive?

Nino squinted and pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “You okay there, Bro?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little much.” Adrien spluttered. “Almost like an act. I mean, who can be that sweet 24/7?”

“…Dude?”

And Adrien just kept going like Nino hadn’t spoken at all. “I mean, I see it all the time in the modelling world. All the fake smiles while they dig their claws into-” The words caught up with him and he came to a sudden halt. Nino knew for sure that he was rubbing the back of his neck and trying to look calm. “Uh, you know, maybe I should stop talking.”

Nino stood there, frozen. For how long, he didn’t know, time became inconsequential, and his brain started to turn. How could he be so blind? It was there all along, staring him right in the face. Adrien, the prince of not rocking the boat, was jealous. Nino never thought he’d live to see the day.

“Adrien.” He stated with foreign seriousness, standing up straight and gripping onto the phone like his life depended on it. “You need to be real with me for a second.”

Adrien breathed slowly. “I’m always real.”

“…Do you have a crush on Luka?”

Silence.

Then:

“WHAT?!” Adrien’s voice exploded through the phone, loud enough that Nino had to physically yank it away from his ear. “NO! NO, I DON’T HAVE A CRUSH ON LUKA, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Tentatively, Nino brought the phone closer. “’Cus it’s starting to sound like you didn’t miss him, you’re avoiding him, and I’m kind of suspicious.”

“Oh my god, Nino, I’m not gay.”

He sounded so fearful, it almost made Nino’s heart ache. Nino’s voice took on a tender tone, trying to sooth his buddy. “Look, Bro, I’ll accept you no matter what.”

“We are not having this conversation.”

Nino was stalwart in comforting his friend, thumping his chest and loudly proclaiming into the phone. “I can’t deny that I might be a little weird about it, but you’re still my bro.” It was fortunate for Adrien that he could not see the passersby shoot Nino odd looks on the other side, otherwise he might have just died on the spot.

It almost felt like Adrien was reaching through the screen to grab Nino by the scruff of his neck with how threatening his voice was. “Nino, for God’s sake, I obviously like Marinette.”

Once more, a silent, contemplative, heavy moment passed over the two. Nino stewed on his answer, going over it again and again, trying to connect all the pieces in his head until-

“…I don’t believe you.”

There was a loud thump as Adrien fell off his bed. “Come again?”

“You couldn’t have a crush on Marinette.” Nino stated once more with such stunning confidence, as if he were telling someone the colour of the sky. “Otherwise, you’d be with her already.”

Adren’s lips smacked together, or maybe he just slapped his forehead. “How’d you figure that one out?”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Duh, she’s been practically throwing herself at you for who knows how long.” He found himself leaning against the wall, shaking his head and scoffing. “And you keep saying that she’s just a friend.”

“Look, it’s complicated-”

“It does not sound complicated at all.”

More footsteps and things being knocked over in the haste of Adrien’s attempt to get back on the bed. “W-what do you know about dating, Nino?” He scream-whispered into the phone. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Damn, a month ago, that would have cut deeper than Adrien knew. Today? It was just funny to hear Adrien Agreste, the guy who has multiple fan girls throwing themselves at him, getting flustered over his crush. “I know that if you don’t make things real simple soon, Marinette’s gonna melting into Luka’s arms.”

“Can we talk about anything else?” Adrien pleaded desperately, a few words leaving his lips too fast to be understood, just going through a list of random topics until he found one to distract Nino with. Eventually, he was confident enough throw out one loud and clear enough to hear. “Chloe! How’s Chloe? She caused any akumas yet?”

Nino blinked, incredulous. “…Bro, really?”

“Yes! Chloe! Let’s talk about Chloe!” Adrien’s voice was a mess of frenzied desperation and barely contained panic. “I mean, she’s always good for a conversation, right? She’s loud, she’s chaotic, she’s—uh—terrible, but like, entertaining, y’know?”

Nino furrowed his brow, slightly thrown. “…Nah, she’s actually been pretty chill so far.”

“Well, chill by Chloe standards,” Nino amended, scratching the back of his neck. “She and Marinette have been sniping at each other over bad milkshakes for the past ten minutes, but like, playfully. It’s not the usual I’m-rich-and-you’re-beneath-me thing she does.”

“Oh. Huh.” Adrien sounded mildly surprised. “That’s… good? I think?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Nino paused, and Adrien easily picked up the drop in his tone. There was a sudden, thoughtful sensation that weighed on Nino, making him feel weaker, sliding down the wall slightly as he peered out into the crowd, waiting to catch the very blonde they were discussing.

“…Something wrong, Nino?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Nino hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I feel like Chloe’s avoiding me for some reason. Is that weird?”

The moment they got through the doors, Chloe seemed to split. She didn't disappear completely, she wasn't far, she was still close enough for her and Marinette to trade comments, or to make fun of Alya, or scoff at Luka, or show Sabrina 'how it's done' when talking to the bartender.

It was only when he got close to tried to talk with her that she'd look at him funny and then make up a bogus excuse on why she needs to be anywhere else. It made him feel like he was that creepy guy leering at the bar who girls couldn't figure out how to say no to. He didn't want to be the creepy guy!

“Never known Chloe to be skittish.” Adrien noted thoughtfully.

Nino laughed nervously, making a vague hand gesture, despite Adrien not being able to see him. “Maybe I really pissed her off."

Adrien snorted. “Believe me, if you pissed her off, she wouldn’t be running away, she’d be running through you.”

“…Great pep talk, dude.”

“Just saying.” Adrien shrugged. “Maybe she’s nervous.”

Nino raised a skeptical brow. “Nervous? Chloe? The Chloe Bourgeois?”

“As hard as it is to believe.” Adrien said carefully. “She doesn’t really… Hang out with people that much. I think me and Sabrina were her only friends growing up that weren’t… y’know. Hired.”

That gave Nino pause. “…Seriously? So, it’s not me making her uncomfortable?”

“You’re the only one of us that she hasn’t completely written off yet.” Adrien’s tone softened a bit. “Maybe she doesn’t know how to talk to you like she does Alya and Mari. You're no longer in a defined little box for her now that you've spent some time... I dunno, would you call it bonding?”

Adrien let out a deep breath. "Why do you even care about this?”

That was the big damn question: why did he care? Nino was nice, he didn't like to cause conflict or hurt people, of course, but this was more than that. He knew it, he just didn't know how to define it.

If you asked him a month ago, he'd be the first to say that you shouldn't give a damn what someone like Chloe Bourgeois thinks, only your personal assessment mattered and all that. But now? He was worried about her opinion. Her real opinion, not the snap judgments she throws out to verbally bludgeon whoever got in her way.

It was so strange to put stock in her thoughts, to act like something was at stake, that there was something to lose, if she didn't walk away from this night impressed with him.

“Because I’m the one who brought her here, and I’d like to think we’re becoming almost friends.” Nino struggled for the right words, every syllable just sounding more lost. “I don’t want to force her outside her comfort zone or make her feel bad.”

Adrien hesitated; voice cautious. “…So why don’t you just tell her that?”

“I—” Nino’s throat closed up. “…I don’t know?”

Adrien let out an incredulous laugh. “Dude, you literally spend half your life hyping people up. Why are you choking now?”

“Because it’s Chloe, man!” Nino waved his hands like that explained everything. “She’s all… Chloe. And it’s like—I don’t wanna freak her out, y’know?”

“Maybe you won’t freak her out,” Adrien pointed out. “I mean, honestly, you’ve been the best at talking to her lately. Like, way better than me, and I’ve known her since we were kids.”

“Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you guys about." Nino grimaced. He'd accidentally coaxed Adrien's secret out of him, so he might as well be open about his. "I was a little down when the bet with Chloe happened, I just had some truths I needed to face, and I just realized that my crush on Alya would never go anywhere and… Well, I know it was entirely unintentional, but she actually managed to help me feel better.”

Maybe that was it. She helped him, however unintentional, when he was at a low point, and he just wanted her to feel like it was worth it. To find a way to pay her back.

“And now you want to help her?” Adrien hummed, not even taking the obvious opportunity to tease Nino about his crush on Alya. “Just talk to her; trust me.”

---

Chloe thought she’d have to be vigilant of Sabrina tonight; the mayor may have some sway over Roger, but none of that would do anything to stop him if Sabrina ended up in any trouble tonight. However, as it turned out, all it took was a few assurances, and one or two particularly sour glasses of grape juice, for Sabrina to get into a groove Chloe never knew the girl had.

That Luka guy, cute face but those clothes ruined the look, seemed to have taken Sabrina under his wing. Telling her about his music, coaxing out some funny stories about her dad acting like a cop at home, and overall acting as the bridge between Sabrina and the rest of the girls while they managed that awkward gap between them.

The awkwardness broke when Marinette was overtaken by nerves in the face of a stone-faced bartender when asking for a drink. Chloe didn’t get the wording as she was too far away to hear, having not so subtly positioned herself by the edge of the gathering. She just watched it unfold. Marinette had squeaked out her order, the bartender seemed to make some insulting comment that had the girl bowing her head in shame as he pushed some gnarly looking drink. Like, seriously, that crap looked mouldy.

Now, what Chloe did hear was Sabrina. Because, for once in her life, Sabrina was just as loud as her father when she chewed that bartender out for getting Marinette’s order wrong, breaking through the music to order him to ‘make it right’ this time. All while leaning over the bar and pointing out every code violation, she could report him for in a tone much like her father’s. Marinette was happy with the drink she got, and Alya was giddily asking if Sabrina would yell at someone else for her.

It was strange watching Sabrina have fun with someone else. At first, Chloe thought she’d be jealous of that, but really, she was kind of happy for her. This is what Sabrina wanted out of coming here, wasn’t it? And Chloe didn’t screw that up for once.

That was the only thing she wasn’t screwing up tonight.

“Hey, Chloe?” Of course, she allowed herself to be so distracted by Sabrina that Nino snuck up on her. “Can we talk?”

A direct question, damn it. She couldn’t make up an excuse without really showing that she was obviously avoiding him. She had no choice but to plop down on a sofa, shoot him that fake frown, scoff like she was undertaking a great burden, and say “Sure. Whatever.” Like she was at all prepared for this.

She had a plan once. She couldn’t remember what that plan was anymore, but she hadn’t come here unprepared. It’s just that Nino was proving a lot lately that all plans went out the window as soon as she made contact with him. Nino scared her, he made her feel unsure of herself and she hated that, but she couldn’t avoid him forever no matter how much she tried.

Nino settled onto the sofa beside Chloe, his easy-going energy immediately turning clunky and awkward now that they were sitting so close. He drummed his fingers against his knee, trying to figure out where to start. “Sooo…”

Chloe folded her arms tightly over her chest, keeping her posture deliberately closed off. “So?”

Nino winced at her tone but pressed on. “I, uh… I kinda noticed you’ve been avoiding me tonight.”

Chloe’s laugh came out far too sharp and brittle. “Pfft, please. Why would I avoid you? That’s ridiculous.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic display of nonchalance. “If anything, you’ve just been imagining things.”

“Right.” Nino dragged the word out, unconvinced. “Imagining how you, like, physically left the group every time I got within five feet of you?”

Chloe’s eye twitched. “Coincidence.”

“Imagining how you almost jumped out of your skin when I tapped your shoulder earlier?”

“Bad reflexes.”

“…Imagining how you straight-up pretended not to hear me when I said ‘hey Chloe’ at the bar?”

“I’m very hard of hearing.”

Nino blinked at her. “…You can hear me fine now.”

“Selective hearing.”

“Chloe.”

“What?” She snapped, her voice higher pitched than she intended.

Nino stared at her, his eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. “…Did I do something wrong?”

The simple question — so sincere, so gentle — hit Chloe square in the chest like a wrecking ball. She clenched her jaw and turned away sharply, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended her. “Don’t be stupid. What could you possibly do that would bother me?”

“Well, I dunno!” Nino burst, exasperated. “You’ve been acting all weird since we got here, and I just thought maybe I crossed a line or something. Like—like maybe you didn’t actually want to come here and I dragged you along like a jerk, or—or…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling, and rubbed the back of his neck. “…Or something else. I just—I don’t know. I feel like I messed up somehow.”

Chloe’s heart sank. She’d finally found a way to get a reaction out of Nino, managed to hit him with something he couldn’t brush off; and it was at the time that it no longer felt like a victory. She’d made him feel like an ass.

“You didn’t mess up.” She said quietly, like the words were being yanked out of her mouth against her will. “It’s fine.”

Nino raised a brow. “…Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“You literally sprinted away when I tried to ask if you wanted a drink.”

“Power walking, actually.”

“Chloe.”

“Ugh! I don’t know, okay?!” She exploded, throwing her hands up. “Maybe I just didn’t feel like being smothered by your sappy friendship nonsense tonight! Maybe I wanted some peace and quiet for once! Maybe you just have one of those faces that’s particularly annoying under strobe lights, did you ever think of that?”

“…No?” Nino blinked, utterly bewildered. “What does that even mean?”

Chloe groaned, holding her head in preparation for the coming migraine. “Forget it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?” Nino laughed incredulously. “Chloe, you’re the one who’s been treating me like I’ve got the plague all night! What’s the deal?”

“There is no deal!” Chloe huffed, crossing her arms even tighter. “You’re just overthinking everything like you always do, and I don’t have time to cater to your weird little freak-outs!”

“Freak-out?” Nino repeated, offended. “I’m not freaking out, I’m just trying to figure out why you suddenly hate my guts tonight!”

“Oh my god, I don’t hate you! That’s the problem. I’d be so much better off if I hated you.” Chloe nearly shrieked, her voice cracking on the last word.

“…Okay, then what’s going on?” Nino asked carefully.

Chloe stared straight ahead, mouth opening and closing as if trying to formulate an answer. She couldn’t. She really couldn’t. Because how exactly was she supposed to tell him the truth without completely imploding her entire life?

I don’t know how to act around you anymore because you’re actually kind of decent and I like it and it’s making me feel gross and vulnerable and I hate it but I also hate being away from you so I keep panicking every time we’re alone and now I’m trying not to die of embarrassment, oh my god.

Yeah. No way in hell she was saying that.

So, she did what she always did. She defaulted to cruelty.

“Nothing is going on,” Chloe bit out, practically chewing through the words. “I just got bored of you, alright?”

Nino didn’t react, he just stared at her bullshit with a slightly raised brow, utterly unconvinced.

Despite the fact that she knew he saw through it, she still felt guilty over her lashing out. “…I didn’t mean it like that.” She said quietly, voice strangled.

 “…Then how did you mean it?”

Chloe floundered. She didn’t know how to answer that. She couldn’t answer that. So, she stumbled, she flailed, and she retreated.

“I—I mean, you’re still really annoying.” She scoffed, folding her arms tighter. “But, like… less annoying than most people. Barely. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Nino just stared at her, equal parts confused and skeptical. “…So, you do like hanging out with me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“But you just said—”

“Drop it, Lahiffe.”

“…You’re really bad at this.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, you’re like the worst at admitting stuff.”

“Do you want me to punch you?”

Nino finally cracked a grin, and Chloe hated how much she liked it.

“…You don’t hate me, then?” Nino pressed teasingly.

Chloe groaned, shoving her face into her hands. “Oh my god, I’m leaving.”

But she didn’t.

And neither did he.

Chloe stayed rooted to her spot on the couch long after Nino stopped teasing her. He’d eventually turned his attention back to the stage, watching the current performance with an easy, relaxed smile — like their awkward little exchange hadn’t just turned her brain into scrambled eggs.

She, on the other hand, was still spiralling. Hard.

This was fine. This was totally fine. So what if she… maybe liked him a little bit? It didn’t have to mean anything. Lots of people developed crushes on their friends — it was practically a rite of passage. She’d get over it in, like, a week. Two weeks, max.

And honestly, if she was going to like anyone — hypothetically, of course — Nino wasn’t the worst choice. He was… tolerable. More than tolerable, actually. He was funny, laid-back, not a complete idiot, and probably the only person on the planet who didn’t expect her to act like some high-society princess 24/7. He was also stupidly nice — which was usually a turn-off for her, but with him it somehow wasn’t.

And fine, yes, he had a great smile and a laugh that did this dumb little snort thing when he found something really funny and he smelled kinda good and — UGH.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hands. Stop it. This is stupid. It’s not happening. Even if she wanted it to (which she absolutely did not), what was the point? What could she possibly offer someone like him besides a mountain of baggage and a penchant for pushing people away? He’d just get tired of her eventually. They all did.

It was better this way. Keep things casual, keep things distant, and for the love of god, do not do anything stupid like actually act on it—

“Alright, alright, listen up folks!”

Chloe’s head snapped up at the sudden burst of energy from the man on stage. The current performance had wrapped up while she was lost in her own head, and the emcee had returned to the spotlight, grinning wide.

“Hope you all are having a great time tonight but trust me — it’s about to get even better,” he announced, his voice practically dripping with excitement. “Because now, taking the stage with her latest single, is none other than the House of Joy’s very own star — Pepper Piper: The Heartbreaker!”

The crowd immediately erupted into deafening cheers, and Chloe blinked, startled. Pepper Piper? Never heard of her. Must be some new nepo-baby crap or something.

“Have you heard of this lady?” She asked Nino.

Nino shrugged. “Think I heard her on the radio once. That songs about Heartbreakers or something.”

A spotlight hit the stage as the curtains parted, and all at once all the lights in the club shifted to drown everyone in a pink hue. From the curtains emerged a tall figure wrapped in a deep pink cloak obscuring every detail of herself, she swayed back and forth, a force pulling her towards the mic instead of her walking.

“Welcome to the barnyard, my little piggies! It’s such a joy to be here today.” The woman called out, a long-gloved hand reaching from under the cloak to grasp the mask. “I’m so happy to see so many here tonight. Word is that there’s a few new acts tonight who are aiming to outshine me, and I wish them all good luck.”

Her voice was weightless, every syllable spoken like adorable little rain drops beating against your cheeks. Not cold enough to make you shiver, but forceful enough to gently massage you. Chloe wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, but she was paying attention. It was strange, like the air itself was guiding her to look up at the stage, enrapturing her in the woman’s voice, the only thing that mattered in the room.

The microphone stand was pulled forward sucked into the dark hood of the cloak. “But before we get to them, I wanted to give them, and all of you, a little ‘pep’ in their step.” A beat started to pick up in the background, synchronised with the slamming of her heel against the stage floor. “So how about you all watch me lay down a little pep talk I’ve been writing.”

“Because you know the most tragic part of life? Almost all of you will never live it to the fullest.” A guitar riff cuts through her speech, carrying with it her own throaty cry before transitioning into her next word. “I’m here today to tell you that you all have something you want to do, but too afraid to do it. Whether it be because it’s risky, or because you’re afraid, or because someone told you that you couldn’t.”

Everything was blurred, everything was a dull senseless noise, everything except Pepper’s voice.

“But you need to throw all that to the side, you need to get those voices out of your head and just take that chance.” With one quick movement, the cloak was torn off the woman’s body, left to hang off her shoulder and reveal the obscene amount of glitter underneath.

The woman had dark skin and hair like cotton candy, a deep vibrant purple swirl that was pushed to cover one side of her face and hang down to her waist. The rest of the outfit was one long, sparkling bodysuit painted pink with silver accents, looking like the stars had been caught on her suit. Her shoulders were tipped off with exaggerated ruffles, her sleeves led to puffed out cuffs, her feet were held up by knee-high high-heeled boots. And to top it all off, a domino mask covered her eyes and hi her nose behind a pig’s snout.

“Life is a gift, ladies and gentlemen. You just have to learn how to accept it.”

The guitar slammed through the air like a crack of thunder, and Pepper Piper’s body jerked to life.

“Go on now, take a little bite.” She crooned, her voice sticky-sweet and dripping with temptation. “The fruit is ripe; the moon is bright.”

The crowd erupted. The bass thudded through the speakers, vibrating the floor beneath Chloe’s feet. Somewhere in the room, someone let out an exhilarated whoop. All around her, the energy shifted. Conversations stopped. People turned toward the stage, their eyes glassy, their smiles too wide, like the music had sunk its claws into their spines and yanked.

“Why stand still when the world’s so wide?” Pepper sang, one hand wrapping around the mic stand, the other gesturing lazily to the crowd. “The sweetest joys are the ones you hide.”

Chloe’s throat tightened.

She could feel it now — the subtle pull of the song wrapping around her brain like a velvet leash. It was like Pepper wasn’t just singing; she was telling everyone what to do, and they were listening. The beat of the drum was a command. The thrumming bass was a leash. And Pepper Piper’s voice — that honeyed, irresistible voice — was the hand holding it.

People started rising from their seats, almost in unison. No one spoke. No one hesitated. Like mindless little dolls, they filed onto the dance floor, their bodies already beginning to sway in time with the music.

Chloe’s fingers dug into the couch cushion. This is weird. This is so, so weird. Why isn’t anyone—

“Hey,” Nino’s voice cut through the haze, his tone light and hopeful. “You wanna go dance?”

Her stomach plummeted.

She snapped toward him. He was already halfway off the couch, grinning like an idiot as he watched the growing crowd. His foot tapped against the floor, itching to join. Like he didn’t even realize what was happening.

Chloe’s pulse hammered. “I— I don’t really—”

“They say it's wrong, they say it’s sin.” Pepper sang, her voice practically vibrating in Chloe’s skull. “But who decides what’s right within?”

She squeezed her hands into fists. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. You can’t. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. Don’t—

Nino turned back toward her; his smile soft. “C’mon, Chlo. Just one song.”

“If you don’t reach, you’ll never know —”

Her throat was dry. Her limbs felt frozen. She could practically taste the excuse on her tongue. I can’t. I shouldn’t. It’s not like that. He doesn’t like me like that. He wouldn’t want—

“And nothing blooms if you don’t let it grow.”

Chloe swallowed hard. The air in her lungs burned.

And then she heard it — Pepper’s voice, no longer like singing, but like whispering directly into her skull. Gentle. Persuasive.

Why not?

Nino was watching her expectantly. Still smiling. Still waiting.

Why not just take his hand?

It’s too risky.

Is it? Or are you just scared?

He doesn’t like me like that.

You don’t know that.

I can’t do this.

You can.

Her hand twitched against her knee.

“Chlo?” Nino asked, voice light. “You good?”

“Take the gift, take the joy.” Pepper’s voice purred. “What’s the world if you never destroy?”

Chloe’s head was buzzing.

And then, before she could talk herself out of it —

“You know what?” She blurted, reaching forward and grabbing Nino’s hand. She squeezed it before she could change her mind, forcing her lips into something resembling a grin. “I’d love to.”

Nino’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Heck yeah!”

She barely registered it. Her pulse was still screaming in her ears. But her legs were moving now, her hand still locked in Nino’s, and suddenly she was letting him pull her toward the dance floor like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Take the gift, take the thrill.” Pepper’s voice thrummed, deep and decadent. “Don’t you see how it bends to your will?”

Her heart felt like it was going to explode.

They stepped onto the dance floor, instantly swallowed by the sea of bodies. Everyone around them moved in perfect rhythm, like they were being guided. The glow of the pink lights painted Nino’s face like something out of a dream. His hand was warm. His smile was genuine.

And Chloe, for the first time in forever, didn’t let go.

“Take the gift, take it now.” Pepper growled, her voice dripping with command. “Why should you ever learn to bow?”

Chloe’s chest tightened. This was stupid. This was so stupid. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t be holding his hand. She shouldn’t be dancing with him like this — like she wanted this. Like she wanted him. Like it wouldn’t blow up in her face the second he realized she—

Nino spun her.

And she laughed.

A startled, sharp burst of sound she hadn’t meant to make — but it happened. Nino’s grin grew wider, and he squeezed her hand. “See? This isn’t so bad, huh?”

“The world’s a feast, not a toy —”

Chloe bit her lip, her face burning. Her chest was tight, her feet light, and the rest of her was caught somewhere between panic and elation. It was like she couldn’t control her body anymore. Every little warning voice in her head was still screaming — but Pepper’s song overpowered them.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

“Take the gift, take the joy.”

Notes:

Dutch: I've carefully constructed my persona over the years and meticulously buried all evidence of my illicit deeds.
Lila: I've met you twice and I already know you're on some real bullshit.

Next Time - Temptations:

Pepper stood back hesitantly as the man’s arm blocked the doorway, her eyes frantically looking over her shoulder towards where her bodyguards tensed up. “Just who are you?” She asked.

“Dutch.” The man said simply, tilting his body down in a lazy bow. “I want a moment of your time.”

“What are you, a fan?” She spat, already freaked out by his kind, overly kind and easily faked, grin. “Or some nosy reporter?”

“I’m just a guy who represents another guy; one who really wants to know more about you.” Her heartbeat quickened when he reached into his jacket, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he showed off a fat wad of euros. “Though I suppose reporter would be accurate. I have so many questions about you, your music-”

He lunged close to her, his lips by her ear and pushing the money into her hands. “And that darling little magical anklet you’ve been using amp up your music, and for your little killer sideshow.”

Chapter 40: Heartbreaker: Temptations

Summary:

Dutch makes a new friend whilst Chloe defends her man.

Pepper so dearly loved the moment a song ended. That wave of relief washing over her vocal cords as she was allowed to breathe again, sweat pouring down her chest from a job well done, the spotlight bathing her in a heavenly glow, darkening the rest of the room so it felt like it was just her there. Only for the hands to clammer through the darkness, roaring with cheers and applause, revealing to her that there was an entire audience, and they loved her.

Her closing lines didn’t even enter her ear, they just let her lips rehearsed and pre-processed. She was too busy basking in the aftermath to care how her send off was, peering into the crowd and catching the slight pink glow that flashed over their eyes, knowing her music had set into their very bones.

It was almost a chore pulling the cloak over her head and tearing herself away from the stage, telling the audience that she’ll be watching the rest of the upcoming performances. But she knew how much this new charm of hers would tire out her body, marching through the back room, waving to the club staff members before finally breaking into her dressing room and slamming the door behind her.

The words hurt to say, like she was forcing breath on a sore throat. “Daizzi, calm down.”

A flash ripped away her strength, pulled down her height, thinned out her body and left her in a costume that was a cheap imitation of the one the transformation gave her for consistency. From her anklet a ball of pink light rose up, forming into the adorable little pig creature that made this all possible.

“It was a wonderful show, wasn’t it Izzi?” She smoothly dropped down into her chair, pulling open a drawer to reveal a tin of ripe red apples, offering one to the kwami.

Daizzi plucked the apple from her fingers and settled down on the desk, holding it between his legs as he bit into the food that was roughly as big as him. “I guess.”

Pepper pouted. “You guess? Did you not hear all the people out there screaming my name?”

“It’s just…” Daizzi took a moment to swallow. “I don’t get it. If your music is so good, why do you need to put everyone into a trance to like it?”

“That’s just what music does, Izzi. It stimulates the mind and makes us relax and pump up out emotions.” With one finger she tapped the kwami on the head. “Using your gift? Well, it’s just like using another instrument, that’s all.”

A knock sounded at the door, followed by a gruff, but smooth voice. “Flowers for Paris’ new sweetheart?”

Pepper squinted at Daizzi, making vague motions for the kwami to hide as she got up. She thought she’d explicitly told security not to let any fans back here. Never mind, it wasn’t like she was in any real danger, not while she had the miraculous.

She opened the door just a little, enough to peer through the cracks at the man standing on the other side. He stood in front of her bodyguards, his face concealed behind a bouquet of roses. “I’m not taking gifts directly right now, you can leave them with Philip.”

“Oh, but I think you’ll want these right now.” The man replied, pulling the flowers back just enough to show her his winning smile.

In return, she offered her most uninterested frown. “I think I’ll take my chances now-”

She tried to shut the door, but his arm came through.

Pepper stood back hesitantly as the man’s arm blocked the doorway, her eyes frantically looking over her shoulder towards where her bodyguards tensed up. “Just who are you?” She asked.

“Dutch.” The man said simply, tilting his body down in a lazy bow. “I want a moment of your time.”

“What are you, a fan?” She spat, already freaked out by his kind, overly kind and easily faked, grin. “Or some nosy reporter?”

“I’m just a guy who represents another guy; one who really wants to know more about you.” Her heartbeat quickened when he reached into his jacket, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he showed off a fat wad of euros. “Though I suppose reporter would be accurate. I have so many questions about you, your music-”

He lunged close to her, his lips by her ear and pushing the money into her hands. “And that darling little magical anklet you’ve been using amp up your killer music.”

Her bodyguards moved in to grab him, but her hand came up to stop them. “Stand down boys, he might have something interesting to show me after all.” They hesitated, but her waving hand forced them to back away as she let Dutch step into the room.

There was no point in Daizzi hiding himself away anymore, so the little kwami tentatively hovered over to Pepper’s shoulder, shrinking away under Dutch’s gaze. The man wore confidence on his sleeve, even when he was walking into the lion’s den he pulled up a chair and even turned his back on Pepper like he didn’t just admit that he full well knew how much of a threat she could be.

Pepper liked to think he was just arrogant, but her body instinctively found itself sitting down closer to the room’s only exit. What’s wrong with me? He’s just a man, and I’m no weak little nothing anymore.

She cleared her throat, recovering her stage confidence before bursting into a charming smile. “That’s a lot of cash to flash just to meet with a serial killer.”

He pulled up his feet, propping them on her coffee table with no remorse. “It’s nothing compared to what my employer is willing to pay if you’re interested in their proposal.”

“Oh?”

Something told her that this wasn’t going to be about some mad music producer.

He pressed on, idly trailing his fingers down his leg. “Let’s start off with some basic questions: How’d you find the pig miraculous?”

There was the thought to lie to him, but then what was the point of that when he clearly knew all the cards she had? Sinking into her seat, she decided that, at the very least, she’d like to have someone who knew.

“It was fate really.” Her arm came out, sweeping over the room. “I was auditioning here at the club, but the tasteless idiots running the place took one look at me and said that I didn’t fit their vibe.”

She rested her hand on her thigh, pulling it aside to draw Dutch’s focus to the anklet resting on her shoes. “There I was, sitting on the curb all pathetic, and sweaty, and ugly.” In its camouflaged state, the little trinket looked so mundane and ordinary. She almost threw it away at first, almost missed the biggest break she could get in life. “And then this little thing falls from the sky and hits me in the face.”

The scar around her eye was a scare at first, and she made sure to cover it up with make up during public appearances. But she had to admit that she’d grown quite fond of the scar. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she would forever find her mind wondering back to the day her life changed forever.

Pepper moved her gaze up to Daizzi, pinching the kwami’s head between her fingers. “Suffice it to say, after Izzi popped out and explained his powers, I went back to the audition with a makeover and a new enchanting soundtrack.”

Dutch rested his chin on his knuckle, a glint in his eye. “When did the killer beats come into play?”

Pepper tilted her head, lips curving into a venomous smirk. “I heard something nostalgic over the radio, and suddenly realized that there were certain people who needed some… Fine tuning.” She may had left out a few details, but she didn’t think Dutch cared about her first, unofficial, kill being such a messy accident. She just so carried away when that old prom song hit her with all the bitter memories. Dutch just cared about the results she got herself now, and if her activities would get in his way.

“Is that a problem for your mystery employer?”

Dutch gave a casual shrug, drawing his chin up. “No, no. In fact, I think my boss is quite pleased to see that you’ve been able to expand your miraculous’ power set.” He grinned, folding his hands together. “It’s why they sent me instead of one of their enforcers.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “Just who is this employer of yours?”

Dutch’s grin widened. “A mastermind who has big ambitions for this city.” He let the words settle before adding. “And an arsenal that can pull it off. They’ve already outplayed the likes of Chat Noir and Hawkmoth.”

His voice lowered, his smile turning razor-sharp as he hoisted a brief case up onto the table. “And let me tell you, they are willing to be very generous to your bank account; and provide you certain protections if need be.”

The thick ‘click’ of the locks breaking away and letting the case flop open on the table, it was a very satisfying sound that was empowered further by all those stacks of green unfurling before her eyes. It was the most money she’d ever seen in her life, certainly beat the peanuts she was getting right now.

She leaned over the pile with hunger in her eyes, thumbing through the stacks and listening to that beautiful harmony of paper shuffling under her finger tips. “I do like all this money,” She hummed, only to pull her hand away. “but if they want to take the bracelet, I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen. It’s too useful for me.”

Dutch shook his head. “You misunderstand; they don’t want the miraculous. There’s one specific one they’re after, but it hasn’t appeared yet.” He pulled open his jacket, letting one hand dig into its folds and pull out a smooth, stainless silver ring. He dropped it on the table and flicked it towards her, letting it bounce off of her knee and into her palm. “No, what they want from you is an opportunity to study your miraculous.”

Up close, she could see the little indents and lines that gave it that modular techno look. In place of a big diamond, the top of the ring acted as a pedestal for the symbol of the pig caged within a circular frame.

“Fancy accessory.”

He gestured to the anklet lazily. “It connects to your miraculous and collects data any time you use it.”

Her eyes narrowed, ripping her gaze from the ring to stare at him. “You think I’m gonna let you spy on me?”

“For all this money? Yes.” He shrugged, rapping his fingers across the open briefcase. “Think about it, the biggest payday of your career, and all you have to do is let us watch you do what you do best.”

Pepper turned the ring over in her palm, watching the soft glow of the dressing room lights reflect off its smooth surface. It felt heavier than it should, and not just in a literal sense.

She wasn’t dumb. She knew a trap when she saw one. But, damn, if it wasn’t a tempting one. Pepper’s eyes flicked back to the money, stacks upon stacks of crisp, fresh bills.

She was doing well now. Better than she ever had, really. But a life of constant hustling had left its scars. No matter how much she made, the paranoia never quite faded—that nagging, deep-seated fear that one day it could all go up in smoke. That the applause could stop. That the stage lights could go dark.

But this? This was more than just security. This was power. And, perhaps most importantly, it was validation. A live audience no matter the performance, always cheering, always experiencing.

“Hm, it is a lot to think about.” She rolled the ring between her fingers, considering. “Do you mind if I put on some music?”

A suspicious brow was raised, but Dutch shrugged it off, pulling his hands back to his lap. “Go ahead.”

Pepper had to resist a winning grip as she hopped off her seat, shuffling over to her set up on the other side of the room. A player, and some speakers; that was all she needed to work. Dutch may have known of her public demonstrations of power, but he had no idea of the advantages she’d figured out to give herself even without her transformation.

All it took was sliding the CD into place and pressing the play button, and Dutch’s fate was sealed.

Don’t get her wrong, she needed to be Heartbreaker for her music to have its full effects. Just playing the song normally didn’t carry the influence of ‘Gift’. However, as Heartbreaker, she could still leave fragments of her gift engraved into a disk format. Not powerful enough to overwhelm a crowd, but good enough to target an individual and make them loosen up.

She turned to Dutch, hoisting herself up onto the table and letting her legs dangle low. Her innocent smile made predatory under the chorus playing in the background.

“Now, what were we talking about again?” Pepper drove her finger into her chin, absent minded and precious. She paused to watch Dutch take the music in, his eyes dropping, falling to that lost, lucid feeling. “Oh right, your boss. How about you tell me more about them?”

Dutch’s lazy smirk remained in place, but his pupils twitched, his breath slowing in time with the melody. Pepper could see the tension in his shoulders start to unwind, his fingers tapping an absent rhythm against his thigh.

Perfect.

Dutch’s eyelids drooped, his usual cocky ease shifting into something looser, lazier. It pulled her closer, unable to fight off that triumphant giggle that escaped her at his predicament. Oh, he looked so strong and bad, and now he was just another piglet following her hand.

“They’re powerful… They’re smart…” He murmured, his voice smoother now, more relaxed. “So smart, in fact…”

She stood over him now, ducking low to peer into passive eyes. Was it wrong to enjoy having such power over a man? Like you bring him to his knees and make or break his entire existence? Actually, she didn’t care about the answer, she was loving it no matter what. If only she had this power back in school instead of bad hair, braces and a severe lack of fashion sense.

But that was the old, pathetic, gross, nerdy her. This was the new and improved girl. The one who bent the crowds to her whim, who made men kneel before her-

Who noticed too late that Dutch was winding up his right hook.

She only heard Daizzi’s cry of her name before she realized that she was falling backwards, the breath ripped from her lungs and a burning pressure digging into her stomach.

“That they sent me into the siren’s lair fully expecting the moron to try using her voice.” Dutch finished, already lunging out of his seat to grab her mid fall, his fingers forming an iron clasp on her throat and hoisting her up to him.

He turned his head slightly, pretending to hear out her choking whimpers. The downside of turning up her music? None of her bodyguards could hear the impact. “Can’t say your transformation phrase? Well, then I guess you’ll just have to listen.”

She was forced back away from him, held up just high enough to let her legs dangle. It wasn’t impossible to breathe, but it was impossible to string two words together without him squeezing them out.

“You’re being offered one hell of a job here; all you have to do is wear the damn bracelet.” That confident grin shifted into a menacing wolf, baring all the fangs he’d use to rip her apart. “Of course, if you want to make it difficult, I am fully capable of snapping your neck right here. Then I’ll take your anklet, power up and then kill your bodyguards.”

Once more she was yanked close, never given a moment to settle. He turned his lips to her ear, a low growl punctuating his words. “And even if you managed to kill me, you’d be dead by the Mastermind’s hands anyway. Are we clear?”

She managed a weak nod.

After a silent ten seconds of continued suffering, he decided that she had enough and dropped her to the floor. She fell like a sack of bricks, with nothing but her legs to break the fall.

She couldn’t even muster the energy to get back up, just keeping her hand to her throat, fingers massaging the new red marks staining her flesh. “Ack… You got quite the right hook there…”

Dutch ran his fingers down the slip in his jacket, smoothing the creases out until he ended up at his collar. “Hey, I may not move like a butterfly, but I sting like a bee.”

He crouched down over her, voice hitting a high, patronizing note. “So… What will it be?”

Without a word she dragged herself over to the table and, with a weak glare, secured the ring over her finger. She turned to show it off to him, shooting a desperate, pleading smile that was far more reminiscent of the old Pepper.

“Perfect.” He nodded, clapping her over the shoulder and pulling her in for a short-lived hug. “And, naturally, if you try anything after this, we will be exposing your little side hobby to the rest of the world, so do try to behave.”

---

It was weird watching Sabrina have fun. Mostly because it made Chloe realize how much less fun she had with her. There was always something being held back with Sabrina, even when they were playing ‘Ladybug and Chat Noir’ (yes, she knows Chat Noir is a villain, but Sabrina likes cats more than foxes). Always that fear bubbling underneath that made their relationship more like a boss and an employee than friends.

And, okay, maybe Chloe could admit that she was partly to blame for that. Not out loud, of course. But internally she could see that maybe, just maybe, she was a very demanding ‘friend’ who tended to treat Sabrina like a… What was the word? Minion? Chump? Goon? A word that sounded worse than friend.

Anyway, there was a clear difference between the Sabrina that nodded along with Chloe’s endless ranting how Dupain-Cheng and her dumb hair, and her dumb face and her dumb bakery; and the girl that was currently jumping on top of somebody’s table and pumping her arms in the air like she just didn’t care.

Despite her ruining someone’s table instead of tearing it up on the obvious dance floor in front of them, the people sitting by her didn’t seem to mind, they were just amazed. Chloe could gleam Marinette and Alya just ahead of her, marvelling at the scene before them.

Marinette was giggling. “Holy shit, Sabrina can actually dance?”

“I know, right?” Alya exclaimed before cupping her mouth. “Show ‘em how it’s done, Sabrina. WOOOOO!”

Chloe couldn’t decide whether to scowl or join in, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched the spectacle unfold. Sabrina was actually good at dancing? Since when?

She bristled as Alya and Marinette cheered her on, practically vibrating with excitement at Sabrina’s sudden display of skill. The crowd around them was eating it up too, clapping and whistling like Sabrina was some kind of rockstar.

Which, okay, fine, maybe Chloe could admit that her best friend looked cool up there, beaming like she owned the whole damn room. But it still felt weird. Like Chloe was seeing a side of Sabrina that had been hidden from her all this time. She wasn’t sure if she liked that.

“Since when does she do that?” Chloe muttered under her breath, only for Luka—who had somehow appeared at her side—to smirk and nudge her with his elbow.

“Since you stopped bossing her around long enough to let her.”

Chloe snapped her head toward him, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Excuse me?”

Luka just chuckled, adjusting his cap as he leaned casually against the nearest chair. “I’m just saying. From what I can hear of her inner melody, she hasn’t been able to tune her strings until tonight.”

Chloe opened her mouth, ready to fire back with something biting, but the words caught in her throat. She turned back to Sabrina, watching as she twirled on the table before finally hopping down, breathless and glowing with excitement. Marinette and Alya immediately rushed over, laughing and high-fiving her like she’d just won an Olympic medal.

She scoffed. “W-What do you know? Just because you’re some guitar guru with weird hair doesn’t mean you know anything.”

Luka smiled crudely over the rim of his drink, tipping it towards her in a mock toast. “Who says that I need much to know more than you?”

Chloe shot up onto her heels, a hissing cat shifting onto her hind legs on the attack. “Did you just come over here just to mock me?” She spat through gritted teeth. “Because that’s kind of pathetic.”

In the face of her fuming, Luka just shrugged. “I needed distraction from the horrible music, and you looked lonely and kind of sad hiding back here.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Ew, you’re trying to hit on me. That’s even more pathetic.” Turning away from him, she erected her hand like a barrier, waving him away while she glared at the current band. He was right about one thing; they sucked. “For your information soft bitch sad boys who turn their wailings into stupid little songs are not my type.”

Honestly, she never thought she had much of a type past ‘rich and approved by my parents’. It was only when she thought about it that she knew for sure she’d never go for a guitar player, they were always the worst. Either the most obnoxious stoners or the whiniest emo’s who dragged everything down. Not like Chloe, who wasn’t dramatic or a mood killer at all!

Luka winced, but chuckled through it. “Ooof, sounds like I’ve hit a nerve.” He paused to sip his drink, his brow crinkling as he looked between her and a certain someone that she totally hadn’t been glancing at this entire time.

“Don’t worry, I don’t go for blondes.” He winked. “Never get along with you guys.”

Chloe’s nose scrunched up, her arms tightening around herself as she shot a glare at Luka. “Ugh, don’t wink at me, gutter punk. You’ll give me an allergic reaction.”

Luka just laughed, low and easy, entirely unbothered by her hostility. “Noted. I’ll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities.” He took another sip of his drink, side-eyeing her with an infuriating amount of amusement. “But hey, you don’t have to be so defensive. It’s okay to feel weird about it.”

Chloe scoffed, tilting her chin up. “I don’t feel weird about anything.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Luka’s lips quirked up in a knowing smirk. “I’m just saying, it’s gotta be a little jarring, right? Seeing her like that. Happy. Free.”

Chloe’s jaw clenched. Her eyes flickered back toward Sabrina—still glowing, still basking in the attention of people who weren’t her—and she felt something sour bubble up in her chest.

She didn’t like the way Luka phrased it. Like Sabrina was some trapped bird that had finally flown the coop.

Sabrina had fun with her. She laughed with her. She was loyal to her.

Wasn’t that enough?

Luka hummed, watching her closely. “You know, if you’re worried about losing her, you could always try treating her more like a friend.”

Chloe snapped her gaze back to him, face burning. “I do treat her like a friend, you blue-haired freak—”

Luka raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, no need to get feisty. Just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to show her you appreciate her.” He glanced at Sabrina again, his expression thoughtful. “She’s got a good melody. Would be a shame if you drowned it out before she ever got to play it for real.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “And we’re back with this melody crap. Do you think it makes you sound cool? Making everything an instrument pun?”

“It’s not pun.” Luka clicked his tongue, nodding along with himself. “Everyone has a song in them, and me and my sister always had a knack for being able to hear them.”

“Okay. Sure. Right. And I have some crystals to sell you.” She drew her head back, searching through the crowd to find the group again. “What’s Marinette’s like, huh?”

Luka quirked a brow at Chloe’s demand but smirked all the same. “You’re curious.” He said simply, tilting his head.

Chloe scoffed, crossing her arms. “No, I’m just calling your bluff. You act like some music guru, so prove it. What’s Dupain-Cheng’s ‘song,’ huh? I bet it’s something stupid like a ukulele or—what do the basic girls listen to? Taylor Swift?”

Luka chuckled. “Marinette’s melody? She’s complicated.” His gaze softened as he looked toward where Marinette was talking animatedly with Alya and Sabrina. “Bright, like a violin playing at sunrise. Sharp and a little chaotic, but full of energy, like she’s always on the edge of bursting into a new harmony. She’s got a lot of different sounds fighting to be heard at once, but somehow, it all works.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Of course, it’s something fancy. I bet she thinks she’s sooo elegant.”

Luka just shook his head. “It’s not about elegance. It’s about movement. Marinette’s always in motion, always creating, always feeling everything so deeply. She’s a crescendo, constantly building toward something bigger.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re such a hipster.” She flicked a dismissive hand. “Alright, what about Alya?”

Luka grinned. “Alya? She’s a bass guitar. Steady, loud, and impossible to ignore. You can feel her presence in your chest, and when she gets going, it’s infectious. She’s got this groove that pulls people in, makes them want to listen. Even when she’s clashing with Marinette, their sounds mix together into something alive.”

Chloe scrunched her nose. “Gross. Next.”

Luka chuckled. “Sabrina, then?”

Chloe hesitated for a moment but masked it with a bored expression. “Sure. Whatever.”

Luka hummed thoughtfully before answering. “Sabrina’s a flute. Light, sweet, but always in the background. She follows the main melody, letting others take centre stage, but there’s something delicate about her sound—like if she played a solo, people would stop and really listen.”

Chloe frowned. She wasn’t sure she liked that answer. “So, what, she’s just background music?”

Luka shook his head. “No. She’s just been playing second fiddle for so long, she doesn’t know how to be the lead yet.”

The on stage music tapered off and both of them breathed a sigh of relief, watching the band leave the stage to way more applause than either thought the band deserved. Soon enough it would be Nino and Luka’s group’s turn. It wasn’t just the duo, they had other guys with them, but nobody anyone from the group knew, so Chloe just ignored them in her head.

Chloe huffed, looking away. “Whatever. What about Lahiffe?”

Luka laughed. “Nino? Oh, easy. He’s a drumline. Rhythm, heart, the thing that keeps everything grounded. He’s got a way of making every other song sound better just by being there.”

Chloe snorted. “Of course, you’d make the DJ a drum. Could you be any lazier with these?”

Luka smirked. “Fine. Want something deeper? Nino’s like a jazz drummer—he can go with the flow, improvise, and keep everyone on beat even when things get messy. He’s adaptable, but you can always count on him to bring the song home.”

There was a moment of Chloe’s lips pursing in thought. Yeah, she could picture Nino in an old jazz club vibing along with that sort of beat. Lord knows that Nino was the kind of guy who idolized that old black-and-white era aesthetic; she still remembered the day he came to school pretending to be an old noir detective. It had been funny in the moment, but kind of cute in private.

And if anyone was adaptable, it was the guy that managed to put up with her without a social contract binding him to it.

Chloe scoffed, tapping her nails against her arm. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. He’s the best friend or whatever. What about Lila?”

Luka’s smirk dimmed, and he took a moment to answer. “Lila…” He swirled his drink, expression unreadable. “She’s… Discordant. A sound that doesn’t quite fit. At first, you think she’s playing the right notes, but something feels off. Like an out-of-tune violin in an orchestra. The more you listen, the more you realize she’s not in sync with the rest of the band—she’s just pretending to be. Even she doesn’t know what her rhythm is, she just knows that it isn’t the right one.”

Chloe blinked. For once, she didn’t have an immediate comeback. “Huh.”

Luka gave her a pointed look. “Alright, your turn.”

Chloe raised a brow. “What, me? Pfft, please. You’ll probably say something stupid like a kazoo.”

Luka smirked. “Nah. You’re a trumpet.”

She blinked. “A trumpet?”

“Loud. Bold. Impossible to ignore,” Luka said, taking a sip of his drink. “But a trumpet can go one of two ways: It can be sharp and grating, overpowering everything else in the band… or it can be powerful and commanding, the kind of sound that leads an entire parade.”

Chloe stared at him, lips parting slightly. For once, she wasn’t sure if she was being insulted or complimented.

Luka chuckled at her stunned silence and patted her shoulder as he walked past. “You just have to decide what kind of trumpet you want to be.”

He came to a halt, peering out over the crowd, down to the side of the stage. Chloe stood at his shoulder, following his gaze until she spotted what drew his attention. The band that had just come off stage were now surrounding a familiar mop of dark hair that poked above their shoulders. The lighting did no favours for detail, but even from the other side of the room they looked too happy, and the boy in the middle of them, Nino, looked anything but.

“We leave him alone for five minutes…” Chloe grumbled as she and Luka took off, pushing through the crowd until they arrived at the confrontation.

“Look, guys, come on. We don’t need to make a big thing of this.” Nino started saying just as they got into ear shot, his hand raised up in defence as he was backed into a wall. “It’s hard to see in this place, and I wasn’t looking where I was going. It could happen to anyone.”

The lead aggressor, shrugging a brown, furred jacket down to hang from his elbows, lifted his boot up at slammed it on the table beside Nino. “These boots cost more than your entire house, and you just got soft drink all over ‘em.”

Luka sighed, stepping forward with easy confidence, hands in his pockets. “Alright, alright. Let’s all take a breath here.”

The guy in the fur jacket barely spared him a glance. “Oh, look, it’s the sad songbird come to serenade us.” His friends chuckled, leaning in to jeer. “You in charge of the charity cases, or just here to hold his hand?”

Chloe, however, was quicker. She elbowed her way past Luka, all too eager to take centre stage in the confrontation. “Puh-lease, you’re talking about expensive shoes when you’re out here looking like a discount store mannequin? That coat? Tragic. The hair? Greasy. The attitude? So last season.”

Fur Jacket straightened, his smirk twitching. “And who the hell are you?”

Chloe scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Wow. Wow. You mean to tell me you’re standing in Paris and don’t recognize Chloe Bourgeois?” She clicked her tongue. “Honestly, that’s more embarrassing than whatever this whole thing you’re trying to pull is.”

For the first time, Luka was getting a good impression of the storm of personality that was Chloe Bourgeois. And all at once realized that he had to attempt to keep her under control, pulling her back like he was picking up a dog barking at the mailman. “What she means to say is that we’re all musicians here, and I get that you’re probably irritable fresh off of a performance-”

Her elbow grazed his arm and made him wobble. “Oh, so that’s why they look all bloated and disgusting.” She sneered. “I was worried that they were just born that ugly.”

If Luka thought he was going to make peace, he had another thing coming. He gasped. “Chloe!”

Finally, her arm managed to find it’s mark and push Luka back. “Stand aside, Baby Blue. The Trumpet is getting ready to play.” Free of Luka’s resistance, Chloe wasted no time charging ahead, stabbing her well-manicured finger into the lead dumbass’s chest. “Nino could just go on stage and burp into the microphone, and he’d still sound better than you losers.”

One of the equally uninteresting and forgettable goons laughed, smacking Nino across the shoulder. “Wait, you’re telling me you guys are the ones playing after us?”

“Wow, you all look so sad.” Jacket Douche wheezed, looking between Nino and Luka with the bemused stare of someone looking at the crayon drawing their kid stuck to the fridge. “Who made your outfits and okayed that horrible shade of green? You all look sickly.”

Finally, his eyes returned to Chloe, where they softened into a suggestive wink. He used her finger as a bridge to brush her knuckles. “Well, except for you, Babe.”

Chloe was subject to a lot of interest over the years, which was to be expected as someone born so beautiful and lovable. She’d rejected Kim over two hundred times, enough to make a sport out each different and wacky plan he used to try and win her over. So, she knew better than anyone that she deserved more than this basic bitch attempt at flirting from a guy whose most recognisable attribute was his dumb jacket.

She wasn’t even disgusted at the attempt; she just felt an immediate loss of all possible sexuality in response to his interest.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Her face flushed to match her jacket, opening her lips to dry heave into the air. “I could make rags look like royal robes; I’m always that hot.” She slapped his chest with enough force to make him back away a little. “You, on the other hand, drained your entire family fortune for that outfit and you still look like a drugged-up hobo.”

Jacket Douche stumbled back half a step, blinking in dumbstruck offense.

Luka, standing beside Nino, barely suppressed a grin.

Nino, meanwhile, was muttering to Luka. “…Is Chloe defending us?”

It took a moment for the little shit to gather his bearings, wiping that ugly, but very fitting, look of despair off his face by clearing his throat. “Tsk, whatever. We already know that there’s gotta be something wrong with you if you’re hanging around with these losers.” He scoffed. Then he scoffed again, holding his arms out to gesture to the two boys. “I bet these clowns couldn’t hold a note if they were auto tuned.”

Nino spoke up, though his voice seemed to waver. “I’m not the singer, I’m the DJ…”

Laughter cut him off, Jacket Douche leering closer. “So, you’re the guy who just fiddles with buttons to do all the work for you?” He wiggled his fingers to mimic the actions before flicking Nino’s nose. “That’s even worse.”

“Hey, that’s not how-”

But Nino’s voice was lost to the wind, crushed under the jeers of the other two douchebags. Even with Luka backing him up, these assholes and their big dumb mouths were unstoppable when they wanted to get a word in.

“And just look at you, what audience is gonna cheer for this?” One of them jeered, tugging on Nino’s shirt. “You don’t have any stage presence, bro.”

Another rounded on Luka, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the boy and shoving him back. Still, Luka refused to hit back. “You should take your funky-looking brother and leave before you embarrass yourself so bad your girlfriend dumps you.”

Chloe didn’t need to get in close when her voice could cover any distance, but she didn’t hesitate to throw herself at Nino. She draped her arm over his shoulder and pulled him into her like she was hanging off of him. And no, she did not take any time to correct the record on being his girlfriend.

Why? Because- Shut up.

“Oh my god.” She sneered, sweeping her gaze over the band like they were dirt on her designer shoes. “This is the band that just played? Seriously? I thought I was listening to a dying cat, but I figured, no, that can’t be right, surely nobody would willingly make noises like that in public. But, oh wow, you actually did.”

Jacket Douche’s lips curled, his earlier bravado flickering as Chloe’s words landed like a slap across the face. One of his lackeys muttered, “Dude, she just called you a dying cat,” but shut up when Jacket Douche shot him a look.

Chloe, meanwhile, had no intention of stopping. She tightened her hold on Nino, who was too stunned to do much beyond blink in confusion. “I mean, seriously.” She continued, tilting her head, analysing a particularly offensive painting. “I assumed the weird choking noises were some sort of avant-garde performance piece—y’know, a commentary on how music is dead—but turns out, nope! That was just you sucking.”

Luka covered his mouth with his fist, coughing suspiciously, which sounded a lot like a suppressed laugh.

Jacket Douche curled his lip, looking ready to fire back with some half-baked insult, but one of his lackeys grabbed his arm. “Come on, they’re not even worth it.”

Chloe scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “That’s right, run back to mommy and daddy; I’m sure they’re thrilled that you’ve been using their credit cards to waste everybody’s time!”

Luka winced, shifting his weight as the band stomped off, their shoulders tense with barely contained humiliation. “You really don’t hold back, huh?”

Chloe beamed at him, looking far too pleased with herself. “Why would I?”

However, she found a pang of anxiety hit her when she noticed Nino staring at her intently. His eyes were searching, confused, facing a puzzle he simply could not solve. Eventually, when she felt fit to burst form the tension, he finally spoke.

“…Did you seriously call yourself the trumpet?”

---

Nino knew something was weird the moment Chloe let go. Mostly in the fact that he was disappointed that she let go. There was something warm and fuzzy that bloomed in his stomach when she held him against her, feeling the soft subtleties of her curves move to incorporate his touch. He knew having a beautiful woman in your arms when staring down the people sneering at you was the ultimate confidence booster, but this wasn’t just that.

He couldn’t help but think how he could play his cards right and get her to do that again.

Even as they moved toward the stage, Nino still wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He had been called a loser by Chloe approximately a hundred times since the start of high school, but somehow, it didn’t feel like she had actually thought that tonight.

He shook his head. Whatever. Chloe was just like that, right? She had an over-the-top way of doing things, and the only reason she stood up for him was because she wanted to be the one dishing out insults, not some random dudes with bad hair.

That made sense.

And the way she had draped herself over him? That was just Chloe being Chloe. She was confident, she was cool—and yeah, objectively attractive—but that didn’t mean anything. Of course, it felt nice to have a pretty girl on his side, but that wasn’t, like, special. It was just her.

His fingers hovered over the soundboard as he set up for the set, but his brain was still stuck on the memory of her arm around him, the teasing lilt in her voice, the way she had looked at those jerks like they were nothing.

A strange, buzzing thought crawled its way to the front of his mind.

I think I wanna make her laugh again.

But why did he want to do that? He liked hearing his other friends laugh, especially Alya, but he never felt so proud of getting them to. It was like one of those old zen riddles that had no real answer, just there to make you ask the right question.

The longer he thought about it the more his head hurt, so he just chalked it up to Chloe just being that damn cool to have this effect on him. And he also noted that he probably shouldn’t tell her that in-person.

If he got the chance, he should ask Alya. She always knew more about this sort of stuff than him. The thought made him look out over the gathering crowd, peeking through the seams of the curtains covering the stage. He sought her out, standing as far front as she could with Marinette and Lila attached at her hip, waiting to drown out everyone else with her cheers.

It was easier to manage the hurt of Lila’s words all that time ago, he’d done his best to try and live with the fact that Alya would probably never look at him the way she did at him so long as he remained like he was; but that didn’t stop it from hurting. He looked at her, so happy for him, so ready to cheer him on, and the pain still thrummed in his chest.

It would fade, eventually, he hoped. He had to believe that one day he would be content with how things were and move on.

But then, he wasn’t good enough for Alya, who would he be good for? What did he bring to a relationship? Hell, what did he bring to a friendship? Once more, he was brought back to Mirror Mistress’ reflection of him, the layabout, the third wheel, hovering around other people’s experiences and forcing them to make room for him whilst giving nothing in return.

Suddenly, he couldn’t focus on Alya, he couldn’t focus on his friends, he could just see the crowd, the big damn crowd that were all about to be exposed to him. His fingers drummed against the soundboard, his breath growing uneven.

That guy had said he had no stage presence. That nobody would cheer for this.

He stole another glance at the crowd, watching as Alya talked excitedly with Marinette and Lila, completely unaware of the growing pit in his stomach. She would cheer for him, of course she would. She was a great friend. But would she be the only one?

What if the crowd didn’t care? What if the other bands were actually right? What if they went up there, played their set, and all they got was awkward clapping and pitying smiles?

It wouldn’t be the first time he had forced himself into something he had no real right to be in.

Maybe Luka would be fine—Luka was effortlessly cool, people liked him. But what about the rest of them? What about Nino? He wasn’t some super talented guitarist or a charismatic frontman. He was just the guy who messed around with buttons and hoped it sounded cool.

His hands flexed over the controls, a nervous sweat prickling at his skin.

Was he just kidding himself?

He flinched when something nudged his arm.

“Hey.”

Nino turned his head just in time to see Chloe pop into his space, arms folded, one brow raised.

“You’re looking like you’re thinking something dumb.” She accused, gently smacking him on the head. “Stop it.”

“I was just thinking...” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do I actually bring to this band? It’s not like I’m out there playing an instrument. I just mess with sounds and let the software do the work.”

Nino swallowed hard, his throat dry. “W-What if they hate me?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if I get up there and everyone realizes that I’m a fraud?” His hands clenched into fists. “What if they boo me off stage and tell me I’m nobody?”

She blinked.

“I know I’m easy-going, but I don’t think…” He hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “I don’t think I can handle that kind of rejection.”

Chloe stared at him; her expression unreadable.

Then, very calmly, she said, “Nino, you’re an idiot, so I’ll cut you a little slack, but…”

She took a step closer, taking a deep breath and drawing her hands together.

“Shut the fuck up.”

His breath hitched. “But—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.”

Her voice was firm. Not angry, not mocking—just completely, entirely serious. Those eyes pinned him down with the weight of whatever intensity was fighting inside her, a mix of desperation and determination. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away, there was only her, and him. There were no people, no stage, the boundaries of his reality were determined by her presence alone, trapping him in a tight space that somehow didn’t feel claustrophobic.

“You could go out there and rock the joint, and you’ll be a legend.” She said, surprising him with her fingers moving to take hold of his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. To see the uncharacteristic sincerity that she reserved just for him, just for this moment, for their moment. “You could go out there and fall flat on your face, then you’ll be a joke.”

Her grip was just tight enough to make a statement, keep him aware of her touch, but not enough to hurt. Fingers groped at his cheek with a certain amount of curiosity, exploring him for the first time, defining him in all of her senses. “Either way, you get to know for certain what you can do. If you’re a joke, it’ll feel bad, sure, but then that’ll just mean you’ll have more reason to get better and stop being a joke.” There was something in her voice, a certain rawness, that conveyed more than a platitude; experience.

“But you can also run away crying and whinging about what could have been.” Her eyes narrowed and she drew herself close. So close it was painful, not because she was too close, but because he was painfully aware of how much closer she could be.

She whispered the next part like a hateful secret, like a sin. “You know what that would make you? A loser.”

Chloe did not pull away, she kept the pressure on his body, dominating his entire nervous system with just her fingers and her voice. She spoke directly into his ear without moving from his face, her eyes seeming to glow a particularly bright blue. “And I didn’t drag myself to this shitty little club to hang out with a loser.” She hissed. “I came here because I crowned a god damn king.”

Hands dropped down to his chest, yanking him up by his collar, as if she were winding up to punch him. “What will it be, Nino? What are you?”

“I’m… Uh…”

She shook him. “What are you!?” She growled.

Weakly, he blurted out. “A king?”

“Louder!”

He gulped, cheeks flushing red, but a booming confidence overtaking his voice. “A king!”

She slipped behind him, grasping his head and turning it to face the stage. “Good, now go out there and address your subjects so I can brag about you to everyone else at school!” With one last slap on the back, and a satisfied once-over, Chloe turned on her heel and stalked past a stunned Luka without sparing him a second glance.

By the time Luka made it over to Nino, the boy was staring into space, eyes wide, flushed; but refreshed. He couldn’t believe it, all at once those doubts and fears just seemed to all ease at once. Yeah, he could still feel the prickle of doubt, but it was far less pronounced before, now just drowned out by… Well, Chloe’s voice.

“Huh” Nino murmured. “That actually made me feel a lot better.”

“Say, Nino…” Luka mused with a teasing grin, taking Nino by the shoulder. “Did you ever think Chloe is cute?”

Nino didn’t even need to think, the response was pure instinct, following by scoffing at sucha  stupid question. “Uh, duh? She’s the most beautiful girl here.” He paused a moment, leaning back to squint at Luka suspiciously. “Oh, are you interested in her? Because, to be honest, I don’t think you’re her type.”

Wait, so Marinette liked Adrien, who likes Marinette, but also potentially liked Luka, who also likes Marinette, who also likes him, who also likes Chloe who may or may not still like Adrien? Urg, what kind of fucked up love octagon was he getting into?

Luka stifled a laugh, simply shaking his head. “Nah, she’s a little too much for me.” He patted Nino on the shoulder. “I just wanted to know.”

“…Why?”

For once, Luka was speechless, staring gob smacked at Nino’s utter cluelessness. It took a solid minute for him to regain his balance and, after all that thought, all he could do was pull Nino into a side-hug.

“Nino, I love you man, but sometimes…” He winced. “Never mind, let’s get this party started.”

Notes:

Dutch: "We already outplayed Hawkmoth and Chat Noir."
Pepper: "Wow, you mean you guys beat them?"
Dutch: "...Yeah, sure, technically."

I needed to get some Luka and Chloe interaction.

Next Time - Temptations:

It was pounding in her head, threatening to split her head open the further she got. In that moment, the alley seemed to peel apart, opening so far that the light reflected off of the windows couldn’t make a dent in the growing darkness. It filled her vision, submerging her feet in the abyss, sucking her in with that empty feeling. That feeling of something hollow, something she needed to fill with something, anything.

Marinette tried to move away, chase sanctuary in the last turn she took, but the sea of darkness only rose. It went above her knees, it clung to her, eager to swallow her whole and trap her underneath he waves until she gave in. All she could do was struggle against it, yanking her entire body back in frantic, futile motions and desperately hope that it’s hold would weaken.

And finally, one push was mighty enough to snap the connection, to throw her back, to let her fall back to the pavement.
Only for someone to catch her.

“You know…” Dutch drawled, his eyes the darkness made flesh. “It’s awfully dangerous to be out here at this time of night all alone.”

Chapter 41: Heartbreaker: Keep Your Friends Close

Summary:

Marinette just wanted to dance.

“You’re staring.”

The high energy rhythm pounding in her head could do nothing to block Sabrina’s voice from reaching her. Chloe harrumphed, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes focused, trying to let her thoughts drift away on the current of the music.

Luka and Nino’s song was a deceptive beat, starting off like a slow, gentle love tune before breaking out into a loud, heavy pop ballad that encouraged everyone to get up and jump around. Chloe didn’t really pay attention to the lyrics, something about ‘I don’t need you, but I want you’, all she experienced was the vibe of the music embracing her. It left her in a daze, lulling her into a trance, like Pepper’s song had, only this felt less like Chloe losing control of her body, and more like her body lost control of her.

“They’re the main event.” She grumbled. “You’re supposed to be looking at them.”

Sabrina spun out in front of her, hopping from foot-to-foot, but she couldn’t break Chloe’s gaze. “You’re supposed to be grooving to the music.”

Chloe scoffed. “I am grooving.”

Sabrina wiggled her finger, gesturing downward at Chloe’s knees slightly bending to sway side-it-side at an agonizingly slow pace. “Shuffling from side-to-side by an inch does not count as a dance move.”

“It’s called beauty in simplicity, Brina.”

At this, Sabrina could only roll her eyes, slipping to position herself over Chloe’s shoulder, speaking directly into her ear. “It’s called you being distracted by a certain DJ.”

Chloe could balk, she could grumble, but she could not take her eyes off that distracting, horribly distracting, man. She sunk into her shoulders, murmuring. “…It could be both.”

Her friend came forward to comfort her, a hand on Chloe’s back, patting away the humiliating pain. Instinctively, Chloe leaned into Sabrina, dropping her head to bury her nose in Sabrina’s head. It was only the volume of the music that stopped everyone from hearing her loud wail of a groan.

“Saaaaaabrina!” She whined. “It’s horrible.”

“I know.”

Chloe felt like she could cry, but she didn’t want to get anything nasty in Sabrina’s hair. “I have it baaaaaad.”

“It’s okay, Chlo.”

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could block out the swirling mess of emotions tightening around her chest. “No, it’s not okay, Brina! This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Sabrina hummed, rocking them both slightly to the beat of the music. “Worse than that time you got gum in your hair and had to get an emergency haircut?”

“Yes!”

“Worse than when your dad grounded you for sneaking out to that fashion show?”

“Yes!”

Sabrina gasped dramatically. “Worse than when you found out that that exclusive handbag you pre-ordered was actually last season’s?”

Chloe physically recoiled, like the memory itself had slapped her. “Ugh, don’t remind me, I still have nightmares about that.”

Sabrina just giggled, but Chloe didn’t have the capacity to glare at her right now. She was too busy glaring at the stage, as if Nino were personally responsible for her suffering.

Which, actually? He kind of was.

Because ugh, why did he have to be so—so stupidly confident all of a sudden? Why did he have to look like he belonged up there, like he wasn’t just some guy pressing buttons on a mixer, but the conductor of the whole damn crowd?

Oh yeah, because she gave him a pep talk. Since when did she give pep talks!?

“How can it be okay when he’s making everything so hard?” Chloe found her fingers digging into her hair, throwing her head back to grumble. “I just want to hate him and make fun of him, but even when I do that, he’s acting all stupid and cute about it.”

Pat. Pat. Pat.

“There, there.”

The only place Chloe could find solace was in the ceiling, glaring into the light fixture until it could burn out all the traitorous images in her head. “This is the worst.”

Sabrina hummed, tapping her chin in thought. “Do you want me to get the hammer?”

Chloe scoffed, dismissing her with a flick of her wrist. “What’s the point? My brain’s too big to be hurt by that tiny hammer anyway.” And her body sunk right back to sulking, glancing over towards the exit. “I’d just leave if I didn’t know that I’d be cursed with the image of his disappointed face all night.”

“What else is there to do then, Chloe?”

There was nothing left. That was all Chloe could think of as they shuffled over to their table, slumping into her seat like her limbs had lost all will to carry her. Nothing left to do. Except maybe flee the country, change her name and wear a fake moustache… No, that would never work. It wouldn’t erase the shame, the utter mortification.

It was unbearable, like some cruel asshole as constantly yanking on her heart strings just to see her fall apart. How did Kim manage having these sorts of feelings for her? And how did he manage to stay upright after her constant rejections delivered for maximum damage? It sucked. Liking people sucked. Chloe was not supposed to suck.

She ended up with her arms on the table and her chin resting in the crook of it. An absolutely pathetic sight, she knew. Sabrina sat across from her, shuffling in her seat like she just couldn’t find a comfortable position, worry straining her eyes. Great, now these stupid feelings were ruining Sabrina’s night too. Why are there so many movies celebrating this emotional war crime?

“Sabrina?” She croaked, rolling her head back and forth. “Have you ever had a cruuu- A croooos- A c-c-c-c-c-c-…”

Her lips pursed and her cheeks bulged like something was being pulled out of her, something big, too big, that shredded her insides with every tug. Red flashed across her face under the exhaustion of the act. At this rate she was going to vomit the words out along with half of her lunch.

With a sigh, she stopped herself and settled for an alternative approach. “The ‘c’ word on someone?”

Sabrina shrugged. “A few people, I guess.”

She said it so simply, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t such a shameful, painful, frustrating ordeal that was forced on her by her heart.

Chloe groaned into the table, the vibrations of her suffering rattling her own skull. “Ughhhh. How did you survive it?”

“I accepted it would never happen, sobbed into my pillow and ate ice cream until I stopped.”

It was a nice sounding idea, but flawed.

“Damn it, ice cream goes straight to my thighs.” Chloe cried. “I’d never be able to sacrifice my killer body just to get over some boy.”

Sabrina nodded solemnly. “This is a real dilemma.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Chloe still slumped over the table, Sabrina fidgeting with her straw. Then, out of nowhere, Sabrina gasped, her eyes lighting up with the spark of an idea. “Ooo ooo, I got it!”

Chloe barely lifted her head. “This better be good.”

“Maybe you can call Hawkmoth and ask him to give you an akuma power that will sort all this out!”

For the first time all night, Chloe’s expression flickered with something that was not agony. Slowly, she turned to Sabrina, blinking.

“…Write it down, write it down.”

Sabrina scrambled for a napkin and a pen, dutifully jotting down AKUMA LOVE FIXING POWERS while Chloe nodded in grim approval.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Chloe muttered.

“You’ve been compromised.” Sabrina said sympathetically. “Your brain is no longer your own.”

Chloe sighed. “This is worse than death.”

“I know.”

It seemed that the universe was taking careful measures to listen to Chloe’s words and remind her that there are still worse fates. As, the moment she finished talking, it decided to make her body turn in on herself from second-hand embarrassment alone by forcing her to listen to a new voice.

“You know, Babe, you look even better from behind.” It was the jacket douche from earlier, only now right behind her with his hand settling on her chair, knuckles grazing her shoulder. Like he was entitled to even breathing her air.

The fact that she had any chance of meeting this guy at any time tonight was proof that there was a God, and he was a rat bastard.

She cocked her head back, scowling up at his grinning face and hyper-focusing on that one piece of green sticking to his teeth. “Well yes, that’s because from behind you can’t see my utter lack of interest.”

Jacket Douche, to his credit, only seemed mildly put off, like he was used to women being unimpressed with him but still somehow convinced he was winning them over. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, leaning in. “I saw you sitting here all lonely, figured you could use some company.”

“I have company,” Chloe deadpanned, gesturing at Sabrina.

He barely even glanced at her. “Yeah, but, like—real company.”

Sabrina blinked. “Wow.”

“Hey, I think we started off on the wrong foot.”

Chloe sucked in a slow, deep breath, steeling herself. “I think we started off on the wrong planet.” She said, spinning in her seat to fully face him, voice saccharine sweet. “Your fellow little green people live on Mars.”

“Name’s Patrick.” He said, flashing what he probably thought was a charming grin. “But you can call me Trick.”

Chloe stared at him blankly. “I’m not remembering any of that.”

Trick—ugh, even thinking the name made her want to gag—chuckled, either completely unfazed or just too stupid to take a hint. “You are a feisty little one,” he mused, stepping in like he was about to lean on her chair again. “Just my speed.”

Ha! She knew he was on something.

Then, his grin widened, and he nodded toward the stage where one of the band members was holding the microphone over Nino to have him repeat the keyword of the chorus. “You sure your wimpy little boytoy up there can handle all that?”

She shot up out of her seat, a fire in her eyes as she advanced upon the man. Despite the bravado, he seemed to shrink under her glare.

“Puh-lease.” She scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “My boyfriend could handle me all day long. Have you seen those hands? It’s like you said earlier, he’s a pro at pushing the right buttons.”

Sabrina made a noise. “Chloe, you don’t have a—”

Chloe’s fingers pressed over Sabrina’s lips, squashing her into silence. “Shush, Sabrina. I’m working.”

She turned back to Trick, all smug confidence, chin lifted high. “You wanna talk big? Nino charged an akuma with a gun and made her look like a chump. What have you done lately?”

Somewhere in the club, Lila Rossi suddenly felt defensive, and she had no idea why.

In the mean time, Chloe did not give up her advance, her palm pressed flat against the douchebag’s chest and pushing him back with every insult. “You couldn’t hold a note, let alone my purse.” She threw her head back to laugh. “And you think you can stack up to my man?” With a shake of her head and a disinterested roll of her eyes, she turned away, making a shooing motion. “You’d have better luck sticking your dick in a cactus.”

“Why don’t I show you-”

Of all the things to shake Chloe up, it was Alya’s voice calling out over her shoulder. “Dude, I don’t know what your deal is; but she’s clearly not interested.”

A glance was all it took to confuse Chloe, finding that the rest of the group, sans Luka and Nino, had gathered around the table, all joined together in glaring at the asshole. As if the equal the playing field, the rest of douchebag’s friends emerged from the crowd and rocked up by he side as well.

Alya stood with her arms crossed, her mouth ready to spit out something else until Lila slid down her arm. She patted Alya on the shoulder, making a show of daintily shaking her head. “Now, now, Alya, we need to be understanding here.” She stretched her arm out, hand unfurling to limply point to the boy. “Obviously, this boy is suffering from serious brain damage.”

Chloe’s eyes found Marinette, looking like a particularly grumpy hamster as she stood with her purse up to her chest. “…What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Alya’s raised brow confused look made Chloe feel stupid. “Stopping this douche from creeping on you?”

Marinette nodded, rolling her eyes at Chloe’s disgusted sneer. “Just because we hate each other, doesn’t mean we can’t hate assholes more.”

Chloe blinked at them, at the collective wall of judgment and silent backup behind her. This felt weird. Why did everything about this night feel weird? Was she not bullying people enough? That was it, she was getting rusty. She needed to be a bigger bitch, she was clearly growing soft with Nino distracting her all the damn time if Dupain-Loser was actually sticking up for her.

Alya scoffed, spinning back around with a sharp glare. "Oh, you did not just drag Nino into this too."

Chloe clicked her tongue, smirking as she sized Trick up. "Yeah, this guy is real jealous of Nino." She made an obscene motion with her hand. "The only girl that’ll tolerate him is his right hand wearing a wig."

A snort erupted from Marinette, who immediately smacked a hand over her mouth. Lila cackled outright, and even Sabrina had to turn her face away, shoulders shaking.

“I’m not jealous of that wuss!” Trick barked, face going red. “I know my way around a woman!”

Chloe turned to make another remark to the group, but before Chloe could get another insult in, Trick’s hand had the audacity to slap her ass. Her body went rigid, the sheer disrespect ringing in her ears like an explosion.

“You… How dare—” Chloe gasped, whipping around, her whole face lighting up with fury. “This ass is a national monument! Touching it counts as domestic terrorism!”

And with zero hesitation, she drove her elbow straight into his stomach.

WHAM.

Trick stumbled back, clutching his gut. "Ah, fuck!" he wheezed. But instead of learning his lesson like a rational human being, he grabbed the nearest drink off the table and splashed it at her.

A collective gasp rippled through their group as the cold liquid hit her.

"My shirt!" Chloe shrieked, her hands flying to her torso.

Sabrina reacted instantly, reaching for Chloe’s jacket and yanking it together. “Chloe, zip up your jacket!”

Chloe blinked at her in confusion for half a second before realization slammed into her. She glanced down—her white undershirt had turned completely see-through, and every part of her being burned with rage.

“You pervert!” She snarled, her jacket snapping shut with a quick zip. “You have no class at all, do you?!”

Trick, for some reason, smirked. “Relax, babe, it’s just a joke. You look good—why not show it off?”

The next response wasn’t in words, it was a coke can flying over Trick’s shoulder and hitting the guitar he’d placed on the table behind him. He and his bandmates watched in horror as the can broke open, spilling sticky liquid all over the instrument, and giving just enough of a push to cause it to fall off the edge and crash into the floor.

His hands flew to his head, eyes bulging out of their sockets as he squealed. “My guitar!”

Everyone’s eyes followed the can’s journey in reverse, ending up back to where Lila stood, her hand outstretched and a sheepish smile on her face. “Okay, to be fair, I was aiming for your head.”

“Well, you missed!”

Lila’s head tilted slightly, looking off to the side. “Don’t worry.” She grinned. “He won’t.”

Nino had much better aim with the microphone, lobbing it from the stage with the precision and gusto of an Olympic javelin thrower. The microphone slammed straight into Trick’s forehead with a sickening thunk, sending him staggering back into his friends.

“Bullseye, asshole!” Nino’s voice rang out from the stage, his usually laid-back demeanour completely absent. His arms were still outstretched from the throw, his expression a mix of righteous fury and satisfaction.

“Ah, well…” Luka looked at the scene with a shrug, safely packing away his instrument before joining Nino in jumping off the stage. “The song was over anyway.”

By this point, the crowd had began to take notice of the growing confrontation, moving the circle the two groups and turn the space between the dance floor and the tables into a walled-off arena. Trick’s friends caught him and hosted him back to his feet while he held his now swollen cheek, biting back tears.

“You fooking hit me!” He slurred.

The group began to advance, making Chloe and co start to back away into their own little cluster, Nino and Luka sliding into the front. Chloe found herself squished up with Marinette in the middle, the two pushing each other apart by their elbows.

“Guys…” Marinette squeaked over the shoulders of her much taller friends. “I just noticed that his back up dancers are much bigger than us.”

Alya brought her fists together, awkwardly trying, and failing, to crack her knuckles. “We can take ‘em.”

A choking sound escaped Marinette as she cried back. “No, we can’t!”

Lila raised her hands and, for some reason everyone seemed to instinctively part like the red sea. She came close to Marinette, who was shooting her some major side eye as Lila threw her arm around Marinette’s shoulder. “Everyone chill, we still have our secret weapon.”

Chloe squinted. “We do?”

In one quick move, Lila’s arm dropped to Marinette’s hip where she proceeded to hook her arm around the girl’s waist and throw her forward into the enemy group. “Miraculous Disaster Mari!”

“LILA, YOU TRAITOR!” Marinette screeched as she stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her own feet.

The enemy group blinked in confusion as Marinette landed right in front of them, the human equivalent of a lamb tossed into a lion’s den. For a brief moment, the universe held its breath. Marinette wobbled on unsteady legs, her face twisted in sheer panic as Trick’s crew loomed over her.

Then, in a move only she could accomplish, she tripped over absolutely nothing and stumbled forward—headfirst—into one of the guys’ chests.

“Wha—? Hey!” The guy barely had time to react before Marinette’s full body weight slammed into him, knocking him back a step.

His hands instinctively shot up to steady her, but before he could so much as blink, Marinette screeched, flailing wildly as she tried to regain her balance. In her wild, erratic flailing—she shot up like a bullet, slamming her forehead directly into his nose.

A sickening CRACK echoed through the club.

The guy’s head snapped back, his body going rigid as he let out a strangled gargle. He swayed for a second, eyes unfocused, before crumpling onto the floor like a poorly assembled Jenga tower.

Marinette gasped in horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

In her panic, she scrambled to her feet—only to slam her heel down with all her weight onto another guy’s foot.

“AAAAAGGHHHH!” The poor bastard let out a bloodcurdling scream, hopping in place as he clutched his foot. But, in his pain-fueled flailing, he accidentally pitched forward into one of his own friends, sending that guy crashing into the crowd behind him.

Which, of course, sent the next guy slamming into a girl’s table, knocking her drink clean out of her hands and onto her outfit. The girl slowly looked down at her soaked top. Then, very slowly, turned her head toward the guy who’d just collided with her.

Her eyes glowed with pure, unfiltered rage.

The guy gulped. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Her boyfriend, a very large, very muscular man, had already reeled back a fist and swung.

Straight into the completely wrong guy’s face.

“WHAT THE FU—”

The wrongly-punched dude reeled back, eyes wide in shock as he clutched his now-bleeding nose—before immediately tackling the guy who hit him.

And that was all it took. The club erupted into chaos. People who weren’t even involved got dragged into the mess. Fists flew, drinks spilled, chairs were flipped—some guy got launched across the bar like he was in a wrestling match.

And right in the middle of it, the original guy Marinette had injured finally regained enough sense to go after her.

“Y-you little—” He growled, stumbling toward her like a drunken zombie.

But just as he reached out—

Marinette slipped.

With an undignified squawk, she flung her purse straight up into the air.

The purse—which, as everyone now knew, contained a comedic amount of junk—came crashing down directly onto his head. It was real precise. If you looked close enough, you might even mistakenly think that it was flying of its own free will.

THUNK.

The guy froze.

His eyes rolled back.

And then he collapsed, face-first onto the floor.

Alya choked. “GIRL—”

Lila wheeze laughed. “Holy shit, it actually worked!”

Nino threw his hands up in victory. “Mari with the TKO!”

But Marinette, the catalyst of the madness, could only stand in the eye of the hurricane, looking around at the absolute warzone she had just created.

She slowly turned back to her so-called friends; eyes wide. “…I hope you all burn in hell.”

With a made glint her eye, Alya looked upon the unfolding chaos and rushed over to grab the nearest tray, clearing it of any clutter and spinning it in her hand.

Luka looked over to her with a worried glance. “Alya, what are you doing?”

She held the tray up high before charging into the crowd. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with ‘em.”

So much had gone wrong so fast, and now Chloe was stuck in the middle of a large scale bar-room brawl with her clothes completely soaked and everyone acting crazy. And yet, she couldn’t call the night a disaster. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time that her heart got beating this fast, this loud, that wasn’t when she was afraid. She almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

Her heart beat didn’t steady when she realized Nino’s hand was holding hers, or that his big, soft, turtle-ass eyes were wide with concern; but she knew she felt better. Just in general.

“You okay, Chlo?” He asked.

“I am now…” She let slip out, almost caught in the dream for a moment, squeezing his hand back and fighting the urge to pull him closer.

Just in time she shook herself free from the ‘bad thoughts’ clouding her mind and straightened out her voice. “N-Now that everyone’s brawling.” She nodded to Jacket Douche, now lying face first on the floor. “Nice throw.”

Nino grinned, winking at her. “Nice elbow.”

Before Chloe’s temptation could get the better of her, the two were interrupted by Alya once more, this time emerging from the crowd hanging off some random guy she was trying to pummel. He was desperately trying to throw her off, but Alya’s gripping strength was jacked up on the best adrenaline high the girl had ever known.

In the end, the deciding factor was Lila sticking her foot out and making the man trip and face plant in the floor. Alya casually hopped off and traded a victorious high five with the girl.

Marinette came back into the scene with her arms flailing, pulling Alya and Lila along with her. “G-Guys, I think security’s coming for us.”

They all collectively followed her directions and found some mean looking bouncers forcing their way through the crowd, occasionally stopping to point right at them. That couldn’t be good,

In a brilliant moment of hormonal, indecisive bravery; it was Sabrina, daughter of a policeman, who took one look at the bouncers heading their way, grabbed a bottle and proceeded to smash it on the ground.

And then she yelled out. “SCATTER!”

---

Nino thought that adrenalin had been carrying him through the performance, that the pounding of his heart was the only thing overpowering his nerves in the face of the cheering audience. He hadn’t really thought much about where he was look, how his eyes searched the crowd and found solace in his friends calling out his name, or how he felt a surge of confidence when he found Chloe staring so intently back at him.

It was when that asshole in the tacky jacket appeared and started putting his hands on her. That was when the adrenaline kicked in, pumping all his blood away from his brain and into his hands. One minute he was backing up Luka’s beat, the next minute he was snatching a microphone out of someone’s hand while his vision bled red.

Now, that same rush followed him out of the club, bursting through the first set of doors he could find out into a side car park. Everyone else had sprinted off in different directions. The cold night air tickled his skin, but the chill could do nothing but fizzle out on his steaming skin. He was simply too hot, because at his back, joined hands connecting him to her, Chloe could outdo the sun with just her touch alone.

Nino barely had time to process what was happening before Chloe yanked him forward, dragging him into a sprint between parked cars.

His lungs burned from laughing and running all at once, the energy from the stage still thrumming through his body. It didn’t help that Chloe—Chloe Bourgeois of all people—was gripping his hand like her life depended on it, as if letting go meant getting caught.

Her breath came out in sharp, exhilarated gasps, but her grip on him was unyielding.

Eventually, they skidded into the space between two cars, crouching low as the distant shouts of the bouncers echoed across the lot. Chloe still had his hand locked in hers, fingers tightening each time a noise startled her.

“I’ve never ran so fast in my life.” Chloe heaved with a wheezy giggle, body practically vibrating in place. “Oh, I must look a mess.”

Nino didn’t know what she was talking about, she looked immaculate to him.

For a moment, Chloe stared down at their hands, and Nino could see the hint of a blush creeping up her skin. Her elbow wiggled, as if preparing to pull back, but she never did. Instead, she cleared her throat and looked away. “So, uh. That was a disaster.”

Nino peeked over the hood of a car, making sure the coast was clear before looking back at her. “Yeah? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn I saw you having fun back there.”

Chloe scoffed, flicking her wet hair again. “Pfft. Please. I was miserable. I reek of alcohol, my makeup is ruined, and some loser thought he could grope me like I was some commoner.”

“Right.” Nino nodded, lips twitching. “Totally miserable.”

“Shut up, Lahiffe.” She made that pouting face where her cheeks puffed up and a low, purring whine rumbled from her throat. Utterly displeased with how hard Nino was smiling. “Look, maybe, just maybe, I enjoyed myself a little. Just a little. A tiny bit.”

Nino’s grin only widened, pushing up his glasses. “A tiny bit, huh?”

Chloe huffed and turned away, flipping her soaked hair over her shoulder. “Yes, and if you tell anyone, I will deny it. Vehemently.”

Nino chuckled. “Noted.”

Chloe let out another breathless giggle, pressing her fingers to her flushed cheeks. Her whole body still felt like it was vibrating, like the excitement of the night was thrumming under her skin.

They both held each other’s gazes, lips open with some crack about the other in mind, but neither could find it in themselves to get the words out. There was something there, something nice and warm, a moment they were content not to break with noise. They let it play out a little bit more, inching a little bit closer every passing second.

By the time that their shoulders were brushing together, Nino finally spoke.

“Am I ever getting my hat back?” He pondered, the breeze making it hard to ignore his unprotected hairs. “’Cus at this point, I feel like I have to let you keep it just so you have an excuse to come back.”

The way she looked at him in response was hard to read. An expression that looked too tender, too fond for the likes of the Chloe she knew. Her eyes lowered and her skin seemed to thrum with life, it was that gasp that escaped when you relieve your lungs of some terrible build up. Nino didn’t exactly know what it was doing to him, he just knew that whatever it was, it was good. And that kicked up to electrifying when he felt her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

Her knees pushed up, carrying her forward, past his shoulder, drawn to him like a magnet. In that split second, his heart stopped, and his brain could only process the question of how close she’d come.

“I…” She started, breathless. “I already have a re-”

‘WE WILL WIN AND WE WILL RISE. ALL OF PARIS VILLAINZED!’

Her ring tone killed whatever she was going to say.

‘NO MORE RULES TO GET IN YOUR WAY. WE ARE MENACES, AND WE’RE HERE TO STAY.’

Chloe pulled away to pull her phone up. Nino knew that Hawkmoth and Chat Noir were supervillains and all, but now he really hated them and their stupid song.

She glanced at the caller id. “It’s Sabrina.” She shifted around to sit down beside him, holding the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Brina, did you-”

The caller interrupted her, making her face scrunch up in confusion.

“Luka?” She exclaimed, gesturing for Nino to lean in closer as she put the phone on speaker. “What are you doing with Sabrina’s phone?”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, just lean down and keep his ear open for Luka’s voice. Yet, suddenly he just felt hyper-aware of everything. How far was he supposed to go before it was awkward? Why was he fighting the urge to rest his chin on her shoulder? Why did he want to make up an excuse to just pull her to him?

Why was he starting to sound like Marinette?

“Um, Sabrina is acting funny.” Luka murmured, his voice coming out half-hearted, half of him turning away from the phone to check on whatever was going on. “I was hoping you could help calm her down.”

Nino cocked his head to the side, curious. “Like ‘ha ha’ funny?”

The phone leaped out of Chloe’s hand, shaken by the pure force of a yell from the other side of the call. Chloe barely had the sense to catch it as “FOOK DA POWICE!” was slurred through the night by a very scratchy-voiced Sabrina.

There was a guttural whimper from another angle followed by Alya’s rushed footsteps. “Sabrina, get down from there, that’s someone’s car!”

Unfortunately, it did not seem like Sabrina was down to listen to reason. “The government doesn’t get to tell me when to go to bed!”

“Where the hell did she get a golf club!?”

Nino clamped a hand over his mouth, choking on his laughter. “Oh my god.”

Chloe just stared at the phone in her hand, looking deeply offended by the entire situation. “Did—did she just—”

“Sabrina, I swear to God, if you scratch that car, I am not bailing you out!” Alya’s voice shouted from the other end.

“I’m committing a victimless crime, Alya!” Sabrina slurred in response.

A distant crash echoed through the speaker, followed by an ominous chorus of gasps. Luka sighed heavily. “Okay, that one had a victim.”

“Sabrina, put that down!” Alya pleaded.

“I WILL NOT BE OPPRESSED!” Sabrina hollered in return.

“I don’t even think she knows what that word means,” Luka muttered, his voice far too calm for someone witnessing the downfall of one of Paris’s most straight-laced teenagers.

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, for the love of- You let her have an energy drink, didn’t you?”

Luka hesitated. “...She said it would be okay.”

“Sabrina goes crazy when she has too much energy! Her dad’s the same way! That’s why their house has a giant hamster ball in it.”

Nino snorted. “Wait, seriously?”

“This is no laughing matter, Lahiffe.” Chloe shot him a glare. “You think her dad runs around in that thing for fun? That’s containment, Nino.”

Before Nino could even begin to unpack that, another crash came from the phone, this time accompanied by the distinct whomp of someone faceplanting.

Luka groaned. “Alya, I thought you had her!”

Sabrina’s voice rang out in the background. “ANARCHY! ANARCHYYYY!”

Luka let out a long, suffering sigh. “Chloe, we’re losing her.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Ugh, keep her contained. I’ll call her dad to pick her up.”

“Contain her?” Luka repeated, his voice slightly incredulous.

“Get a straightjacket or tie her to a tree or something. I’m not gonna do everything for you.”

Alya’s voice cut in. “Okay, I’ll just- How did she get up there!?”

Luka groaned, now deeply resigned. “Alya, do not let her jump.”

“I don’t think I can stop her.”

Sabrina whooped gleefully. “I AM SPEED!”

Chloe groaned, rubbing her temples like this was actively causing her brain cells to die. “Oh, and Luka?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch where you put your hands—she bites.”

Before Luka could respond, there was another sharp yelp through the phone. The call cut out and the fate of Luka and Alya were left inconclusive. Chloe and Nino just sat there, giggling their asses off for a straight minute. Honestly, they had to get it all out now, because Alya would probably kill them if they ended up laughing to their faces.

When the time to move eventually came to them, Chloe was the first to rise. She peaked over the side of the car, sweeping the area carefully before breathing a sigh of relief and getting up. “I think the coast is clear.” She held out a hand and Nino took it, hoisted to his feet and adoring the excuse to hold her hand again, however brief. “You coming?”

Nino wanted to scream yes; he didn’t want this night to end. The prospect made his heart shiver and his brain panic, painting scenarios in his head of everything reverting to the way it was before the moment she left his sight. That he’d wake up tomorrow and she’d still be keeping him at a distance. And he… He didn’t want that.

But, as his phone’s alarm conveniently decided to remind him at that very moment, what his heart wanted to do just wasn’t possible. He’d have to survive on hope for tonight.

“I actually need to get home before curfew.” He explained awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Besides, it sounds like you have all this handled.”

Chloe scoffed. “Of course I do, I’m amazing.”

“Right, right.” Nino nodded. “See you later.”

“You too…”

Chloe didn’t move to leave.

Nino didn’t move to leave.

“So…”

“So.”

They spat out words, neither of them knew who spoke them, just that it made them linger a little longer.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut; her face screwed up like she was trying to lift something three times her size. She ended it with a sigh. “I should be going.”

“Right.”

She moved away at a snail’s pace, her feet uncoordinated and leading to round-about swaying movements. As if an invisible string was pulling back on her heel with every step.

She only got as far as the pavement before she stopped, turned around and quickly shuffled back in a nervous hurry. In a matter of seconds, she was suddenly so, so close to him. She was practically on top of him, with barely enough room to press her hands against his chest.

“Hey, Nino?” She said, fingers curling around his shirt. “Just for your information, raging insensitive dickheads like that douche back there aren’t my type.”

Nino blinked, brain buffering as he processed the fact that Chloe—Chloe—was right there, practically pressed against him, looking up with wide, nervous eyes that didn’t match the confidence in her voice.

“Uh—Good to know?” He managed, voice cracking slightly.

Chloe scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, her grip on his shirt tightened.  She lightly tugged on him, using his shirt as leverage to pull herself up until her lips pressed against his cheek. “I prefer the royal treatment.”

Then she shoved him back against the car, turned on her heel, and marched off with a dramatic flip of her hair, her face burning. Nino just… stood there, processing, blinking into the night air as his brain replayed the past twenty seconds on a loop.

“Where the hell is she going to find a teenage royal in Paris?”

---

Marinette stumbled through a dimly lit alley, her pulse thrumming in her ears like the distant bass of the club she had just fled from.

Her breath came out in ragged pants, her limbs feeling impossibly heavy. Her legs wobbled beneath her, barely obeying her commands, and every step sent a dizzying wave of nausea spiralling through her skull.

What’s… going on?

Her fingers dragged against the cold brick wall for balance, her skin damp with sweat despite the cool night air. She tried to steady herself, to focus, but everything felt wrong.

It was pounding in her head, threatening to split her head open the further she got. In that moment, the alley seemed to peel apart, opening so far that the light reflected off of the windows couldn’t make a dent in the growing darkness. It filled her vision, submerging her feet in the abyss, sucking her in with that empty feeling. That feeling of something hollow, something she needed to fill with something, anything.

She tried to move away, chase sanctuary in the last turn she took, but the sea of darkness only rose. It went above her knees, it clung to her, eager to swallow her whole and trap her underneath he waves until she gave in. All she could do was struggle against it, yanking her entire body back in frantic, futile motions and desperately hope that it’s hold would weaken.

And finally, one push was mighty enough to snap the connection, to throw her back, to let her fall back to the pavement.

Only for someone to catch her.

“You know…” Dutch drawled, his eyes the darkness made flesh. “It’s awfully dangerous to be out here at this time of night all alone.”

Her world was upside down and held up by his hand pressing into her back. All she could anchor to in this moment of unsteady swaying was his eyes, those eyes that seemed to pull her in; not in the good dreamy sort of way, but in the way that felt like creeping hands were reaching forth to hold her head in place. The void within them felt so deep that she feared staring at them too long would imprison her in them.

“I’m not alone, I’m…” She tried to find her footing, her voice low and weak. “Uh, my friends are just up ahead.”

Dutch’s voice boomed like the roar of an engine. “You okay there, Squirt? You look a little out of it.”

“I-It’s nothing. Just a little too much activity for me tonight.”

Dutch hummed, dragging his thumb along the inside of his palm in a slow, thoughtful motion. “That so?”

Marinette nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just, uh… overstimulated.”

She tried to straighten up, to shift her weight and pull away from his hold, but the moment she moved, the nausea spiked again. Her knees buckled, and she barely bit back a gasp as her balance faltered.

Dutch’s arm tensed around her back, keeping her upright with an ease that sent a sharp jolt of unease through her gut. He held her like she weighed nothing.

“Easy there,” he murmured, his tone dipping into something almost gentle. Almost concerned. But his eyes—the way they watched her—betrayed something else. Something sharp. Calculating.

Like a wolf sizing up an injured rabbit.

“Wouldn’t want you hitting the ground again.” His fingers pressed slightly against her back, just enough to remind her that he was still holding her. That she wasn’t the one in control here.

“You sure you’re okay?” He murmured, and though his voice was light, there was something too amused in the way he said it. “You look like you’re… Craving something.”

The idea resonated with her, hitting her with an answer that she could hear. Yes, that was right, it set her body at attention; she was craving something, a hunger to fill a hole that had been opened inside her. But what was it? What did she want? What would silence this ravaging echo that repeated in her mind that something was missing?

“J-Just a good night’s sleep.”

Dutch let her go. Just like that. She stumbled back, barely catching herself against the alley wall. Her legs shook, but she stayed upright, breathing hard.

Forcing her voice into something firmer, steadier than she felt, she exhaled sharply. “What are you doing here?”

He watched her with that same relaxed, unreadable expression. Then he sighed, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off some stiffness. He held up a purse by the straps. “Darcy left her bag behind, had to rush back to get it.”

Marinette swallowed hard. Her flight-or-fight instincts were kicked up into over gear, the only thing keeping her steady was having one had reaching into her own pure, brushing over Tikki’s head for reassurance. Whether it was her ladybug senses or just plain gut feelings, she had to get out of here, something bad would happen if she stayed, if she allowed this to continue

She forced herself to chuckle, the sound thin and unsteady. “Yeah, uh… thanks for the save. But I should really—” Her words cut off as her vision swam again, the alley warping at the edges. She swayed, and Dutch caught her again, his grip firm, steady, unyielding.

“I think you need to sit down for a second, Kid.” He growled down at her, his arms secured around her shoulders and slowly urging her to the nearest wall.

“I think I need to…” Marinette squeezed her eyes tightly, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Her breath was coming too fast, too shallow. The ground wasn’t steady beneath her, wasn’t real beneath her. It was tilting, bending, warping like a funhouse mirror, like she was sinking into it. “Go…”

She tried to stand up by herself again, tried to move to escape whatever calamity she was quickly approaching.

“Take a breath, it won’t kill you-”

Something gave way, whether it be her tired ankle buckling, or her heel hitting something slippery, Marinette dropped quick. Worse even, she fell right into Dutch, ending up by his feet on her hands and knees.

“Whoa!”

She shook her head. “S-Sorry, I’m such a klutz.”

However, when she looked back up at him, she found that Dutch’s attention was elsewhere. His eyes moved past her, just over her shoulder where Darcy’s bag had landed on it’s side, spilling its content out onto the ground.

Dutch moved past her, crouching down and digging through the pile of junk. “What is…” He came to a sudden halt, his fingers plucking something from the pile that looked so small yet seemed to weigh so much in his palm. “Oh no.”

Marinette didn’t notice how the item hadn’t fallen out of the purse; from her position she couldn’t see Dutch dig through the purse to pull it out.

Marinette didn’t notice how he drew the moment out, waiting there, frozen in his contemplative pose, until he was sure she saw what he was holding.

Marinette didn’t notice anything because the moment she saw the ambrosia inhaler, she was lost.

The world faded away, its edges blurring, its weight shifting. The moment Marinette saw the inhaler, her breath caught in her throat. Everything else became unimportant.

Dutch’s voice, the alley’s damp chill, even the faint stirring of Tikki beneath her fingertips—all of it dulled, softened, faded into the background. The inhaler was the only thing that remained sharp, the only thing her eyes wanted to focus on.

The gold sheen of its casing glinted under the alley’s dim light, the dark shimmer at its core seeming to pulse in time with the pounding in her head. That emptiness inside her, that gnawing ache she hadn’t been able to place—suddenly, she knew. Knew what it was. Knew what would fix it.

A fog wrapped around her mind, a slow, creeping warmth, melting away reason and replacing it with something deeper, something instinctual.

She needed it.

She needed it.

Marinette’s fingers twitched against the pavement, her weight subtly shifting forward, drawn toward it. Her mouth was dry, but she could already taste the relief on her tongue, feel how easily it would quiet the storm raging inside her.

“Darcy swore to me that she was off this junk.” Dutch clutched it in his hand, bringing it thumping against his chest as he blinked back tears. “I can’t believe it. This can’t be happening.”

He looked to Marinette, lips wobbling and barely keeping it together. He looked at her like he couldn’t see the sudden struggle taking place inside her. “How could she do this? Doesn’t she remember how crap like this almost destroyed both of our lives?” He whimpered. “What am I going to do? This is a disaster.”

Dutch shot to his feet, snatching the ambrosia out from Marinette’s nose. Instinctively, she fell forward trying to follow it, led by the nose back to her feet.

“I… I have to hand it over to the authorities. That’s the right thing to do.” He muttered just loud enough for her to hear his rant as he paced about. “But then they’ll ask questions, they’ll trace it back to Darcy… Oh what if they lock her up? What if this hurts the Freedom Fighters?”

He ran his fingers over his face, pulling himself back together. He took a deep sigh and pushed his hands ahead. “No, you know what? I just have to dump it somewhere and walk away to confront Darcy.” A sharp sigh annihilated his confidence. “But… Can I even trust myself not to indulge in old habits? What if I just took some here? Oh God, what do I do?”

With every fibre of her being, Marinette hated that she chose to speak. “I-I could take it!”

Her voice broke through the night like a bulldozer, filling her ears with the sound of glass breaking, structures crumbling and that distant sinking feeling that she had just sealed her fate.

Dutch blinked at her, pausing mid-rant. His lips parted slightly, like he was caught off guard, like he hadn't expected her to blurt it out so suddenly. Then, just as quickly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His fingers curled around the inhaler, gripping it tight, knuckles going white.

Dutch could barely keep the grin off his face. He rolled his shoulders like he was still debating, like he was trying to convince himself this was the right thing to do. But the glint in his eyes—sharp and victorious—told a different story.

If only Marinette could see it.

“You?” He echoed, drawing the moment out, savouring it.

Marinette nodded quickly, her pulse hammering against her ribs. “I mean, I wouldn’t be tempted to… you know. And nobody would think I was taking it. So I could take it off your hands and dump it for you.”

Dutch let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You… You would do that? For me?”

She forced a shaky smile. “Of course I would. That’s me. Helpful, friendly Marinette.” She swallowed. “Just… Hand it over.”

Dutch stared at her, eyes flickering between her face and the inhaler in his palm. He hummed, tapping it against his fingers, drawing the tension tight like a string about to snap.

Then, with a long sigh, he pressed it into her trembling hands.

“You’re a good kid.” He murmured; his voice thick with something that almost sounded like gratitude. “I can’t tell you how much I owe you for this.”

Marinette’s fingers clenched around the inhaler. She barely even realized what she was doing—how she held it too tightly, how her thumb traced the edge of the mouthpiece like it was second nature.

Dutch leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Try not to get caught with it, okay?”

Marinette barely heard him. The only thing she could focus on was the weight in her hands. So small. So harmless. And yet, it was the only thing in the world that felt real right now.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong; she was just helping Dutch out. She was just making sure someone else didn’t use it. She’d dump it as soon as she was out of here and everyone would be better off. It wasn’t like it was hers or anything, she wouldn’t even know how to get one. It wasn’t like she had any experience with this sort of things, she’d only heard about how bad they were for you and how good they could make you feel. Dutch was the former addict; he was the one tempted by its golden glow. He was the one who was so stressed out that he’d need a boost of relief.

Truly, Marinette didn’t know how long she stared at the ambrosia, her fingers feeling up it’s body like there was any mystery to its shape; continually checking that it was real and that it was hers. Hers to destroy, of course. She just knew that it had to have been too long, longer enough to get sucked into it, long enough for the rest of the world to cease to exist.

Long enough for the sound of deft feet hitting the ground behind her to hit her like a sudden scream.

“You know…” Volpina purred, the shadows of the alley shielding her eyes from view, only letting the two observe the bitter frown sent their way. “An ugly, creepy old man cornering a little girl in an alley way isn’t a good look.”

Marinette didn’t know what scared her the most in that moment, that Volpina might see what was in her hand, or that the ambrosia container almost cracked under the weight of Marinette’s fingers clamping down to conceal it.

“V-Volpina?!” She heaved, desperately fighting not to let her horror leak into her voice as she stuffed the ambrosia in her pocket. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t like Marinette got caught doing anything wrong. She was disposing of drugs, not taking them from a buyer or something. She just knew that Volpina might have missed some important context and gotten the wrong idea. And the thought of Volpina, her own damn partner, thinking even for a moment that Marinette was some… Some… Desperate criminal? Well, Marinette didn’t want to think of that dark space.

And she wouldn’t have to, she hoped. If Volpina saw anything suspicious on her part, she didn’t show it.

Volpina stalked closer, brandishing her flute and whipping it around to come between Marinette and Dutch. Without much gentleness, the flute was pushed back, practically shoving Marinette away, all while Volpina’s eyes focused on Dutch. “My nose caught something rancid this way and I just had to investigate.”

Dutch’s brow rose at the hostility exuding from her body language, throwing his arms up defensively. “It’s alright, Volpina, I was just helping Marinette here find her friends.”

She tilted her head to the side, sneering. “Cool, cool. Since I’m here, you can run along now then.” Her head jerked forward, back the way Dutch came, but her weapon remained raised.

“No need to be so hostile.”

“Believe me, this is me being diplomatic.” Volpina growled in a low tone Marinette had never heard her partner use. “Now, step away from the Gnome and go back to whatever sewer grate you crawled out of.”

Dutch let out a soft chuckle. “Man, you superhero types really are a judgemental lot, huh?” He took a slow step back, hands raised like he was showing he had nothing to hide.

Marinette tried to breathe, tried to ground herself, but the weight in her pocket was suffocating. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t hers. And yet, the thought of it being taken away, of Volpina reaching into her pocket and finding it—her stomach lurched at the idea.

Volpina didn’t budge. She glared daggers at Dutch, tail flicking sharply behind her in warning. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Dutch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with exaggerated exasperation. “Alright, alright. I get it. You got your claws out, and I don’t feel like getting scratched tonight.” He gave Marinette a pointed look, the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth making her skin crawl. “Be seeing you, Squirt.”

And just like that, he turned on his heel and strolled off, hands in his pockets, completely at ease.

“Thanks for the-”

Marinette barely had time to process the relief before Volpina whirled on her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Volpina was in her face, ears pinned back, tail flicking sharply behind her. “Are you stupid or something?”

“Huh?” Marinette reeled; eyes wide.

“You heard me.” Volpina jabbed a finger at her. “What are you doing out here all alone? Paris is a hunting ground for the scum of the Earth at night—you should be more careful! Do you know how bad it would look on my hero record if people found out that I was nearby and you got kidnapped or stabbed or something?”

Marinette swallowed, her head still swimming. The scolding barely registered through the noise in her brain—the pressure, the gnawing, the weight in her pocket. But, ironically, her partner chewing her out eased that weight a little. Mostly because it reminded her how thankful she was that Volpina scared Dutch away and how touched she was to have her partner protect her even without her mask on. Volpina may have made Marinette feel afraid of her secrets, her partner still made her feel safe.

For all her attention seeking and social media obsession, Volpina did take her hero work seriously when she needed to.

Marinette looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry, I just… Got separated from my friends and wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Volpina scoffed, none of the usual playfulness and camaraderie that she saved for Ladybug. “Don’t apologize, just make better choices. First one being to stop talking to creepy old guys skulking about in alleyways.”

Her tail flicked again, more aggressively this time, as she muttered, “The crap I have to deal with…” Without warning she took Marinette by the hand and hoisted the girl up onto her shoulder. Marinette was in too much of a slump to voice her protest. “Just to make sure you don’t wonder off into the lion enclosure or something, I’m gonna take you to your friends personally. Hold on now.”

Marinette took the opportunity to wrap her arms around what she could, almost hugging Volpina as she leaped into the night and carried Marinette away. She wanted to admire the view from up here, as a non-transformed civilian, without the enhanced senses that made traversal such a different experience. But all she could focus on was what was hidden away in her pocket.

After all, if Volpina saw it, she might get the wrong impression.

---

QueenBug and FoxyLady Direct Messages

QueenBug: Hey, Volly?

FoxyLady: Yeah, Buggy?

QueenBug: You know that you’re one of my best friends, right?

FoxyLady: Uh, yeah. Obviously.

QueenBug: I just didn’t know if I ever told you that.

QueenBug: I don’t know how I’d manage any of this craziness without you.

FoxyLady: I like the ego rub, but are you in trouble, Bug?

FoxyLady: ‘Cus this is the sort of shit you write in your ‘If you are reading this, I’m already dead’ message.

QueenBug: No, don’t worry. Nothing like that.

QueenBug: Its just…

QueenBug: A lot of my life, I’ve been used to telling myself that I’m alone. Even when I had friends in school, I didn’t feel like I could rely on them like that, like I could share my burdens and all that.

QueenBug: But recently…

QueenBug: Recently, I only just realized how many people I have watching my back.

QueenBug: And just how willing I am to watch theirs.

QueenBug: You do it more than anyone else. You’re always taking hits for me, going along with my crazy schemes and stopping me from being an idiot.

QueenBug: When Fu was originally looking to replace Chat, I actually had someone in mind, you know? Tries to convince him to pick them over you.

QueenBug: I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.

TrixxOrTreat: You can’t see it, but she’s tearing up.

FoxyLady: Trixx, you’re supposed to be cleaning the sink.

FoxyLady: And I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buggy. All I do is follow your directions because that’s what saves the day; nothing to make a big deal out of.

QueenBug: Still, I mean it; you’re my partner. And if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here.

FoxyLady: Are you having relationship problems or something? Some boy getting you down?

QueenBug: No!!!

FoxyLady: That triple ‘!’ is sus.

QueenBug: It is not boy trouble!

QueenBug: I am perfect fine in that department, for your information.

FoxyLady: Oh? You have a boyfriend?

QueenBug: No.

QueenBug: But I have interested parties?

FoxyLady: Parties? Wow, I didn’t think you were such a player, Buggy.

QueenBug: THAT ISN’T WHAT I MEANT.

FoxyLady: Oh, so you plan of having them all at once?

QueenBug: Eeeew.

FoxyLady: Hey, this is perfectly natural.

QueenBug: Okay.

QueenBug: Fine.

QueenBug: What about your relationship issues?

FoxyLady: What about them?

QueenBug: Do you have any?

FoxyLady: Not really?

FoxyLady: I don’t do relationships. They’re for suckers.

FoxyLady: I’m more of a short-term, no strings attached, fun sort of girl. No one’s time gets wasted.

QueenBug: Oh.

FoxyLady: Besides, I can’t handle a relationship. Trixx would get jealous.

QueenBug: Do you have anyone you’re… Attracted to then?

FoxyLady: Oh yeah.

FoxyLady: Plenty.

FoxyLady: The LadyBlog girl is certainly at the top of the list.

QueenBug: …What?

FoxyLady: That hot girl whose been our #1 fan since our debut? Keep up, Buggy.

QueenBug: …Alya Cesaire?

FoxyLady: Ding ding ding!

QueenBug: You… Like Alya?

FoxyLady: Uh, yeah? Have you seen her?

QueenBug: I mean—yes? I’ve seen her, obviously! I just…

FoxyLady: Then I don’t see the problem. Girl’s hot. Got that whole confident, no-nonsense, investigative reporter thing going on. She’s got the brains, the looks, the attitude? Chef’s kiss.

FoxyLady: The kind of girl who’d start a kiss with a flying leap.

QueenBug: Please, change the subject.

FoxyLady: I’m just saying.

FoxyLady: I’d let her be my Lois Lane any time.

QueenBug: I don’t think you’d be her type.

FoxyLady: Oh really?

FoxyLady: Watch our interviews with her and tell me that her eyes aren’t wondering.

FoxyLady: Maybe she isn’t hungry, but she’s at least curious about what the fox says.

QueenBug: Is that a euphemism? ‘Cus I don’t get it.

FoxyLady: It’s chemistry, Buggy. That’s all that matters.

QueenBug: I wanna talk about cheese.

QueenBug: Or throw myself off a cliff.

QueenBug: Either’s good.

QueenBug: Also, Master Fu wants to meet with us.

QueenBug: Might have a lead on our killer’s powers.

QueenBug: Thought you should know, but I’ve lost the will to talk.

FoxyLady: Now that I think about it.

FoxyLady: Buggy, would you say that you’re a good wingwoman?

QueenBug: I’ve found a cliff.

Notes:

Tikki just sitting in Marinette's pure like "Wow, Marinette's such a nice girl helping this man with his drug problem."

One of these days I really have to write out the lyrics to the Hawkmoth/Chat Noir version of the Hawkmoth Rap.

Next Time - Person(al) of Interest:
"You’re not going to be here?" Adrien asked curiously, leaning over the sofa to watch his father fiddle with his tie in the mirror. “Don’t tell me Audrey’s making you stay in late.”
Gabriel narrowed his gaze, watching Adrien’s reflection regard him with keen interest. The boy had certainly cooled down since the start of his punishment. Gabriel considered telling Adrien that it was none of his business, to conceal his plans, but one glance towards Nathale reminded him of her encouragement to keep Adrien informed, that Adrien is just as much a part of this as he is.

He sighed. “My presence at the gala remains the same. I have merely added an additional affair to my schedule.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Mayura, I believe she can be of some use to us.”

“Mayura?” Adrien’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Gabriel suddenly felt very awkward talking about a woman with his son. “Is she… Is she joining the team?”

Nathalie answered for him. “Of course not. She is a potential asset, nothing more.”

“Yes, well…” Gabriel cleared his throat. “She’s taken a shine to Hawkmoth, and I believe I could use that to our advantage to get another tool at our disposal. It’s all a scheme to manipulate her, of course.”

“Should I be worried?” Adrien asked.

Fed up with his lack of success, Nathalie crossed the distance and pulled his tie into place. “Have faith, Adrien. I’m sure your father can be… Very persuasive. He has a way with woman like Mayura.”

Gabriel didn’t really understand the look Nathalie shot him, only that it stained his cheeks with a dash of red.

Chapter 42: Heartbreaker: Person(al) Of Interest

Summary:

The latest akuma plays the worlds' most undefined sports game, the heroes get a crash course on Heartbreaker's potential, and Hawkmoth has a date with Mayura.
Gabriel:

The Parc des Princes stadium is a popular landmark in Paris. A stadium most commonly used for sporting events; today, it was to be used for a new sport entirely. As such, the stadium had seen some miraculous reinvention, the grassy fields ripped from the ground and left to float above the stands, a bright yellow dome eclipsing the entirety of the stadium, multiple giant rings of energy circling the arena as nets.

In the centre a podium rose up far above the field and the cheering audience filling the stands, where a small booth had been set up. There stood a table, two microphones and a banner.

Alya Cesair swiped one of the microphones off the table, slamming one foot down in it’s place as she roared into it. “Hello there, Miraculous Sports Fans; and welcome back the match of the century!”

Around them, magical, disconnected TVs showed closer shots of the audience and, of course, the main event. Namely, Ladybug and Volpina warming up on one side of the floating arena while Hawkmoth was giving his latest akuma an earful on the other side. The akuma was a one-eyed man with yellow skin and a head like an inside-out melon. His outfit was a golden jersey and short combo topped off with big boots that had a rocket attached to the heel.

“I’m Alya, here with my co-commentator Alix and if you’re just joining us; we’re here at Parc des Princes for the first, only and greatest game of…” She gestured towards Alix, who sat down with her feet propped up on the table, but only got a lazy shrug in return. Hawkmoth hadn’t really explained much. “Whatever-Ball?”

She cleared her throat before pointing to the screen showing off Hawkmoth making wild gestures that, in-context, were probably some sort of battle plan. “Brought to you by Hawkmoth, and his latest akuma Cage Match.”

A loud tapping dragged Alya’s attention to Alix drumming her fingers against the banner hanging behind them. “And sponsored by Popsi.”

Alya rolled her eyes with a sigh, her voice dropping low. “And sponsored by Popsi…”

Volpina assured everyone that the sponsorship was completely necessary.

“A dome has been erected over the stadium, trapping everyone inside for the festivities until either Hawkmoth loses the match, or Ladybug hands over her miraculous.”

Alix snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction of the Hawkmoth screen. “Old Chrome Dome got sick of getting his butt whooped on the streets and decided he needed to get stomped in a ball game too.”

Alya threw her head back, microphone in tow. “And what game is that?”

She paused for dramatic effect.

“We have no idea.”

Alya shrugged, slipping back into her chair. “But we’ve been chosen by popular demand to narrate the whole damn thing.”

In her seat, Alix shuffled a bit to lay on her side, squinting down at the field. “Okay, but… Who’s winning?”

The game had no score board, no indicators, no disqualifications, just a stage, a ball and a bunch of nets. It was the akuma who magic’d everything into existence, so maybe Cage Match was keeping score. Or it was just going until someone got bored and gave up.

Alya scratched her head. “Uh… Hawkmoth looks pissed, so I think Ladybug is taking the lead?”

“Hawkmoth always looks pissed. He has resting grouch face.”

Alya nodded solemnly. “That’s true. He’s got the ‘dad who just stepped on a LEGO’ expression permanently etched into his soul.”

The camera feed on the floating magical TV cut to Hawkmoth, who at that very moment seemed to be shouting at Cage Match while flailing dramatically and gesturing like he was about to launch into an interpretive dance titled ‘Why Must I Suffer.’

Alix squinted. “Do you think he’s yelling about strategy, or did the akuma forget to turn the oven off before transforming again?”

“Honestly?” Alya grinned, slumping in her chair, “Fifty-fifty.”

Across the field, Ladybug could be seen stretching her arms and bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, while Volpina cracked her knuckles and gave a big thumbs-up to the crowd, earning a cheer. The cameras panned to zoom in just as Volpina leaned into Ladybug’s side and whispered something that made the spotted heroine giggle.

The audience watched with fascination as the floating platforms bobbed in midair like balloons on strings. The ball, meanwhile, was above the commentator’s podium… Floating? Glowing? Humming ominously?

Alix sat up. “So, what’s the actual goal here? Like… Do you throw the ball in the net, or do you throw people in the net?”

Alya checked her notes. Which was just a napkin. Which had a single doodle of Hawkmoth with ‘loser’ scribbled across it in marker. “…Unclear.”

Suddenly, the floating platform beneath Cage Match shook violently as Volpina made her opening move, flipping across the air like a gymnast on double espresso. Her flute banged against the ball mid-vault, sending it ricocheting off a wall, then through the gap between the two commentator’s heads and into a ring with a loud BZZZZAP that startled everyone.

Alya’s mic crackled as she leaned in. “And Volpina’s off! That’s either a goal or a war crime, we’ll update you as soon as we know!”

Alix cupped her hands around her mouth. “HEY VOLPINA, NO FRIENDLY FIRE!”

Volpina grinned and gave the commentators’ booth a wink as she sailed past, following the ball in a nosedive as Hawkmoth rushed to intercept. Both collided mid-air, the ball locked between a cane and a flute as they plummeted into the ground. Their landing caused the ball to pop out of their joint embrace, sending it sky high again.

The ball began bouncing wildly around the arena, dodging between Cage Match’s arms as he scurried after it. Ladybug swung in, her yoyo looping around one of the floating rings to cut through and snatch up the ball. Cage Match lunged, missed, and plowed headfirst into a floating hoop. The crowd exploded in laughter as the camera caught him dangling by his ankles.

Alix stood and cupped her mic like a sportscaster at the Superbowl. “AND CAGE MATCH IS IN THE HOOP! Does that count as a score for Ladybug?”

Alya nodded solemnly. “It does now.”

“Looks like our latest akuma isn’t pulling as much weight as Hawky’s real partner.”

“Where is that cat now, I wonder?”

“Probably wised up and finally ditched the old idiot.”

The camera zoomed in on Ladybug passing the ball off, leaving Volpina to execute a flawless aerial flip and punting the ball straight into another ring.

“Ooof! Killer shot by Volpina again!” Alix cried, eyes wide. “It looks like this fox might be the star player this time around!”

“And might I add that she’s absolutely rocking that Whatever-Ball jersey.” Alya gave a toothy grin, watching as Volpina looked up into the camera and blew a kiss. “You could say she’s looking like one foxy lady.”

Alix turned slowly. “That pun was a reach, Cesaire.”

Alya shrugged. “Adrien would have appreciated it.”

As the magical floating camera did a sweeping arc over the arena, it lingered a moment too long on Hawkmoth. The villain was noticeably hunched, his long coat clashing violently with the blindingly yellow Whatever-Ball team jersey draped awkwardly over his shoulders.

“Am I the only one who thinks shorts and a jersey over a villain suit looks weird?” Alix squinted. “The Geriatric Butterfly has got to be chafing something serious under all those layers. It’s hot as balls out here.”

“Imagine the humidity under that collar.”

The crowd’s roar kicked up again as Hawkmoth made a sudden, aggressive lunge for the ball.

Alix shouted. “Oh! Hawkmoth’s going for the ball!”

He swiped it mid-air, turned, and immediately hurled it—not at the goal—but straight at Ladybug’s face. The ball hit dead on, forcing Ladybug’s head back with a strangled yelp, bouncing off of her nose and falling into Cage Match’s hand. Without a second thought, Cage match dunked the ball through the ring.

Alya gasped. “Now that was a dirty, dirty trick.”

Alix pointed to the camera just in time to catch Hawkmoth flipping Ladybug off with both hands. One gloved, one wearing a foam finger.

Alya groaned. “And straight to the obscene gestures.”

Alix leaned into her mic, shaking her head. “Does this man have no class?”

The ball bounced back toward the centre, where Volpina snatched it up, spun dramatically, and hurled it—no-look—through a ring halfway across the field. It lit up in rainbow colours as the scoreboard changed again.

“That’s our girl!” Alya gave a low whistle. “Volpina: two. Hawkmoth: still crying in the corner.”

Alix nodded. “We don’t actually know how many points these moves are worth, but that one felt like at least a ten.”

Alya added. “And at minimum, a personal foul for emotional damage.”

Ladybug landed behind Volpina with the ball in hand, a nod sending her partner ahead and tossing the ball to her whilst she threw up her yoyo for a lucky charm. Squinting, Alya could make out a mirror landing in Ladybug’s hand.

Volpina picked up speed into a superhuman sprint, kicking up a storm of dust in her wake as she bounced the ball between her hands and charged headfirst into Hawkmoth.

Alya’s voice roared in the stadium. “And here comes Volpina again, faster than a rumour in a high school hallway!”

Alix followed with, “She’s moving like she’s got rent due tomorrow!”

The man himself brought up his cane, it’s tip crackling with energy that seemed to extract an akuma from his head, which he then batted in Volpina’s direction.

However, it zipped over Volpina’s shoulder, a heat-seeking missile on a mission, and headed right for Ladybug. Before Volpina could course corrected to save her partner, she was greeted by an explosion of physical words engulfing Ladybug. According to Ladybug, it was a new annoying power Hawkmoth had developed some time ago, turning akuma energy into vibe bombs.

Alix nearly fell out of her chair. “Oh no—oh no—she flopped it! She flopped it!”

Alya clutched her mic. “She’s down! Ball’s loose! And—OH! Look at Hawkmoth go!”

With a triumphant howl that was definitely too loud for a man his age, Hawkmoth dove for the ball, hands outstretched, cape flapping like a picnic blanket caught in a windstorm.

His fingers closed around it.

And—

It vanished. A puff of orange shimmer. Nothing left but air.

“What’s this?” Alya gasped. “An illusion! Volpina’s going for the shin kick.”

The camera zoomed in. Lying on her side, hair a mess and jersey slightly askew, Volpina grinned devilishly. She still had the real ball clutched in her hands, held close to her chest as she jumped back to her feet. Hawkmoth froze. His arms still out, hands closing around nothing, his expression frozen between triumph and rage.

Volpina didn’t miss a beat. The second Hawkmoth realized he’d been bamboozled, she surged forward—still low to the ground—and dropped into a wicked slide, dirt and light streaking behind her. With a fierce grin and a battle cry that was half sports chant, half battle screech, she drove her heel directly into Hawkmoth’s shin.

CRACK!

“DIRECT HIT!” Alix shrieked, practically falling out of her seat. “That’s a five-star shin splitter!”

The cane flew. It bounced once, then clattered off the floating field, just out of reach. Hawkmoth let out a long, undignified wheeze as he folded over like bad origami.

“That’s gonna leave a bruise.” Alya winced, hand to her mouth. “Somewhere beneath twelve layers of purple couture.”

Behind them, Ladybug recovered. Shaking off the psychic shrapnel of “WEIRD HOBBIES???” and “UNREAD TEXTS,” she broke into a full sprint.

Her eyes locked on Volpina.

Volpina gave her the look of a woman who absolutely knew what time it was.

“GO!”

She lobbed the ball up with both hands, and Ladybug LEAPT. A blur of red, black, and righteous vengeance.

“Here comes the Bug!” Alya shouted.

Ladybug landed directly on Hawkmoth’s head, bouncing off like a gymnast off a springboard.

Alix howled. “SHE’S USING HAWKMOTH AS A SPRINGBOARD—THAT’S AN INJURY WAITING TO HAPPEN.”

“To HIM or HER?”

“YES.”

Still in midair, Ladybug whipped her yoyo out, wrapping it tight around the ball in a practiced spin. With a fluid twist of her wrist, she launched it through one of the glowing hoops overhead.

“GOAL!” Alya screamed. “SHE SCORED!”

But Ladybug wasn’t done. She yanked the yoyo back, catching the ball again with impossible grace.

“Oh my god,” Alix wheezed. “She’s going again—”

Whip. TWANG. Score.

Pull. TWANG. Score.

TWANG. TWANG. TWANG.

“She’s DUNKING. THE BALL. MULTIPLE TIMES.”

“She’s using her yoyo like a magical slam-dunk machine!” Alya’s voice cracked from the sheer volume. “Backboard? Don’t know her. Gravity? Don’t need it.”

“Is that even legal?!”

“Hawkmoth didn’t write down any rules!”

“Then it’s legal now!”

Cut to Hawkmoth. Still on his knees. Wheezing. Watching Ladybug rack up dunk after dunk while Volpina leaned over his shoulder and gently patted his head with mock sympathy.

“You’re doing great, sweetie.” She whispered.

WHACK.

“OW—!”

His cane came flying back like a boomerang on a vengeance mission, nailing Volpina right in the side of the head and knocking her flat. Her tail flopped over her face as she groaned, stunned.

“Wait—wait, what?!” Alix gawked. “Hawkmoth can make his cane fly? That feels like something he should’ve opened with!”

“I feel like that should’ve come up in the last forty fights!” Alya cried.

With his weapon back in hand and zero shame, Hawkmoth used the moment to shoulder check Volpina across the field, sending her tumbling in a blur of orange and limbs. Ladybug barely had time to dodge the cane upon landing as he swung it like a baseball bat. The game was officially over.

“Okay, yeah, we’ve entered full-on smackdown mode.” Alya declared. “Somebody get folding chairs.”

Volpina skid to a stop, rolled once, and came up grinning. “Oh, you wanna throw hands now? Game on, glitter-dad!”

The field became a warzone. Hawkmoth slashed with wild, sweeping arcs of purple energy; Ladybug and Volpina darted like twin comets, ducking, flipping, exchanging fast, practiced looks between every counter. No more passes. No more plays. Just two pissed off heroines versus one very tired megalomaniac.

“Uh oh.” Alix snickered, chewing a Popsi straw with manic glee. “Hawkmoth’s on the ropes!”

“Can he pull out a comeback, or is this where he—ohhh, nope, nope, he’s done!”

Because in one perfect synchronized move, Ladybug and Volpina leapt into the air, spinning toward each other, the ball trapped between their palms. Their fingers interlaced. Their eyes met.

“Let’s finish this.”

Together, they slammed it forward—

“DOUBLE WHAMMY!” Alya and Alix screamed in unison.

The ball exploded with force, smashing directly into Hawkmoth’s gut. His body bent in half around it. A blast of akuma energy erupted outward like a shockwave.

And then—

WHOOOOOSH.

Hawkmoth was launched backward like a rocket, dragged through one of the glowing hoops, his cape flapping behind him like a parachute that didn’t quite deploy fast enough.

And then through the dome.

And then out of view.

And then… A tiny sparkle.

A twinkle in the Parisian sky.

Silence.

“Uh…” Alya leaned into her mic. “Well… At least we know the akuma’s beaten?”

“Damn,” Alix muttered. “I think they punted him out of Paris.”

---

They had, in fact, punted Hawkmoth out of Paris. Gabriel had landed on a fishing boat just outside of Dieppe, where, thankfully, a Spanish superhero who also happened to be themed around football was more than happy to kick him back to Paris.

All in all, Gabriel was not having a good day when he slinked into his house, nursing the mother of all headaches. He was sure the hero’s boot print was still fresh on his backside despite his transformation. It had probably been his most humiliating loss yet. His akuma had been practically non-existent, and they worked like a drunken animal, blindly charging into the fray.

Nooroo had been uncharacteristically silent. Usually, he was all taunts or backhanded compliments after an akuma’s failure, but maybe the kwami was just as exhausted as Gabriel. They went through the motions in a synchronized state of bitterness, something that had become much more common lately.

Ever since the fight against Gluttony, there’d been a subtle shift in their interactions, an unspoken understanding. They’d both been tested in that realm, and for the first time they’d fought while technically disconnected from each other. Gabriel hadn’t realized, not until he’d been forced to merge with Nooroo against to fight off the ambush, how different the miraculous powers felt when Nooroo was no longer apart of the equation.

In the fight with Gluttony, there’d been something missing. Every movement felt sluggish, wobbly, like he was just throwing himself through the air with nothing but the forces of the world around him to carry him. He was lost in the void. In the moment where Nooroo had been caged and threatened by the creature, a primal fear rose within him, not the same as the protectiveness of another person, but a fear as if he himself was in Nooroo’s place with the same threat hanging over his head.

It was the first time that Gabriel truly realized that he and Nooroo were merged together, and that sensation bled into their relationship even when separated. When he finally returned to transforming as normal back in Paris, it was relief, it was being whole, it was a life line he never knew he had pulling him to stable ground.

Staring into the mirror, trying to make himself look presentable, Gabriel couldn’t help but seek out Nooroo’s reflection, staring back at him with eyes he could easily mistake for his own. Nooroo was a part of Gabriel now and forever, and Gabriel was a part of Nooroo in that same way. No matter how many years would pass after Gabriel inevitably renounces or loses Nooroo, that fact would never change.

He wondered if the same convergence would be in the other miraculous holders’ future, or if his war would end before they had time for such a connection to form.

Nooroo tilted his head, curiously. “Are you okay, Master?”

“I’m as okay as I’ll allow after that disgraceful performance.” Gabriel grunted, fixing his collar. “That was not an akuma worthy of our name. I apologize for putting your name on it.”

Nooroo nodded along. “I’m sure that Adrien would have enjoyed it.”

Later, lunch rolled around, and Gabriel found himself in the kitchen, stewing over a crossword puzzle. Nathalie stood beside him, wrapping her knuckles against the coffee machine as it refused to spit out her long-overdue caffeine boost.

Gabriel jabbed his pen into the newspaper hard enough to puncture the page.
“Seven letters, humiliating defeat.”

Nathalie didn’t even look up. “Volpina?”

Gabriel let out a bitter exhale through his nose, writing in ‘EATCROW’. “Touche.”

The coffee machine gurgled in protest, then stopped entirely. Nathalie whacked it again, more forcefully. “This thing’s mocking me.”

“Join the club.” Gabriel muttered, circling the crossword clue until the ink bled.

Nooroo hovered nearby, wisely staying out of reach, nibbling on a sugar cube. He floated in small, slow loops above the fruit bowl like a sad, exhausted satellite. “I think your machines may be cursed.”

“Maybe I should ask Adrien.” She muttered, started to turn her head towards the kitchen island where Adrien sat. “He knows more about-”

However, while still glowering at the crossword, Gabriel’s hand caught her arm and pulled her back before she could complete her turn.

“Don’t look.” He grumbled.

Nathalie narrowed her eyes at his grip. “What? Why?”

“Adrien’s moping, trying to weaken our resolve.” Gabriel explained in a grave, ominous voice. “If you look him in the eye, you give him ammunition.”

“Gabriel, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being cautious.” He countered, narrowing his eyes without daring to glance toward the kitchen island. “That boy has mastered the art of weaponized sulking.”

Nathalie tried to tug her arm back, but Gabriel’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

“He has perfected the slouch.” He whispered, eyes still fixed on his ruined crossword. “That tragic, windswept pose of disillusionment. He’s doing it right now, I can feel it.”

“Gabriel—”

“He sighs strategically, Nathalie.”

Nathalie finally succeeded in tugging free, exasperated. “You sound unwell.”

At the kitchen island, Adrien sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, staring blankly into the soggy abyss, a war veteran contemplating his sins. Beside his bowl sat an incomplete ten page essay titled ‘Why I Am Wrong and Will Never Disobey My Father Again’. His spoon stirred aimlessly, never rising to his lips. His cheek rested dramatically against his palm, and every inch of him radiated poetic suffering.

“He’s not even eating, just… Brooding into the milk.” Nathalie muttered.

Without lifting his head, Adrien whispered. “Nathalie, all my friends are going to leave me, aren’t they?” A pained, choking sniffle broke through his dead-eyed stare. “I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life because I missed the best week of their lives.”

Nathalie was already lost.

Gabriel found himself smacking Nathalie over the head with the crossword puzzle, hissing. “Snap out of it, Nathalie!”

“Okay, maybe the crippled puppy dog eyes are a little effective.” Nathalie turned fully now, arms folded. “Adrien, are you okay?”

Without lifting his head, Adrien whispered, “Do we ever truly know what it means to be okay?”

“Oh for fu—” Gabriel groaned.

Adrien finally looked up, eyes haunted, cereal completely forgotten. “Sometimes I think I’m the ball in that match… Kicked around, launched through rings, no real purpose but to be tossed about by stronger hands.”

Nathalie stared blankly at the boy.

“I write poetry now.” Adrien murmured.

Nooroo, still drifting near the fruit bowl, whispered conspiratorially, “Yesterday he recited a sonnet to his toaster.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in French that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for strength. “He’s been getting restless ever since that Nino boy dropped off his homework and told him how great a night out they had the other day.” He grunted. “He wants me to shorten his grounded sentence, but I am determined to remain firm. Honestly, I don’t see the issue. They wasted their night away being unproductive in some loud, back-alley meat locker; what’s there to be jealous of?”

“Sir…”

Gabriel looked over, suspicious. “You’re not seriously going to argue for letting him off, are you?”

“I’m just saying, Sir,” Nathalie began carefully, “that I have been researching the subject. I’ve found that, traditionally, parents tend to shorten punishments when the child is behaving consistently well, in order to reinforce the importance of accepting their punishment with maturity.”

Gabriel blinked. “...So, it’s like a parental parole hearing for good behaviour?”

“If that’s how you want to see it.”

He sighed dramatically, with just a touch of Adrien-style flair. “I’ll consider… decreasing his limitations.”

“That’s good.”

“But I draw the line at giving him his Miraculous back yet,” he added quickly, stabbing his pen at the paper. “He’s not emotionally stable enough. He just cried during a cereal commercial.”

“That commercial was about family, Gabriel. He’s allowed feelings.”

“He cried at the cartoon family of raisins.”

“They were estranged, Sir.”

Gabriel pointed his pen like it was a gavel. “He needs more time. Emotional control. Maturity. And fewer sighs.”

A few minutes later, Adrien’s voice distracted him from a seven-letter word for parenting. “Father?”

Pen to his temple, Gabriel hummed. “Yes, Adrien?”

“I just had a thought.” He felt Adrien lean in closer. “Does G know about us?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Who is ‘G’? Is that the nosey reporter one?”

“No, G as in Gorilla.”

He said it with such judgemental conviction, as if it were an obvious follow through. Gabriel inwardly sneered at the nerve of this boy, spouting off nonsense like Gabriel should be ashamed of not understanding. They didn’t have any ‘G’s in their house, or their employ, outside of Gabriel himself. And Gabriel most certainly wouldn’t tolerate such an absurd nickname.

“Gorilla?”

Did Adrien get a pet Gorilla when Gabriel wasn’t looking? That boy. He should know more then well enough how dangerous and untrustworthy gorillas can be. Does he not remember the last zoo trip they went on with Emilie? The one where a deceitful, fur-covered degenerate flung a banana peel into Gabriel’s path, sending him spiralling into a fountain while the beast snatched his glasses right off his face? The trauma still lingered. Gabriel had nearly sued the zoo. He would have, too, if the lawyers hadn’t informed him that monkeys didn’t have bank accounts.

What was he thinking about again?

Oh yes, Adrien’s imaginary friend named Gorilla. Where could Adrien have possibly gotten that-

Gabriel paused, sharing an odd look with Nathalie before throwing his legs over to spin in his chair. “…Do you mean Placide?”

“That’s his name!?” Adrien blinked in genuine surprise.

Gabriel stared at him like he was actively committing a crime. “Have you been calling your bodyguard ‘Gorilla’ this whole time?”

“I mean, yeah?” Adrien shrugged.

“That is obscenely rude.” Gabriel hissed, scandalized.

Adrien held his hands up defensively. “Hey, he could’ve corrected me at any time!”

“He’s a professional, Adrien! Just because he didn’t say anything doesn’t mean he approved!”

“He grunted once when I said it. That felt like approval!”

Nathalie, who had resumed sipping her coffee with the calm detachment of a scientist watching lab rats argue over a wheel, raised an eyebrow. “You’ve spent nearly a decade with the man, and you never once asked for his name?”

“I just thought it was like… a code name!” Adrien defended himself. “Like ‘Agent G.’ He’s big, strong, mysterious—felt right.”

Gabriel looked utterly disgusted. “Have you learned nothing from our lessons on manners, Adrien?”

“It’s what everyone else calls him.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose again. “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do that too?”

Adrien grinned. “I dunno, Father, are they jumping with or without a parachute?”

Nathalie choked slightly on her coffee.

Gabriel opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. He rubbed his temples. “Placide deserves a raise.”

“Now that Adrien’s brought it up…” Nathalie adopted a scrutinizing look, setting her coffee down. “I wondered that as well.”

A light scoff escaped Gabriel’s lips, the man shaking his head as he rounded on Nathalie. “I mean obviously…”

Only to freeze up, his finger stuck in the air, a point lost.

“He… Uh…”

His shoulders fell limp.

“I think we told him?”

He fell against the counter, hissing into the crossword puzzle, his eyes landing on a five-letter word for moron. “We did tell him, right?”

The only mercy was that Nathalie looked just as lost as he did, slipping away from the counter to stalk around the room, fingers clasped around her chin. “There’s no way he doesn’t notice what we’re doing. He’s here all the time.”

Adrien scratched the back of his head. “What if he’s just really polite and doesn’t ask any questions?”

“We could ask him?” Nooroo suggested.

Gabriel waved him off, caught between muttering and loudly grumbling. “If we ask him and he doesn’t know, then we’re confessing actual crimes to him.”

With a passionate ‘aha’, Adrien drove his fist down into his palm. “We can try and strike up a conversation and steer it towards him mentioning it.”

“What are you going to make him say?” Nathalie asked stiffly. “He doesn’t talk.”

“He does talk!” Adrien exclaimed. “In grunts.” He rolled his head back onto his shoulder, thoughtfully gazing up at the ceiling. “I think I can translate them.”

“This is ridiculous.” Gabriel sighed, plucking his glasses off his nose and retreating from the kitchen.  “Let’s just… Live and let be.”

The group ended up following Gabriel back through the house and into the living room. Adrien threw himself onto the sofa, just happy to be free of that damn essay, while Gabriel took point in front of a mirror. He didn’t realize how much time he’d wasted in the kitchen, he still needed to make himself look presentable for this ridiculous gala Audrey had conned him into attending for the brand.

She wouldn’t even let him invite Nathalie along, how was he expected to survive?

“Anyway, Placide will be taking care of you tonight, so I expect you to stop making demeaning nicknames about his appearance.”

"You’re not going to be here?" Adrien asked curiously, leaning over the sofa to watch his father fiddle with his tie in the mirror. “Don’t tell me Audrey’s making you stay in late.”

Gabriel narrowed his gaze, watching Adrien’s reflection regard him with keen interest. The boy had certainly cooled down since the start of his punishment. Gabriel considered telling Adrien that it was none of his business, to conceal his plans, but one glance towards Nathale reminded him of her encouragement to keep Adrien informed, that Adrien is just as much a part of this as he is.

He sighed. “My presence at the gala remains the same. I have merely added an additional affair to my schedule.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Mayura, I believe she can be of some use to us.”

“Mayura?” Adrien’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Gabriel suddenly felt very awkward talking about a woman with his son. “Is she… Is she joining the team?”

Nathalie answered for him. “Of course not. She is a potential asset, nothing more.”

“Yes, well…” Gabriel cleared his throat. “She’s taken a shine to Hawkmoth, and I believe I could use that to our advantage to get another tool at our disposal. It’s all a scheme to manipulate her, of course.”

“Should I be worried?” Adrien asked.

Fed up with his lack of success, Nathalie crossed the distance and pulled his tie into place. “Have faith, Adrien. I’m sure your father can be… Very persuasive. He has a way with woman like Mayura.”

Gabriel didn’t really understand the look Nathalie shot him, only that it stained his cheeks with a dash of red.

Adrien’s cheeks puffed up, and for a second, he looked five years old again. “That sounds gross.”

Responding in kind, Gabriel’’s sour expression looked like that of a younger, more easily embarrassed man. “I assure you that my methods are quite elegant, Boy.”

Adrien snorted. “No offence, Father, but your Agreste scowl doesn’t really work as well when you’re wearing a mask.”

Tugging on his collar dramatically for emphasis, Gabriel did not let Adrien’s comment break his stride. “I was talking about my immaculate negotiation skills.”

He did, however, feel himself stubmle when he heard Nathalie clicking her tongue. And caught the corners of her lips slightly curving upwards. “I don’t think threatening to cut her pay or run a scandalous billboard ad is going to work on her.”

“I am perfectly charming on my own, thank you very much.” Gabriel hissed.

“It’s okay, Father.” Adrien tried to look serious, but the twitching of his lips gave away the laugh he was holding back. “I have faith in you.”

Gabriel casted a stern eye between his assistant and his son, crossing his arms over one another. “I’m growing concerned over the increase in teenage snark in this household.”

Nathalie’s smile tugged wider. “I’ll make a note in the HR ledger.”

“I was being sarcastic,” Gabriel deadpanned.

“And yet…” She turned slightly toward her tablet, already tapping in something.

Gabriel’s hand drifted up in protest, then fell again. There was no winning when Nathalie got that look. The only thing worse than an unspoken ‘I told you so’ was when she didn’t even bother saying it aloud.

Nathalie hummed thoughtfully, circling Gabriel like a predator sizing up prey—not that he noticed, too focused on adjusting his lapels. “A subtle change might help you appeal to Mayura’s… particular tastes.”

Gabriel glanced toward the mirror, skeptical. “I’ve already altered the hemline twice, and Nooroo vetoed the collar embroidery.”

He huffed. “I don’t know what Nooroo has against capes.”

“It’s not the hem I’m worried about,” Nathalie said, stepping closer. Her tone was light, but there was a gleam in her eye. “Mayura’s the dramatic type. Mystery, allure. She won’t be impressed by conservative tailoring.”

“I believe a bow tie would suit your well.” She leaned just close enough to pluck at his jacket lapel. “Unbuttoning the top of your shirt would give you a looser air—like someone too powerful to be bothered with formality.”

Gabriel’s brow rose. “And what message does that send?”

“That you’re bold. Confident. Unafraid to show a little…” Her eyes dipped briefly to his chest, then back up to meet his gaze. “…Vulnerability.”

He blinked. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s also effective.” She said, already undoing his top button before he could protest.

Gabriel looked mildly betrayed. “Emilie always said I looked like a bootleg Pee-wee Herman in a bow tie.”

“Obviously, she was lying to you, Sir,” Nathalie said, smoothing the collar with far more care than was strictly necessary. “She wouldn’t want you attracting too much attention with your good looks, would she?”

A beat of silence passed. Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it again.

“Well…” He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he adjusted his cufflinks. “If you think that’s for the best.”

The clock on the mantle chimed, reminding Gabriel he was dangerously close to being late. With a heavy sigh and one last glare in Adrien’s direction—who responded with a too-innocent wave—Gabriel fastened his jacket and turned on his heel.

“If I’m not home by Seven, assume I’ve been cornered by a bouquet of drunk influencers trying to peddle skincare brands.” He muttered. “And if I’m even later, Audrey most likely has me locked away in her wine cellar.”

---

An empty street corner, in front of a boarded up old storefront late at night with not a soul in sight. This was how most people got murdered, but Ladybug and Volpina were not too keen on becoming tomorrow’s newspaper headline.

Volpina squinted at the rickety looking door warily, barely illuminated by the edge of the street light. “Are you sure this is where he said?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “For the last time, yes!” Though, despite her insistent tone, her shivers betrayed the nervous chill that wracked her body, forcing her to wrap her arms around herself to fight it off.

The two shuffled up to either side of the door, pressing their shoulders flat against the frame and trading unsure glances. For a minute, the two silently urged the other to be the human shield and take the first step. Ladybug shoving her eyes out until their threatened to bulge out of their sockets, whilst Volpin flared her nostrils long and proud.

Eventually, Volpina leaned forward and, catching Ladybug off guard, yanked her into the door whilst she leaped back, leaving Ladybug the closest to the door, and thus, the loser. Ladybug looked mortified, but was too stiff to open her mouth and grumble about it, so instead she sighed and took her position. She started a series of knocks at a specific rhythm. Once on the topside. Two in quick succession down by the handle. And then tapping her heel against the frame.

A second later, the loud creak of ancient wood followed the door slowly peeling open. Inside, illuminated by a beam of moonlight and one solitary candle, was a stretch of display cases and shelves leading up to a counter. All dusty, old, and indistinguishable. The one thing they didn’t see was who opened the door.

Ladybug creeped in with Volpina close behind.

Volpina whispered over Ladybug’s shoulder. “Couldn’t we have done this over the phone?”

“Just let him have his secret meet ups.” Ladybug hissed. “I think it’s the only thing he has left without the miracle box.”

The pair moved cautiously through the dusty shop, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of grime on the floor. It didn’t help that the place smelled like old leather and forgotten taxidermy. Ladybug wrinkled her nose.

“Do you think he sleeps here?” Volpina whispered, eyeing a slanted armchair in the corner that looked one sneeze away from collapsing.

Ladybug didn’t answer. She was too focused on the shadow that moved just past the candlelight. Something tall and draped in a too-familiar silhouette.

Volpina trailed behind Ladybug as they crept further into the shop, the wooden floor creaking beneath their feet. As Ladybug approached the counter, Volpina’s curiosity pulled her to the side—toward a row of towering, humanoid silhouettes lurking in the dim, flickering candlelight.

“I don’t like that corner.” She muttered, squinting at the lineup. “That corner looks like it wants to eat me.”

She inched closer, and sure enough, the hulking forms weren’t mannequins—they were life-sized sculptures, cobbled together from papier-mâché, latex, and questionable old cloth.

The first was a vampire, complete with fake blood dribbling from its plastic fangs. Its cape was held up by safety pins, and one eye was comically larger than the other.

“Please,” Volpina scoffed, arms crossed. “Count Discountula over here looks like he was assembled by sleep-deprived theater kids.”

She moved on.

The next was a werewolf, its “fur” clearly made of cut-up bath mats. She gave it a light poke and wrinkled her nose when her finger came away dusty.

“Okay, bath rug beast, terrifying. Next.”

Then came a glistening, neon green slime creature with ping pong balls for eyes. It glistened in a way that made her deeply uncomfortable.

“Ugh. That one’s just gross. Not scary. Just... sticky trauma waiting to happen.”

Finally, she approached what looked to be a ghost—tall, draped in a long sheet with eerie, stitched black eyes sewn into the cloth. Its form didn’t move.

Volpina rolled her eyes. “And this one? Classic bedsheet ghost. Not even a good one. It’s wrinkled. Like a haunted bedspread.” She reached up to tug at the corner of the sheet—

The ghost blinked.

“Holy shi—!” Volpina screamed, stumbling backwards and landing flat on her ass with a heavy thud.

The ghost leapt off the display stand, flinging off the sheet with theatrical flair, revealing—

“Boo!” Master Fu grinned, eyes alight with mischief as the candlelight caught his wrinkles. “I had you completely fooled.”

“You are an evil, evil old man.” Volpina gasped, still on the floor. “I almost died! I saw the light!”

“Did the light also roll its eyes at how fake your monster reviews were?” Ladybug called from the counter, not even looking up.

Volpina groaned and slapped a hand over her heart. “You can’t just haunt people like that! You’re supposed to be the wise one! The cryptic mentor! Not the demon under the bedsheets!”

“Geez, Volley. It’s just a bad costume,” Ladybug teased, lips twitching upward.

“S–Shut up!” Volpina snapped, pointing a scolding finger at her. “Ghosts are one of my all-time worst fears, okay?”

Ladybug blinked, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “What’s the other?”

“I’m not telling you that!” Volpina declared, cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and ghost-induced adrenaline. “You’d never let me live it down!”

Ladybug smirked. “Oh, you’re right. I absolutely wouldn’t.”

“Calm yourselves, you two,” Master Fu cut in gently, smoothing his robes as he took his place at the candlelit table. “I apologize if my joke was in poor taste, Volpina. I don’t have many opportunities in hiding.”

Volpina’s glare softened. Just a little. “Yeah, well... let’s just stop talking about this,” she muttered, dropping into a chair and crossing her arms. “Forever.”

Ladybug leaned on her elbow, grinning. “You know I’m never gonna forget this, right?”

Volpina groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I hate you.”

The two heroes moved to join him by the candlelight, Ladybug placing herself down in a chair whilst Volpina saw fit to remain standing. Mostly, Ladybug suspected, to keep her guard up for any more sneak attacks.

Ladybug watched as Fu retrieved a large stack of tomes and dropped them on the table. “You said you might have a lead on our killer’s power, Master?”

“Yes, yes.” He muttered idly, sifting through the book covers until he found his target and then palming his way through the pages.

”Now, tell me.” The book landed open with a loud PHUNK as it was turned towards them, showing a splash page that depicted town, surrounded by water, with a giant love-heart shaped hole in the centre. A man in fancy robes sat on the edge of the hole, playing his flute. “Have you two heard the tale of the Pied Piper?”

“Yeah? That’s a classic,” Volpina said, squinting at the page. “Creepy guy with weird mustache kidnaps kids using hypnotic music so he can hold them for ransom. Solid bedtime story.”

“Many tales are based on truth,” Fu replied, calm and unbothered. “Especially when it comes to our miraculous world.”

“So, the Pied Piper was real?” Ladybug asked, leaning closer.

“There was a man the story was based upon, yes,” Fu confirmed, turning another page to reveal a stylized depiction of the man kicking his heel up into the air, an anklet now clearly visible. “He was the holder of the Pig Miraculous.”

Volpina blinked. “A miraculous hero was glorified pest control? How romantic.”

“Rats spread deadly disease, Volly.” Ladybug countered. “Back in the Middle Ages, they could be a death sentence to entire towns!”

“It’s just not exactly a glamorous tale, is it?” Volpina said with a shrug. “I mean, society would collapse if all the plumbing broke down, but nobody’s making epic movies about the poor bastard who has to wade through a river of crap to fix the pipes.”

“Not everything needs to be glamorous.” Ladybug said, crossing her arms. “Sometimes the quiet work is what keeps the world from falling apart.”

Fu brushed his hand across the center of the book, and as his fingers passed over the parchment, the faded ink shimmered. A ripple of pale gold light spread across the page, and the still image began to move—slow and jerky at first, like an old film reel springing to life.

Volpina blinked. “Okay, that’s new.”

“If I could get back to my story…” Fu said gently, straightening his posture. “As the tale generally goes: the town of Hamelin finds itself beset upon by rats.”

On the page, the little village stirred. Animated townsfolk scurried across cobbled streets, screaming as exaggeratedly large rats—some wearing tiny, menacing top hats—chased them over barrels and into buildings.

“The mayor sought the services of a rat catcher.” Fu continued. “A piper dressed in the finest pied cloak under the agreed payment of 1000 guilders.”

The page shimmered again, revealing a tall, striking figure in a swirling cloak of patchwork colours. He stood dramatically atop a barrel, flute at the ready, as a crowd of desperate villagers gawked below. Coins sparkled in the mayor’s hand as he made the deal.

“Using the Pig Miraculous,” Fu said, tapping the glowing jewel on the flute, “our piper had found a way to enchant his instrument with the effects of Gift, imbuing his music with the pure essence of joy from all that it touches.”

As he played, colourful spirals flowed from the flute like ribbons in the wind. The rats stopped in their tracks—then began to sway, eyes wide and dreamy. They marched in rhythm, smiling like they'd just heard their favourite song.

“With this peerless charm, even animals couldn’t help but follow him,” Fu said, “and he led all the rats into the Weser River where they drowned.”

On the page, the rats plunged into animated water with cheerful little plops, sinking beneath the waves, eyes still starry and delighted.

Volpina made a face. “That is... deeply upsetting.”

Ladybug leaned in, transfixed. “The Pig Miraculous can do that?”

“Emotion made manifest.” Fu replied softly. “Hope, joy, dreams—these are its strengths. But they can be twisted, if not tempered.”

He turned another page. The scene darkened—the villagers cheered as the piper returned, arms outstretched for his reward.

“However, his triumphant return turned sour when the mayor refused to pay the agreed fee.” Fu’s voice lowered. “When the Pied Piper demanded his money, the mayor accused him of being an extortionist who brought the rats into town in the first place. And so, the guards were ordered to throw him in jail.”

On the page, the piper’s triumphant posture crumpled. Guards surged from the alleyways, clubs raised, surrounding him. The flute clattered to the ground as he was dragged away.

Ladybug’s hands curled into fists.

Volpina gave a low whistle. “Classic rich guy move. Make the hero do all the work and then call the cops on him.”

“I’m guessing that old iron bars weren’t enough to keep a miraculous user down,” Ladybug muttered.

“Not when he could simply charm the cell door into opening for him,” Fu replied with a slow nod.

Volpina’s eyebrows shot up. “He could charm inanimate objects?” She pointed to the book. “This man was on some Disney-level stuff.”

Fu gave a faint chuckle. “Indeed. The Pig Miraculous, when used at its full potential, could enchant nearly anything. His music flowed straight into the soul.”

The next page turned on its own, flipping gently as the magic within shifted to another scene: the piper, silhouetted against a twilight sky, standing on a hill just outside the town. His back was turned, but from the glowing pink aura around his flute, it was clear he was playing once again.

“Enraged at the mayor’s treatment of him,” Fu continued solemnly, “the Pied Piper set his sights on his imprisoner—and anyone he deemed connected to him. Friends. Family.” His voice dropped. “Even children.”

Ladybug leaned forward. “And so, he stole their children?”

“No,” Fu said. “He stole their hearts.”

“…Please tell me that you’re being metaphorical,” Ladybug said slowly.

The animation answered for him. A group of children appeared on the page, faces peaceful, smiling as they heard the music from afar. Pink light surrounded their chests—and then, one by one, glowing heart-shaped sigils literally floated free from their bodies, spinning with joy as they danced toward the piper’s song.

“His music could resonate so strongly with the hearts of children,” Fu said softly, “that their hearts would quite literally jump out of their chests… To dance with the Piper.”

Ladybug was quiet for a moment, watching the animated hearts swirl around the Pied Piper like fireflies. “That is a… Terrible way to go.”

A grave expression grew on Fu’s features, raising his hand up to wave away her doubts. “Oh, but the children did not die.”

“Is that worse?” Volpina asked, gulping. “That sounds worse.”

The image dissolved into a row of beds where the children all slept, holes where their hearts should be, all colour drained from their person. “They were not dead, their bodies still worked, but they were not alive.” A black and white aura spread around them, pushing away the adults in their life, threatening to infect anything with their hollow feelings. “They were husks, drained of all joy and life, until the town paid the Piper.”

Gold flecks rained from the top of the page, filling up the parchment until a wave of golden treasures were piled high in the street, with townsfolk passing by to throw in their own belongings. On the top of the pile was a man, bound, gagged and set up like he was about to be roasted over a campfire.

“Eventually, the town flooded the streets with enough gold to rival a king, and for good measure they tied up the mayor and left him to the Piper’s mercy.” Fu drew his thumb across the gold pile, and with that he ripped the colour, the shine, the allure of the gold. “But the Piper had lost his lustre for gold, and even for revenge, now that he understood the true power he wielded.”

Fu gestured once more, and the dulled page shimmered to life again, dim hues shifting into a twisted image of reverence. Townsfolk knelt before the Pied Piper, their hollow hearts hovering in the air like ornaments on strings, orbiting him like moons around a planet. His flute sang a silent melody, and their heads bobbed in unison, pupils wide and glassy with worship.

“With his thumb on people’s hearts,” Fu narrated, his voice slow and low, “the husks were slaves to his song… and he, in turn, was a slave to their adoration. He ruled not with fear… but with devotion.”

The town twisted around him, buildings reshaped with banners in his likeness, children dancing joylessly in the streets, merchants selling carved flutes, altars stacked with trinkets as offerings to their new ruler. “He turned the town into his personal kingdom… where he reigned as an idol.”

The Piper stood atop a fountain, arms raised, his cloak billowing in the windless air, while spectral hearts fluttered above a crowd of bowing villagers.

“But,” Fu said, as the scene dimmed to grey, “he was undone… by three children who evaded his power.”

The page folded into a forest clearing. Three young silhouettes emerged—one limping, one with a bandage over his eyes, and one pressing his hands tightly to his ears. They huddled around a dying fire.

“One was lame-footed, and thus could never follow his directions quickly enough. One was blind, and thus could never see where he was supposed to go. One was deaf… and thus could never hear his song.”

The three children faced the forest path ahead, where the Piper’s song floated through the trees like curling ink—but none of them stirred.

“Together,” Fu continued, “they sought out the aid of a hero… the Peacock holder.”

The page flared with indigo and violet, and from the shadows emerged a tall, imposing figure wrapped in midnight-blue feathers. She wore no smile, and her eyes—piercing, sharp, unfeeling—seemed to see right through the paper itself.

“You see,” Fu said with a note of reverence, “in her time, she was known as the Heartless Witch.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“For despite holding the miraculous of emotion,” Fu explained, “she possessed a heart of stone… and eyes of apathy. Which made her unable to create powerful sentimonsters.”

“In that sense,” Fu nodded, “she had no heart to charm.”

“She had less heart than a door?” Volpina scoffed, crinkling her nose. “How depressed was this lady?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “The Middle Ages were a pretty depressing time period.”

It took a moment, but Volpina nodded along, a humbled understanding reaching her eyes. “You’re right, they didn’t even have phones back then.”

“Volly…”

“What?”

The story continued with the hollowed out townsfolk bearing down on the lone hero in one continuous stream, forcing her back against the wall.

“Despite the Peacock not falling to the Pig’s power, she was still one woman against an entire town.”

Suddenly, three smaller bodies materialized in front of the peacock hero just as the lead minion swung their sword at her. In a flash, the bodies crumped into a bloody pulp under the feet of the townsfolk whilst the peacock watch on in horror.

Fu shook his head, his voice low and grave. “The children that had brought her there perished, crushed to death by the horde of mindless towns folk.”

The Peacock hero’s face took up the entire page, her blank expression erased by a wave of energy, reflecting the raging inferno of fresh rage that burned away her previous expression like fire. “And it was in that moment of depravity and cruelty, that the Peacock found her emotions; her sadness, her anger, her disgust.”

A line drew forth from her heart, the other end thickening to form an amok, and then a sentimonster. This creature took the form of a look, a decrepit looking one that had edges so sharp you could cut yourself on them.

“From her newfound heart, moulded by spite and tragedy, she created a sentimonster that overpowered the Piper’s joyful song with a ballad of despair.” The Piper now crouched down, hands scrambling to cover his ears as wiggly lines denoting sound waves bore down upon him. The golden energy came again, this time, in its wake, it left the image of the Piper tying a stone around his waist and jumping into the same river he made the rats kill themselves. “In the end, the Piper’s heart, so heavy with despair, led him into the river where he drowned himself.”

The details burned off the page, leaving them with only blanks left, signifying the end of the story. Fu was silent as he shut the book, shaking his head profusely whilst the others just sat there and watched in silence. It was just as Hawkmoth told her, all it took was getting a little creative with your miraculous and suddenly your power is scarier than most.

Jubilation sounded like such a naturally pure thing, something you couldn’t taint. Ladybug could never imagine twisting someone’s joy to lead them to their death, or even enslavement. How much could she twist her own power if she lost her morals, she wondered.

Ladybug shook her head. “I can’t believe such a joyful miraculous could be twisted to do something so cruel.”

“All things can be twisted, Ladybug. It is both the greatest boon and the most terrible curse of nature.” Fu assured her. “But do not lose hope, in that same respect, all things can have their creases smoothed.”

Ladybug’s gaze flickered to Volpina, who was clearly more relaxed now, but still, a trace of worry lingered in her posture. She stood up, pacing for a moment before speaking again.

“Well, at least this confirms that our killer is using the Pig Miraculous,” Ladybug said. “Do you think the hearts exploding is a choice or incompetence?”

Fu paused, then replied thoughtfully, “A choice. For now. Though I fear that history might repeat with your killer if they realize how to expand their power.”

Volpina shrugged, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Can’t be that bad, we can invest in ear plugs.”

Ladybug shot her a pointed look. “Victims were mentioned as hearing music no one else could hear. I don’t think ear plugs will protect us.”

“Hey, don’t go making assumptions,” Volpina retorted. “For all we know, it could work like a ‘You only hear it in your head if you hear it enough times’ sort of deal.”

Ladybug’s lips pressed into a tight line, considering Volpina’s point. It was a possibility, but still... the idea of people hearing sounds no one else could—it seemed more sinister than just a nuisance.

She turned back to Fu. “Master Fu? Do you mind if we pass this information along to the police? Only what they need to know, I promise. I don’t want anyone getting killed because we didn’t tell them what type of killer they were going up against.”

Fu’s eyes softened, a knowing expression crossing his face as he nodded slowly. “Do what you think is best, Ladybug.”

“Thank you, Master,” Ladybug replied, her resolve firming as she stood.

---

Marinette and Alya DMs

MariBug: I told you.

MariBug: I fucking told you.

MariBug: I win. You lose.

MariBug: Screw your running commentary.

NoseyNancy: Marinette, it’s 2 in the morning.

NoseyNancy: This can wait.

MariBug: No, it can’t.

MariBug: I’ll forget!

NoseyNacy: I’m trying to sleep.

MariBug: Liar.

MariBug: You’re still up looking over top ten blogs.

NoseyNacy: That was uncalled for.

NoseyNancy: You say it like they’re trashy material.

Maribug: Oh please. They’re completely trashy.

Maribug: What are you looking at now?

NoseyNancy: …Top Ten Asses in Paris?

Maribug: Seriously?

NoseyNancy: I’m allowed to read what I want in my personal time!

NoseyNancy: I like to stay informed.

Maribug: Oh yeah, I’m sure the article is doing a lot for you.

NoseyNancy: Eh, Not really,

NoseyNancy: It’s insanely inaccurate.

NoseyNancy: Volpina isn’t even on here.

Maribug: I’d hope they’re not putting a teenager on there.

NoseyNancy: I’m just saying, she has the best ass in Paris.

Maribug: That’s weird way of spelling Chat Noir.

NoseyNancy: …Did you just admit to admiring his ass?

Maribug: I can hate and observe. He clearly puts a lot of effort into his body, and I respect that.

Maribug: I don’t think Volpina exercises too much outside of hero duty.

Maribug: Which leads to inferior glutes.

NoseyNancy: Are we really going to argue about this?

Maribug: No.

NoseyNancy: Because it’s no argument that Volpina’ cake takes the cake.

Maribug: You have terrible taste in woman.

NoseyNancy: To be fair, I didn’t know I had a taste in woman at all.

NoseyNancy: What did you pull me away from my research for anyway?

Maribug: Oh yeah.

Maribug: You know that serial killer whose been blowing up hearts?

NoseyNancy: Yeah?

Maribug: She’s using the pig miraculous.

NoseyNancy: Oh my god.

Maribug: That’s right.

Maribug: I fucking told you that someone could make the pig miraculous threatening.

Maribug: Take your stupid criticism and cynicism and shove it up your tailpipe.

NoseyNancy: Mari, people died.

NoseyNancy: WTF?

---

Gabriel knew that jumping out a window was not the most inconspicuous way to exit the scene, but he did not have the patience to risk encountering Audrey on the walk back to the front door. The woman had been painfully persistent lately on trying to drag him into some new deal, as if his company having a bit of a financial hiccup gave her any power over him.

Her presence, the entire damn room, it was all so suffocating. The scent of expensive perfume mixed with champagne and desperation. That sickly cocktail of fame and influence. Every conversation was a power play, every smile a knife wrapped in gold foil.

So yes, he took the window.

As soon as his feet touched the damp concrete of the alleyway, the mask of Gabriel Agreste melted away. His spine straightened, tension drained from his neck, and his breathing finally slowed. Hawkmoth rippling through his skin, peeling away at his flesh to let Nooroo’s miraculous energy take shape, it was the relief of a swelling on your skin finally bursting.

He took to the skies in quick succession, bounding his way across rooftops with all of Paris and their wayward thoughts laid out before him in a sea of nauseating colours. Even when he dimmed his miraculous’ natural senses, the potential akumas still blared in the darkness, threatening to overwhelm his sight if he didn’t exercise precision.

Soon enough, he found himself scaling up his destination, the Eiffle Tower itself, the tallest point in Paris and the perfect back drop to any meeting. It helped that, so far up, the Parisians’ colours faded just enough to give him peace of mind, allowing him to feel like his troubles and his responsibilities were far from him.

Hawkmoth arrived at the meeting point ten minutes early by design. After the uncertainty of dealing with Audrey for more hours than should be legal, he knew that he needed time to mentally prepare himself for that vixen’s intoxicating and frustrating presence. She could pull any manner of tricks, or dig her claws into any number of weak points he exposed when he made the foolish decision to let her go; nothing that Nathalie or Adrien were here to save him from.

Meeting Mayura alone was a mistake, that’s what the Gabriel part of him would argue, and Hawkmoth would agree. Yet both parts of him were determined to do so anyway. There was pride eager to prove that he could handle her, there was shame at the idea that either Nathalie or his son would see him like this, and maybe, just maybe, there was an inkling of desire to see what she’d try.

“You look nervous there, Handsome.”

He should have been insulted, or fearful, that her arrival hadn’t registered to him despite his senses; but more than anything, he was intrigued.

Hawkmoth made no effort to reply, slowly turn his head to regard her with narrowed eyes. She had perched herself atop of the railing, her back to the fatal drop that would take her if she made just one bad move, and her torso curved inward to form a perfect ‘c’ shape and bring her long, elegant legs to her chest.

“Ooo, and dressed sharp too.” She hummed, reaching over to run a delicate finger under his bow tie, flicking it. “Hot date tonight?”

Hawkmoth caught her curious finger, pinching it until her brows furrowed. “I predict that, by the end of this encounter, I’ll be having a hot date with some aspirin.”

No pain or irritation registered for her, just bemusement that easily brought Hawkmoth’s attention to those glittery lips that flexed their corners in a sultry grin. “Don’t be so grumpy, I come in peace.” Her other hand appears from behind her, grasping a sleek, green bottle by its neck. “I even brought wine.”

Hawkmoth stiffened, but kept his voice firm, not even sparing the bottle a glance. “I don’t drink.”

“I’m sure even a lightweight like you can have a sip for a special oc-”

He squeezed harder and this time Mayura did groan. Hawkmoth’s eyes glowered up at her, lips parting only to show off how hard he was gritting his teeth, wielding a voice of pure gravel, “I. Don’t. Drink.”

For a moment, she was shocked by his tone, a departure of his usual grumpiness. It was something more personal, like she’d inadvertently stepped on something raw. Of course, she wouldn’t know about the open wound her insistence poked at, but Hawkmoth was still ashamed that he allowed her to even glimpse at it with his reaction.

When the tension had calmed down, Mayura let out a hiss between her teeth—not of pain, but of delight. Her head lolled back dramatically, shoulders shaking with a soft chuckle that reverberated in her chest like a purr. “Okay, okay.” She relented, carefully setting the wine bottle down beside her on the railing, balancing it with alarming ease given the precarious perch.

He crossed his arms. “And I’d ask that you give Dusuu some respect and don’t booze yourself silly whilst she is a part of you.”

Hawkmoth released her hand with the same care one might give to discarding a live wire. She massaged her knuckles with mock injury, still watching him through her lashes. “Funny you say that, because Dusuu’s been trying to raid my alcohol cupboard since I got her.”

“You shouldn’t feed your kwami’s bad habits.” He snapped, his voice was low, but not yet venomous.

Mayura rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep your advice in mind. It’s the least I can do.”

He didn’t answer. Not straight away, at least. Just turned to face the city once again, hands behind his back, posture iron-straight and coldly imperial. His silhouette looked carved from stone, only the occasional flicker of his collar in the wind betraying any hint of motion.

He should concede her point. He liked people being indebted to him, made them easier to understand and keep out of his way, but the lack of logic was too distracting for him. She saved him, nearly died doing it, for a situation that his incompetence created.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He growled, trying not to sound too friendly about it. “There is no debt binding us now.”

The breeze caught her hair and tossed it gently behind her, but she didn’t move to fix it. Her attention stayed on him, eyes glittering with something unreadable. “I agree.” Mayura slipped off the railing in one fluid motion, landing beside him with a grace that was almost inhuman. “It’s the explosive chemistry that brings us together, isn’t it?”

“Hardly.” Hawkmoth replied flatly. “Your skills could be useful to me, that is all.”

“Is that the type of man you are?” She teased, tilting her head. “Just using women as you please and then throwing them away?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” He snapped, arms folding across his chest. “It’s a mutually beneficial and honest transaction I have in mind. I’m making no manipulation of your perverted fantasies—it’s just business.”

Mayura leaned forward, her voice soft but barbed. “I find it hard to take your word on our dynamic seriously. After all, last time you were dead set on turning me into a corpse, yet now you eagerly beckon me.”

He found his fingers digging into his arm, squeezing the material of his suit together as Nooroo’s little voice made a similar observation in the back of his mind. He’d let Mayura go, left Duusuu with her, and made no effort to at least get the leverage of her true identity while she was sleeping.

Nathalie had asked him the same question, and he’d lied to her. Why did he let this one get away? It was shameful to admit, but he didn’t quite know the answer himself. His mind was too clouded with unnecessary feelings.

“You saved my life. I saved yours. That is simple manners, nothing deeper.”

“That explains not killing.” She said, eyes narrowing slightly. “But that doesn’t explain not taking back the Peacock.”

“I didn’t have—”

“I was wide awake,” she interrupted coolly, “and you know that. So I’d quite like you to not treat me like an idiot.”

The broach drew his eye. Such a small and fragile looking piece of jewellery hanging loosely from her chest, and yet his greatest pains could be traced back to it. No matter what he told himself, it was a haunting sight. He supposed that could be one explanation for his actions. At least, it was the one that he was willing to entertain, the one that didn’t make him feel ashamed.

“I was afraid.” He said simply.

“Afraid?”

“That damn miraculous has taken a lot from me.” He spat, ripping his gaze from the horrid sight and the memories that came with it. “I almost think it might be cursed… Maybe I’d prefer keeping it at arm’s length instead of bringing it close to my son or anyone else I care about.”

Then, his lips broke out into an evil, venomous grin. “Better to damn you than my actual loved ones.”

Unfortunately, his bile didn’t seem to affect her grin at all. In fact, it only seemed to incense her further, dropping her hand to clasp his. “That stings, Handsome.” She purred, pulling his hand up to press his knuckles against her lips. It was like getting his hand trapped between two velvet pillows. “I guess that just means I’ve got to step up my game.”

The best part about a mask was how well it hid his blush.

“Why are you so insistent about this meaningless flirting?” he asked sharply, yanking his hand away from hers.

Mayura tilted her head, the grin never leaving her lips. “Why are you so afraid of it?”

“I have a wife.” He said stiffly.

He had a wife, he reminded himself. The love of his life waiting for him back home, who he would forever remain loyal to, who would never be replaced in his heart even in death. To even consider the idea of another ever taking his attention, of desiring their affection, was utter betrayal. Such a scoundrel, such a pathetic husband would be worthless to Emilie; worthless.

“Do you really?” She mused, tilting her head to get a better look at his strained reaction. “Strange. You don’t act like a man who has somebody to go home to.”

His fists clenched as she leaned closer, yet made no effort to stop her from lingering. “With the way you react, you’d think you’d never known a woman’s embrace.”

Yes, he was a little stiff most of the time. Yes, he missed Emilie’s touch dearly. Yes, he hadn’t experienced this sort of attention or yearning since he and Emilie first tried to create Adrien. But that was no excuse! That didn’t mean he wanted this attention from Mayura, or… Or Nathalie. Wait, when did Nathalie enter the equation? It was Nooroo, that must have been his speculation, all because Gabriel got flustered over Nathalie’s beauty.

“How long has she been gone for?”

Hawkmoth gritted his teeth. “That’s none of your business.”

Maybe his eyes lingered once or twice. Maybe his intrusive thoughts invited her a few times. Maybe… Maybe… But maybe nothing. He was loyal, he was still loyal to the woman who gave up everything to entertain his selfish desires to love her. The cravings over his body were just another obstacle he had to overcome to prove his devotion to her.

“Ah,” she whispered, her voice softening in a mockery of sympathy. “So she is gone.”

“She’ll be back.” He growled, turning away from her, the words cutting out sharper than he meant them to.

“I’m sure she will be,” Mayura said gently, with a sincerity that somehow felt more damning than any of her previous teasing. She let the words settle in the quiet like a stone dropped into still water.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The silence between them stretched thin, wound tight with tension—neither alliance nor enmity, but something tangled and treacherous in between. Mayura meant nothing to him, that was all that mattered. Nathalie… She couldn’t mean anything more to him. It just didn’t make any sense.

The silence stretched, but Mayura broke it before it could settle too deep.

“Hey,” she said lightly, but with a curious tilt to her voice. “What’s it like, your power?”

Hawkmoth turned his head slightly, brow lifting. “Hm?”

“If you want to enlist my help,” she said, lazily dropping back to drape herself over the railing, “I thought it best that we get to understand each other.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, but didn’t stop her.

“When I use my miraculous,” she began, voice softening into something thoughtful, “it’s like I’m creating this inescapable wind from my ‘wings’ unfurling. It’s not literal wind, obviously—but it feels like it. Like this great invisible push from inside me, ready to sweep something into being.”

Her hand came up, fluttering in the air as if mimicking the action. “I reach out with my fingers and rip apart the feather, and then mould its shape like clay, imagining all the desires I want to channel into it. The need, the emotion, the pain... Whatever fits.”

She smiled faintly, almost wistfully. “And then I end up with my creation. My sentimonster.”

Hawkmoth watched her carefully now, his earlier defensiveness momentarily subdued by her shift in tone. “What’s your connection to it like?”

“Tender.” She answered. “Like a new limb.” She touched her chest lightly. “There’s a string connected to my heart that I can always feel tugging.”

Her gaze drifted upward, the city lights catching her eyes. “I don’t know how I control it or communicate with it when I’m not talking, but I just do. Just like how I couldn’t explain to you how my brain makes my arm move—it just does. It listens.”

 “How about you?”

Mayura watched him quietly, waiting—not pushing, just watching. And after a moment, Hawkmoth exhaled through his nose, deep and slow. He didn’t look at her, not right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the glittering horizon of Paris, the city pulsing with a thousand unseen weights. Then, his voice emerged low and distant.

“I feel… so much.”

His shoulders tightened as though trying to hold something in, something vast and endless. “Every person has their own gravity, you know. It fluctuates depending on their experience, their vibrant emotional output. And when you’re lost in it, you might as well have been dropped in the ocean—left at the mercy of the raging storm, where the waves tug you in every which direction.”

Mayura said nothing. She didn't need to.

“I’ve used this Miraculous so long that it’s bled into my senses,” he continued, more to the air than to her. “Even if I tossed it away and fled to the other side of the planet, I’d still feel all of you tickle at my senses.” He finally turned his head, and the look in his eyes wasn’t angry or condescending—it was haunted. “In that way, I can never truly be alone now. It’s almost… maddening.”

A pause. Then he lifted one gloved hand and reached out, palm turned to the sky like he could catch something falling.

“I reach out right now, and I see Paris painted in the most ugly lights. My ears ring with the emotional noise of all your putrid thoughts scratching at my mind. Grief. Anger. Despair. Betrayal.” His fingers curled slowly, like he could crush it all in his fist. “The only way to cut through it all is to ride the waves. Let myself be dragged to the biggest gravitational pull… until my akuma finds a suitable host.”

The hand fell to his side like lead. “It’s not creation like yours. It’s compromise. It’s surrender. I don’t make something—I break someone. And in doing so, I find relief.”

He let out a bitter chuckle, devoid of humour. “I don’t tame the storm, Mayura. I let it drown me. That’s how my power works.”

Eyes shut, he let his senses run rampant, reaching out into Paris and letting the waves of experience roll over him. One in particular spiked at the corner of Paris, tugging him along in a listless swim through the competing tides. In an instant, Hawkmoth was ripped from his place in his own body, finding his mind dragged into vague surroundings of half-finished structures and emotions. An experience undefined until Hawkmoth allowed himself to be taken by it.

“I can feel a man, his heart beats like a drum, his body is failing him; a song dominates all thoughts.”

He can feel the music wash over him as if he were hearing it himself, the man’s heart pounding as if it were his own. It compels him to move, drifting through his apartment as if pulled by a hook.

“It enchants him, drowning out all other senses, a song that makes his heart…”

Without warning, Hawkmoth felt his body sway with the music. The lyrics, even the beat, were lost on him, all he had was the sensations of its victim and the emotion that merged with his own. His arm lashed out, wrapping around Mayura’s waist and pulling her to him.

“Hawkmoth?”

Lost in the experience, Hawkmoth lost his ability to be ashamed of the contact, simply converting Mayura into a dance partner that joined him across the tower platform.

“It’s in my head now, I connect to him, bleed into his experience.” He explained, feeling her so easily slip into his dance and press herself flat against him. “I experience it as if I were him. My akuma, I live in their reason for reaching out, the putrid injustice that compels them to call for my power.”

He heard Mayura suck in her breath, the subtle shake to her voice, an admittance that he’d caught her off guard, was intoxicating to his ego. “You’re sending mixed signals there, Handsome.”

Her curves perfectly slotted in with his dents, allowing him the perfect angle to experience both the softness of her buoyant flesh moulding to his frame, as well as the taut, relentless muscles that hid under her frame. She was a hidden blade that shined in the moonlight and thrive in his hands.

“Damn it, this music is surprisingly catchy.” He muttered, mostly to himself, one half of his mind trying to wake him from this sudden surge of instincts leading him. “It makes me want to dance.”

Mayura giggled, almost sounding shy. “Hard to dance to a rhythm I can’t hear.”

He held her close, one hand dipping below her waist, pulling her leg up to lock against his hip. He could hear her breath hitch, feel her pulse tremble, and if he dared open his eyes and break the connection, he knew he’d be able to see what she looked like when she was flushed. “You’ll just have to follow my lead then.”

She laughed again, breathless, the sound caught somewhere between delight and disbelief. “Careful. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually liked having me here.”

He spun her then—sharp, controlled—his hand never leaving her body, the contact too intimate for strangers, too charged for comrades. The ghost of the music pulsed between them, foreign yet consuming. It wasn’t his song, not truly, but the rhythm of the man bled into him so deeply it was impossible to know where one began and the other ended.

Hawkmoth's pulse quickened, his chest tightening as the music seemed to warp around him. His eyes snapped shut for a moment, and then he felt it—an unfamiliar sensation that felt like a shadow moving inside him. A presence. A flash of a woman, her form a pink blur dancing in Mayura’s place, moving with a grace so different, so utterly alien to the current rhythm they shared. His breath hitched as the images, as vivid and sharp as his own thoughts, continued to invade his mind.

It wasn’t Mayura’s elegance he felt anymore. No, this woman was... Different. He saw her face—soft, ethereal, almost unreal. She was there, in his mind, dancing with a stranger. She was beautiful; her movements were precise, haunting, her body in perfect sync with the man she shared the dance with.

Is this his dance partner? Hawkmoth thought, the intensity of the music making his heart race faster. His grip on Mayura tightened involuntarily as his body reacted before his mind caught up. The flashing images overwhelmed him.

The woman’s laughter echoed in his head, full of joy and something darker. Her eyes—those damn eyes—glistened, pulling him in deeper.

“Oh my.”

Mayura's voice sliced through the haze of his thoughts, and he snapped back to the present, seeing her face in front of him once more, her expression playful, yet still full of that sharp edge he had come to know all too well.

“Wipe that smile off your face, I’m just making a point.” He murmured, leaning into her.

Hawkmoth swallowed when she rested her forehead against his, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. “I think I have the pattern down now; my turn.” She spun around him, perhaps a little more forcefully than she meant to, but he followed seamlessly, the rhythm of the dance taking control again.

She grinned, unbothered by the sudden shift in his intensity. “Wait-” Her laughter broke through, only to catch in a breathless exclamation. “Whoa!”

“You’re almost a decent dance partner, Moth.” She teased, the curve of her lips sending another shockwave of awareness through him.

“Almost!?” He barked, almost forgetting himself. The anger was mostly playful, but there was a hint of something sharper behind it. His hand shot out, pulling her closer, “I’ll show you!”

Her eyes sparkled, as if she could sense the shift in him, as if she was revelling in it. “Admit it, Handsome.” She leaned in closer, her voice low, almost a whisper, “You’re hooked.”

And for a moment, Hawkmoth could have sworn the ghost of that other woman—the one from his vision, the one connected to the song—was still in his arms. But no. It was Mayura. Mayura’s lips so close, her body pressed so tightly against his. The differences were stark, but the biggest one was the feeling. The mystery woman made his heart weep, while Mayura made it soar.

His mind spun. The connection between them was more than just the dance. His heart rate refused to slow, every thump of it echoing the fast beats of the song, and he hated how badly he wanted to lose himself in the sensation. But he couldn't—he shouldn’t.

Mayura was bolder than him. She pushed past his indecision to softly cup his cheek, reaching the arc of their dance, her body sunk into his arms as he dipped her close to the floor. Their faces came together, so close, so tempting, draped in a heavenly glow that made everything but them look dulled.

Slowly, her fingers tugged him down, and his traitorous body abided. His only resistance was breathless. “Cease this nonsense before I-”

“Before you what?”  

Her challenge echoed in his ear. She took advantage of their position, that only one arm was holding her up, letting her free hand journey down his shoulder to clasp his other hand. She brought it with her back to her chest, resting his fingers on top of the broach, daring him to rip it off and leave her at his mercy.

“Go on, Handsome, if you want me to stop, stop me.”

She’d ripped away any excuses, any chance of shifting the blame; whatever happened, whatever they became, it was Hawkmoth’s choice.

“I’m… Married…” He protested weakly.

“The way I see it, only the man underneath the mask is married.”

He still didn’t stop her as she guided him to her embrace. He didn’t fight when her lips came so close. He didn’t look away when their eyes met and he felt that spark of longing, mutual and palpable, betray him.

“Hawkmoth? He’s all mine.”

Hawkmoth's chest tightened. A deep, gnawing pain spread through his body, creeping up his spine, twisting inside him like a vise. His breath grew shallow, his fingers twitching as his hand fell from Mayura’s waist, unsteady as if his entire being had lost its strength. He staggered back, away from her, a sudden panic clawing at his insides.

He could feel his own heart thudding in his chest, but it was no longer just his. The sensation—sharp, agonizing—wasn't his. It was the man. The man whose heart he had connected to, whose desperate, frantic emotions had latched onto his soul like a parasite.

His knees buckled, and he dropped to one, gasping for air. "My... my... His heart." His voice came out strangled, barely audible, but the terror in it was unmistakable.

The music. It had become louder, louder than his own thoughts, drowning out everything else, filling every corner of his mind. It was as if his very bones were vibrating with it, the beat pounding against his skull like a war drum. He could feel it in his very core, thundering through him, the lyrics singing in his ears, “I’m a heartbreaker, baby” repeating, over and over, louder and louder, until his eardrums threatened to burst.

It was no longer the rhythm of a dance, no longer the seductive pull of the song. It was raw, desperate, and—too late. The pain was excruciating now, a hot, pulsing pressure that crushed his ribcage.

He could see her—her. The woman. Cloaked in pink, her face obscured by shadows, yet somehow, he could feel her presence all too clearly. It was like she was standing over him, watching him. He couldn’t see her clearly, but her gaze burned into him, her presence a cold weight that made everything else fade into darkness.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only a strangled cry escaped him as the pain intensified. The world was spinning around him, the noise of the music, the pounding beat, deafening in his mind.

“T-That woman…” He tried to say, but his voice faltered.

Mayura was there, but he couldn’t focus on her, not with the chaos in his head. His chest burned. He could feel it—feel it all—the man's desperate pulse, the shock of it in his body. The man’s heartbeat had begun to fade, growing weaker and weaker with every passing second. His hand pressed to his chest, the strain unbearable.

A spike of agony shot through his chest, and his entire body jerked violently. He gasped for air, vision swimming, his mind fraying at the edges.

“Arg!” Hawkmoth’s scream was raw, primal, as he collapsed, his hands clutching his chest as if he could hold himself together.

Mayura rushed forward, her voice a distant echo. “Sir? What’s wrong?” She sounded far away, as if speaking to him from another world.

His mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out except another strangled gasp. His entire being was overwhelmed by the sensation, the grief, the terror of that final, wrenching heartache that wasn’t his own.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the shadow of the woman in pink, standing over him, the lyrics to the song still echoing in his mind, haunting him, even as everything faded away.

I’m a heartbreaker, baby.

It was the first time Hawkmoth had ever felt someone die.

Notes:

This chapter did not have the whole 'Whatever Ball' section when I started writing it, but I ended up adding it just because we haven't had an akuma battle since Mirror Mistress and I wanted to show off a normal akuma battle where Hawkmoth doesn't have Chat to back him up.

Chapter 43: Heartbreaker: A Wrench

Summary:

Ladybug and Hawkmoth find their own separate leads in the latest murder victim.

Adrien was mad at his father. Yes, the pain of his punishment was no longer fresh, and he may or may not concede that Nathalie made some sense, but he still thought that this was all so unfair and that he deserved some leniency for his first time mischief.

Yeah, Adrien was sitting in the living room, brooding over how much his dad sucked and texting with Nino about how things would be much better with them in charge. He planned to start ignoring his father when he was allowed to, give the man the cold shoulder he’d always got from him, let Gabriel feel his pain for a change.

That all dissolved into nothing when Nathalie came bursting through the front door, the elder Agreste hanging off her shoulder with pale skin and sunken in eyes.

The phone slipped from his fingers and was left abandoned on the floor as Adrien took off to follow them. Adrien reached them halfway up the stairs, rushing up to duck his head under Gabriel’s other arm to support it. From this distance, he noted Nooroo curled up against Gabriel’s cheek, looking pained, but not worried.

Together, they carried Gabriel to his bedroom, hearing slurred mutterings and pained moans drop from his lips like drool. Along the way, Adrien couldn’t help but feel himself hit with flashbacks. Briefly, as they crossed the threshold of the door, a shorter, younger version of him was helping his mother’s limp, stumbling form reach her sanctuary.

And just like his mother had, Gabriel’s only discernible words were “It’s okay… It’s not real…”

Eventually, they managed to settle him into his bed, tug off his shoes and pull the cover over him. Since he was in no state to answer coherently, Adrien spun around to look to Nathalie. “W-What happened?” He asked, breathless. “Did Mayura do this to him?”

Nathalie jumped at the question, her face flushed and scattered. Adrien had never seen the woman look so out-of-sorts. “Mayura? No, of course not.” She sat herself down on the edge of the bed, clearing her throat. “She helped Nooroo call for my help.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes. He had no way to countering her claim, but he still refused to trust anything about this Mayura person. Nothing about her seemed to end well for his father, and he still wouldn’t forgive her for hurting Nathalie.

Still, he couldn’t add anything else, so he moved to join Nathalie, settling in by his father’s side. “What’s wrong with him then? Shouldn’t we call a doctor?”

“Doctors can’t help us here.”  A sigh escaped Nathalie’s lips, running her fingers through her hair. “According to Nooroo, Hawkmoth had linked himself to someone moments before they died. Causing some painful feedback.”

“D-Died?!” Adrien’s body moved instinctually, seeking out that familiar position of the terrified child curling up against his dying mother. “He’s… Is he…?”

“He’ll be fine.” Nooroo assured him, jumping up to hover in front of Adrien. “The pain is all in his head. His body is perfectly fine, but he’s mentally experienced that man’s final moments.”

“Right… Right…”

Nooroo returned to Gabriel’s side, patting the man’s cheek. “He just needs some time to process it all and get his mind straight.”

---

At the very least, you could say that Lucian Devereux looked like he died happy. A permanent, loving grin held strong on his pale face even as a corpse staring up at the ceiling. He was left in the corner of his penthouse suite, his finely tailored suit stained with flour. His arms had been secured over his chest, and legs pushed together; it made it look like he was already dressed and placed in his coffin.

Ladybug observed this from the other side of the room, her eyes scanning the rest of the room whilst she waited for the one-scene forensics team to allow her closer to the body.

She shook her head. “This is awful.”

“I know.” Volpina grunted, flicking through the man’s file on Roger’s police-issued PDA. They managed to pull his identity, family history and phone records within minutes of the crime scene being set-up; Tsuguri industry’s advancements were shaping up quite nicely for the police department. “This completely bungles our MO theory.”

Ladybug frowned at her partner’s casual tone. “Volly.”

“What? I’m focusing on the important part of the case.” Volpina shrugged, turning over the PDA to show off an automated summary of the man’s traveling habits. “This guy hasn’t been in France for more than a couple of months, meaning he’d never have been to Dupont. That was our one solid lead.”

Their attention was drawn to Roger when he cleared his throat, sending an annoyed glance to the PDA. After all, Volpina hadn’t exactly asked for his permission before she snatched it out of his hands. “The vic is- Well, was, the head of a lucrative construction company; Wrecking Crews On You.”

“Oh, he must hate Buggy.” Volpina snorted. “Hawkmoth’s rampage would be big money for him if it wasn’t for the miraculous cure.”

“You’re closer than you think.” He reached up to tap at the screen. “He filed for bankruptcy this week. Some lawsuits about safety violations on his sites, but the biggest blow was being caught embezzling funds.”

“Yesh, that’s one hell of a bad week to die on.” Volpina pressed her finger to her cheek thoughtfully. “Or the best, depending on how you look at it.”

“That puts another damper on our theory.” Ladybug groaned, massaging her temple. “If the killer had a personal grudge against the victims, killing a guy whose life was already over would seem more like a mercy at this point.”

“To be fair, we’re not entirely sure it is the same killer.” Roger explained, gesturing for them to follow him over to the corpse. “Cause of death isn’t one-to-one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he did die from heart failure, as far as we can tell right now.” The forensic team scurried off the side, letting Roger through to bend over the body, pointing down to where the victim’s shirt was pulled apart to show off his chest. “But just plain old heart failure, nothing miraculous.”

The obvious part was that, unlike the last two victims, there was no broken heart hole in Devereux’s chest. It was clear aside from some hair, some spots and-

“Wait, look there.” Ladybug crouched down, squinting at stretch of dead flesh. “It’s faint, but…”

There were imprints on his chest, a few convenient lines that would make the shape in question if joined. Something had pushed down on the skin hard enough to leave a mark, a fresh red bruise, but not enough to break the skin. Was it a freak coincidence? Or did it suggest restraint?

Volpin stood over her, head cocked to the side and face scrunched up in thought. Eventually, she shrugged. “I mean, it kind of looks like the other markings, but it’s too incomplete to say for certain.”

“For all we know, he could have just had a heart attack.” Roger said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. He’d called them down because it was heart-related, even if there was no obvious miraculous connection. “Unlike the other victims, we don’t have any reports of strange outbursts or anything about a woman in pink.”

With a sigh, he added. “All we got from the neighbours is that there was a lot of shuffling about.”

“No, we have something here, I know it.” Ladybug insisted, stroking her chin. “That smile isn’t natural for a corpse. By the flour splatter under him, we can assume he collapsed hard, and there’s no way he posed himself like this.”

She drew her finger over his stomach, where a line of flower had been smeared, suggesting someone tried to wipe it away. “Finger marks here, but no flour on his fingers. That means someone else tried to clean him up.”

Then she cocked her head back, her arm sweeping over the rest of the flour massacre stretching across the room. “Not to mention the two sets of footprints showing up in the flour, which had to have been spilled close to the murder. One set matches his shoes, and the other a pair of pumps that are too small for him to be rocking.”

It never occurred to her how neatly her natural observational skills paired with her ladybug senses transitioned into deduction. She was used to using them for figuring out how best to beat an akuma, her mind never considered what else they could solve, but now that she was in the groove she felt like she’d become one of those TV detectives. Now, if only her ladybug vision could come to her as cool 3D text describing the relevant parts of her thought train.

She pushed on, bringing their attention to the dining table set up just by the entrance to the balcony. “And look at this.”

A fan lorded over the table, it’s trajectory perfectly lining up with a turned over bag of flour, presumably being the culprit for blowing it all over the room. What caught Ladybug’s eye was the two plates of half-eaten food.

Volpina gave her that ‘the little girl is showing off her fridge picture’ look. “That’s some good-looking lasagna?”

“Look at the state of it.” Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Partly eaten and set out for two.”

“Our guy was entertaining a guest. So what?”

“Who could be the killer.” Ladybug pointed out with a pout. “It was a janitor who found the body in the morning, rather than this unknown witness.”

“Big ‘could be’.” Volpina brought her hands up, moving back and forth in a ‘slow down’ motion. “All the dinner confirms is that someone was with him tonight, it doesn’t mean they were there when the killing happened.”

“I know my cooking, Volly. This Lasagna was cooked around 10pm.” There was a huff as Ladybug clapped her hands together, waiting for Volpina to be impressed, but finding only a blank stare. She sighed, turning her body slightly towards the door. “The security logs say that the door was only opened twice; once at 9:50, the other at 10:20. Just after the victim died.”

Roger intervened, his voice lacking in confidence, but he spoke anyway. “The killer could have gotten in through the balcony, couldn’t they? You miraculous people are good at climbing.”

Volpina was the one to shake her head, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the balcony door. The door that was firmly shut and locked. “The balcony’s locked, and there’s no sign of forced entry. Whoever was here, they were let in.”

Ladybug nodded, crossing her arms. “Whether it’s the killer or not, the fact remains that there was someone with the victim at the time of the murder.” She looked over the dinner again, her eyes focusing on the used forks and the mouth marks left on the wine glasses. “Do you think you guys could get a DNA sample?”

“A sample? Yeah.” Roger explained. “A match? Only if your mystery guest has a pre-existing criminal record.”

Ladybug stepped back from the balcony door, hands on her hips, her mind buzzing with possibilities. But the tangle of new clues only made the picture murkier.

“We have two questions we need to answer,” she said aloud, tapping her temple. “Why did the killer change targets? And why did the killer change from exploding hearts to heart failure?”

“Hey, I have an idea,” Volpina said, cocking her head. “Why don’t we see if your lucky charm will give us a clue?”

Ladybug hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“What have we got to lose?”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of it. The lucky charm was basically a living hint system, and she’d always wondered about how far it could be pushed. It’s just that, looking over the damage caused by the pig miraculous, she couldn’t help but remember that it was her foolishly using her lucky charm with little thought that allowed this all to happen in the first time.

If she hadn’t misused Tikki to make beating an akuma she already knew was no threat a little more convenient, if she had just figured out what the charm was trying to tell her, if she had been more responsible; none of this would be happening. The miracle box would still be intact, no psycho killers would be getting their hands on the miraculous, and the Freedom Fighters’ base wouldn’t have gotten shot up.

Clutching her yoyo tight, she couldn’t help but think that the killer, or Hawkmoth, could still be watching. Would it even care about the case? Would the clue just be a wild goose chase because she assumes it’s relevant when it’s actually talking about something else completely? What if it revealed something she could let out again?

Her gaze caught the corpse once more, and several others flashed in her mind. This wasn’t like the lame akuma Hawkmoth used as a trap, this was a real serial killer. People were dying, and people would still be dying if she didn’t figure this out.

Ladybug let out a slow breath. “Fine.” She held up her yoyo. “Lucky charm!”

The magic burst around her in a flurry of red and black, and when it cleared, a small red file dropped neatly into her hands.

“A file?” she muttered, catching it and turning it over. A small sticker on the front read: Paris PD – 17/07/ followed by a year too smudged to make out clearly. She flipped it open to the first page. Blank.

“And a date,” Volpina noted, leaning in. “What does it say?”

“It looks like a police report,” Ladybug said, already flipping through it only to find more blank pages. “But there’s no actual contents.”

It seemed straight forward, but her paranoia wouldn’t let her rest there. She racked her brain for a moment, clawing for any sort of double meaning that the obvious conclusion would distract her from.

For the moment, she couldn’t think of anything else. So, she took the obvious path.

“Volly, you head back to the station.” She thrusted the file into Volpina’s hands. “See if you can find any incidents on this date that connect. We were only contacted when the killer started leaving a calling card; there might be other mysterious heart-related incidents that the police shrugged off as natural.”

Volpina gave a firm nod. “Got it.” She stowed the file away at her side. “What are you gonna be doing?”

Ladybug stroked her chin, softly blowing through her nose at the irritation clawing at her mind. “I still think the first two victims being school friends is too much of a coincidence.” Swiftly, she moved her fingers to form a fist and planted her knuckles against her palm. “I’m going to question Bustier about it, maybe dig up something.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Volpina turned to go, then paused. “Oh, and Buggy?”

Ladybug glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Keep your guard up, yeah?” Volpina’s tone was light, but there was a tightness behind it. “I don’t like anything Fu told us about what this asshole might be able to do to us.”

Ladybug gave a short, humourless laugh, half turning away again. “Pfft, you know I never relax anyway.”

---

Nooroo said something, but Gabriel wasn’t too keen on listening. Probably a plea for him to continue wasting away in his bed for another pointless hour whilst his only lead grew colder by the second. Gabriel had no time for such trivial sentimentalities, or caution, in this instance. He was good enough to move, albeit with a panging in his head, and that was good enough to work.

An ice cream truck crushing his legs didn’t stop him from showing up to work when he was a lanky, pimple-faced eighteen-year-old – a bit of head trauma wasn’t going to stop him whilst he had superpowers.

He steadied himself against the wall and trudged forward with all the determination of a man who’d survived worse things than death. Which, as far as he was concerned, he had. He’d experienced death without the mercy of an end.

Taking note of the first window he passed as he broke out into the hallway, he was dismayed to find that it was already getting dim. That meant he’d lost almost the entire day to this mental ambush, and he had to count on the evening to preserve the trail.

Foolish. Wasteful. Reckless.

He clutched at the collar of his robe and forced his legs into a more proper stride. A headache wouldn't stop the killer. A twinge in his spine wouldn't save any more Miraculous. And he’d be damned if some grotesque little upstart wormed their way into his power vacuum without consequence.

“Gabriel,” Nooroo tried again, flitting after him, voice small but insistent. “You shouldn’t be up yet. Please, we don’t know what sort of long-term effect this--”

“Then make a note in your diary,” Gabriel cut in, rounding the corner. “You’ll have plenty of time to remind me how foolish I’m being once I’ve got answers.”

He descended the staircase with all the poise of a man three times younger and ten times angrier, his movements crisp but seething with tension.

“But Sir-”

“Dark Wings Rise.”

Normally, his transformation acted as a form of relief. Whatever ailed him was smoothed away like wrinkles in his skin, the miraculous magic acting as a balm. Hawkmoth was stronger than Gabriel Agreste, what could hurt the puny man meant nothing to the powerful villain. But what afflicted Gabriel wasn’t the pain of the flesh, it was the burden of memories; and Hawkmoth was only too in tune with that sensation.

This time, the transformation didn’t soothe him -- it dragged him. Kicking, screaming, tearing. Not literally, but it felt literal. He braced against the sensation as the purple light engulfed him, but it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t magic washing over him -- it was pressure. Heavy. Unforgiving. And not just physical. It was the pressure of the moment before a death. Of a heart losing rhythm. Of lungs refusing air. Of terror.

Of dying.

Hawkmoth forced his way to the surface, and that was no exaggeration. It physically felt like Gabriel was ripped apart as Hawkmoth fought for his very being, battered and bruised by an unknown force until he came out the other side wounded.

An echo of a man’s death still reverberated through his mind, relentless and cold.

He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of a table before crashing into it.

His breath hitched. Hitching -- Hawkmoth never gasped. But now? Now he couldn't stop it. The aftertaste of another man's death sat bitter at the back of his throat, and no amount of willpower could wash it away.

So, this is what it meant.

Not just to watch someone die.

But to feel it.

Nooroo poked at his mind. Hawkmoth’s fist clenched; knuckles bone-white against his gloves. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

He could still hear the man’s last thought -- a fractured, broken confusion as the heart finally failed. I can’t… I can’t… It hadn’t even been fear. Just resignation. As if whatever force had stopped that man’s heart had taken more than just life from him. It had taken meaning.

Hawkmoth stormed through the mansion in a daze, his surroundings blurred by memories of an apartment he’d never lived in, dulled by people he’d never met and names he never remembered. The only reason he knew what bumped into him was real was because the voice that yelped in response was instinctively recognised by his heart.

“Father!” Adrien gasped. “You’re awake.”

His voice sounded off, a mix of breathless and quivering. The boy was upset by something. However, all Hawkmoth noted was that the boy was blocking his path.

“I don’t have time for gossip, Adrien.” Hawkmoth grunted, tapping the head of his cane against Adrien’s shoulder. He was careful enough not to disturb that tray of food Adrien was precariously balancing on his arm.

Strange, Gabriel could have sworn that Adrien hated grape juice, and tomato soup. Maybe it was for Plagg.

However, despite Hawkmoth’s firm statement and insistence, Adrien didn’t move an inch. IN fact, he seemed to stand taller now.

“Wha-” Adrien narrowed his eyes, looking between Hawkmoth and the food. “You’re going out again?!”

No, I’m transformed so I can go down and lounge around on the sofa. Hawkmoth rolled his eyes. Why was his son asking such stupid questions? Where he was going would have been the obvious one.

“Naturally.” Hawkmoth confirmed, his tone chipped but strained to stay polite. “There’s a miraculous out there and it’s wielder has made the grave error of attracting my ire.”

He made a move to go around Adrien, but the boy suddenly decided to shift along with him, directly cutting off Hawkmoth’s path. Hawkmoth narrowed his gaze into a glare. Adrien was doing this on purpose then.

“You just… You almost…” Adrien’s face screwed up into an unreadable expression, darting his head to the side to hide his eyes for a moment. When he’d steeled himself, he turned back, meeting Hawkmoth’s icy gaze. “You should be back in bed! Nooroo said you needed rest.”

“And I’ve rested.”

Adrien’s jaw twitched. “For half a day.”

“More than enough.” Hawkmoth’s tone was clipped. He stepped forward again, testing Adrien’s resolve. The boy didn’t flinch. “Move.”

“No.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t defiant. It was just… final. Like Adrien had already weighed all the ways this could go wrong and decided he didn’t care.

Hawkmoth stared him down, incredulous. “No?”

Adrien’s hands were trembling, but the tray stayed balanced. That infuriating Dupain-Cheng girl must’ve taught him that. “Father, you need to go back to bed.”

A sharp exhale escaped Hawkmoth’s nostrils. His glare deepened, his gloved hand clenching the top of his cane. “You know precious little about what I need, Boy.”

Adrien barked suddenly, voice cracking. “I won’t let you.”

Hawkmoth tilted his head ever so slightly, studying Adrien like he was something under glass. “What was that?”

He knew exactly what Adrien said, but he still challenged the boy to repeat it.

Naturally, he’d suffered one humiliation and Adrien’s faith in him had already been tested. No matter the strong front Hawkmoth exuded, Adrien just saw something frail and pathetic that he could order around now. That made it even more imperative to track down the one who dared strike him and dispose of them.

So, he kept his scowl stern and his figure looming. A dark shape that consumed Adrien’s vision, dominating the scene in a show of unrelenting force. He would not move Adrien by his own hand, he did not need to, as long as he held the respect he was supposed to, Adrien would move by his own volition. Because Adrien was being immature and Hawkmoth had important matters that trumped these petty worries.

Bruised he may be, but Gabriel Agreste was still the man of the house, and Adrien would respect that.

In the end, Adrien met him half-way. The boy made no move to let Hawkmoth pass, or any admittance of his foolishness, but neither did he find the spark for backtalk, nor did he continue to put up a fight. At one point, he simply let his shoulders slump and his head bow in submissions.

Hawkmoth crossed his arms, regarding him carefully with a low, commanding tone. “You are to inform Nathalie that I am picking up a lead at the police station and finish your remaining chores. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

A curt nod was the extent of Hawkmoth’s reply before he pushed past his son, only the sound of his boots clacking against the floor filled the tense air between them. The moment Hawkmoth disappeared into his office, he heard the clatter of the tray hitting the ground behind him, but he paid it no mind. All he cared about was the exit.

Soon enough, he was free of the mansion and embracing the evening dawn once more. However, unlike last night, there was no comfort or freedom in his escapade. The air was thick, pushing along his breath and leaving strained marks on his throat, and yet could do nothing to break the weight that had already settled in his lungs.

He didn’t feel powerful.

That was the most unsettling part.

Not even after transformation. Not even as the purple glow still hummed faintly under his skin, still clinging to the corners of his coat and sleeves. The familiar weight of his cane in his hand felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else--a stronger man, a more certain man.

He was Hawkmoth, and yet the name felt shallow in his ears.

The memory hadn't faded.

He'd hoped the walk, the movement, the fresh air, the sheer momentum of pressing forward might've dislodged the image from his mind. But no -- it clung. That apartment, that flickering light overhead, that tightening in a stranger’s chest. That final, stuttering moment before the end. It hadn’t belonged to him -- but his body had lived it.

Now he felt inhabited. Something, or someone, else was in his body and he couldn’t shake them.

He stopped on the rooftop just overlooking the police station, staring down at the flickering fluorescents and occasional blur of motion. There was the risk of wasted time, but he was banking on the assumption that body had been found and brought down to the morgue already. Thankfully, this suspicion was awarded instantly as he spotted a corpse being wheeled out through the back.

He may not technically know what the victim looked like, but he… He just knew. In his gut, he recognised the man being carted away to the morgue.

Slipping into the police station was even easier than last time. The few officers that staffed the night shift were caught up in a whirlwind of activity and calls, leaving them none-too-observant of the shadow slivering through the corners with his transformation’s colour scheme shifted to sport the police colours. Without looking too closely, Hawkmoth just looked like some sort of lawyer with a hat and scarf conveniently obscuring the mask.

Still, he knew the disguise was one that worked best as the blurred visage in the corner of your eye. Closer inspection would lead to quick suspicion and, though he did not fear the police department, his current aim required little interruption. He stuck to skirting the line of people’s visions when he could, making a b-line for the staircase that sunk below.

However, he came short before a familiar voice tickled his ears. He found himself pressed against the frame of a door ajar, peering within to find Volpina herself sitting atop Roger Raincomprix’s desk, with the aforementioned officer sat behind it. By her side, her flute lay flat against her thigh, the top pulled open to reveal the communicator.

“The lucky charm was pointing us to three more victims.” She began, inclining her head down to speak into the communicator. Presumably to Ladybug on the other side. “Three more men killed a couple of months back, all dead from some sort of heart failure, but nothing suspicious enough on their own.”

Heart failure? Ah, this must be the victims of the killer Ladybug consulted him about. In this moment of fortune, Hawkmoth was sure that his prey and there’s was one in the same. He wondered how much new information they had on this miraculous killer. Did they even know the extent of her abilities other than the damage to the heart?

His painful introduction to their foe was illuminating, if not brief. That enchantment, that miraculous charm that bordered on hypnotise, it had claimed him as a casualty just from linking up with the intended target. If his hunch paid off, he’d learn even more.

Besides, he’d rather not risk the humiliation of them finding out how this killer had managed to defeat him… By total accident.

Whether he would endeavour to share that information with his enemies was still under consideration. He could claim revenge and the miraculous all without them interfering.

Volpina was pulling pictures from different files, laying them down under Roger’s gaze. Roger nodded. “Same marks on their chest that Ladybug spotted.”

“Yeah, but look at this.” Her fingers fiddled with one page, pulling it back to reveal something about the contents, double tapping it for good measure. “Two of them match the death of the guy we just found, but the first one here has his heart exploded like the other victims; only he doesn’t have the shaped hole.”

Ladybug’s voice was hard to hear from far away, crackling over the communicator. “Anything else about the first victim’s wounds?”

“A lot of internal damage.” Volpina’s face scrunched up, pulling the files back into her lap and flicking through them. “Think this was our killer testing out their powers?”

“Could be.” Came the reply, unsure, but without much else to pin. “But then why would her latest kill suddenly reflect her early ones? There has to be a reason for the separation here.”

In Hawkmoth’s mind, the question was in the wrong order. It wasn’t ‘why’ there were two different methods, it was ‘what’ was different between them; namely, what would a killer get from them. Answer that, and the reason to why there’s a difference becomes clearer.

One is subtle.

The other is a show.

One is a whisper.

The other is a roar.

One just wants the victim dead.

The other wants the victim to suffer.

“Maybe the Pig miraculous is being unpredictable.” Volpina continued. “This is the first of the wild miraculous we’ve seen being wielded.”

Hawkmoth’s brow shifted in interest. The Pig Miraculous was the one to blame here? Yes, jubilation would fit in nicely with the only infectious joy that overtook him when experiencing the victim’s final moments. A joy that stuck with him even with his heart crumbling to dust.

“Keep me updated if you find anything.” Ladybug replied.

Volpina nodded. “Good luck with Bustier.”

With that, Hawkmoth took his chance to scamper towards the stairs, not wishing to try his luck any further.

The morgue was a welcome change. Which immediately hit Hawkmoth with how wrong that feeling was, for the cold steps to the underworld, steeped in the stench of death, to be almost a comfort from the world above.

At least here, he understood the rules. Corpses didn’t argue. They didn’t defy him. They didn’t look at him with his wife’s eyes and say “No.” They didn’t make him feel small.

The antiseptic chill bit through his coat as he descended into the bowels of the station, the hum of industrial freezers thrumming like some mechanical heartbeat. It might’ve been the nerves still rattling in his spine, but he could swear the building itself was aware of him. Watching him. Holding its breath.

A half-covered window in the door gave him all the confirmation he needed. There, through the pane, the body lay. Tagged, bagged, and labeled, wheeled into a bay marked “PRELIM HOLD – PRIORITY.”

He pushed the door open quietly.

No alarms. No camera clicks. No interruptions. It was almost too easy. The world was still granting him favours--either out of fear or pity, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

The moment he stood beside the corpse, however, the bravado drained.

His heart didn’t clench. His lungs didn’t seize. No vision overtook him. But he felt it. As if the echo of what had happened still lingered around the body, soaked into its fibers. The strange thing was, Hawkmoth didn’t recoil.

He bowed his head.

Not in respect. But in curiosity.

A thin hand, gloved in violet, reached out to peel the sheet back from the man’s chest. The wound was just as Volpina had described--a hollowed, incomplete set of curves beneath the sternum, the skin blackened and marbled like rotted fruit.

He felt it again. That euphoric edge, like the sharpness at the end of a long laugh. That twisted sense of jubilation. Pig. There was no mistaking it now. The lightness, the disorientation, the overwhelming joy in the final seconds--it was the Miraculous of Jubilation, warped somehow. Infected with something else.

The butterfly was named the miraculous of transmission, coined after the power it gives its champions. But as he explained to Mayura, the underlying connective tissue of his akums were memories, of experience. Grounding a person and letting their entire existence be defined by the experience that attracted the akuma in the first place.

In that sense, Hawkmoth’s abilities had the potential to be expanded to tap into memories completely free of his akumas. Everything had memories, every significant event leaves an imprint, a scar upon reality. Objects, locations, and, of course, people had memories that clung to them. Some memories are so significant that they cling to the person… Even in death.

Lucian Devereux’s spirit had left this world, but his story remained carved into his corpse; for how long, Hawkmoth could not be sure.

Hawkmoth rested a hand upon the cold skin of the corpse, ignoring the stiffness, the silence. He closed his eyes.

A ripple passed over him.

A shimmer in the air, like fog curling from a forgotten breath. The world muted.

And then--

Mist bloomed around him.

It coiled up from the floor, washing out the white-tiled walls, eating the lights until the morgue blurred into a nothing-space, a place where the past still breathed.

The fog grew thicker.

And in the center of it, a shape began to form--like dew clinging to memory. A table. A plate. Two forks. The chime of glass against wood.

Hawkmoth opened his eyes… and they were not his eyes anymore.

He gasped--no, Lucian gasped. The lungs weren’t his own, but they burned with anticipation and something else. Shame. A heat that rolled off his spine like sweat. He looked down at hands--Lucian’s hands--setting a folded napkin beside a plate. The table was too nice. Candle lit. Cheap wine decanted to look expensive. Every fork and knife perfectly aligned.

He was preparing for something. No--for someone.

Each time Lucian’s eyes darted toward the front door, that mixture spiked inside him. Hopeful terror. Dreadful longing. He straightened a vase of flowers that didn’t quite match the room. He wiped invisible crumbs from a placemat. Adjusted a chair. Then did it again. And again.

Hawkmoth felt all of it. The frantic ritual of it. The pressure behind his chest. Lucian hadn’t wanted this to feel like a date. But he had made it one anyway.

The front door creaked. Hawkmoth’s heart--or Lucian’s heart--jerked in his chest.

Footsteps. A silhouette crossing the frosted glass.

The door opened, and the world bent.

Light swelled, golden and soft. Music filtered in, a tune too lovely to have ever played from Lucian’s speakers. Time slowed. Colours blurred at the edges. There was no face to put to her, just a pink cloak that seemed to absorb all light in the room and leave her face in shadows. She didn’t need her face. No face, no name, none of it mattered. All that mattered was that she was there, and she saw him. She glowed with a magnetic pull, a presence that flooded the room like champagne. She smiled--no, she beamed, and every anxiety in Lucian’s chest cracked like porcelain.

Hawkmoth felt it again. That high. The rush of impossible joy. The giddy pleasure that tickled at the mind, just a little too far, just a little too wrong. He wanted her to sit. To stay. To never leave. Lucian’s voice lifted--soft, uncertain, flirting without meaning to.

She reached for his hand and let herself be pulled to the table, her laughter matching the echoes of church bells. He slipped down to his knees as she settled into her seat, kissing his way up her arm until he reached her neck, lost in the satisfied pleasure of her stare, and catching ever twitch of her throat, grooved carved out by escaping giggles.

Lips parted, her voice trickled out to the strings of a harp, and yet no words were spoken. There was a feeling of bashfulness, a comment about him doing so much for her whilst she does so little for him. The indignation takes over him, surging through his system like the fear of death itself nipping at his heel. Nothing else mattered but assuring her that she was the most important person in the world, and she deserved no less than everything.

He weeps and croons over her throughout the meal, clapping desperately with each new thing in her life that she brags about. Her being a hit at some club, all the jobs she was getting, the alterations she made to her costume, how Chloe Bourgeois crashed her party the other night. None of the details stuck with him, no did he ever desire to add his own input. The only thing that mattered about her stories is that they were wonderful, that she was wonderful, and he was utterly privileged to hear them.

A shift. Small. Barely noticeable.

She paused. Head tilting slightly, fingers toying with the stem of her glass. She needed something, anything, what she always took, what she always wanted.

He blinked. A strange pinch began to form at the edges of his eyes. “What’s mine is yours,” he said automatically, too quickly, already leaning forward. Only then, he thought again, a rare moment of clarity.

“I mean… you know I would, but I’ve… I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch. With the lawsuits and all I’ve already given you…” he trailed off, then forced a smile. “I’m sort of between jobs right now. I’ve got rent this month, but after that, it’s… well, I’ve been scrounging just to afford this dinner.”

He laughed nervously.

And then stopped.

Because she wasn’t smiling anymore.

The warmth didn’t leave her face--it evaporated.

Her eyes did not narrow. They did not harden. They didn’t change--and yet they were no longer the same. Something was gone. And what replaced it wasn’t cruelty, or anger. It was resignation.

As if a switch had been flipped.

As if she'd heard it all before.

As if this had happened many, many times.

The harp strings faltered.

Then snapped.

The music in Lucian’s head shifted, subtly at first--but he felt it. The tempo picked up. The key dropped. The sweetness twisted. A low synth pulse began to rise in his ears, echoing from nowhere, from everywhere. That same heavy beat pulsing behind his ribs.

I whisper soft, I hold you tight. A fleeting kiss, then say goodnight.

Her smile returned, but it was flatter. Stretched too wide. She rose from her chair and offered her hand again. He blinked. His palms felt damp. His knees ached. He took her hand.

She pulled him close, slowly. Arms wrapped around his waist. And with a grace too perfect to be human, she began to sway.

They were dancing. He didn’t remember standing. He didn’t remember agreeing. But they were dancing.

Her elbow struck a bag of flour near the corner of the table. It toppled, leaving the white powder exploding across the floor like smoke. Footprints. Everywhere. They left their mark in the floor with every step.

She twirled him through it, uncaring, radiant once again--this time with something awful behind the smile. Lucian tried to speak, to breathe, to look away, but he couldn’t. Her grip was strong.

I’m a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell? Wrap you up in heaven, then send you straight to hell.

The music inside him blared now. The same beat the others had heard before their hearts stopped. Hawkmoth felt it. Even from outside the memory, his real body shuddered. He knew just where this was going, that any moment he’d be reliving that final blow. The illusion threatened to crumble.

But he held on.

The fog was thick again. The floor was spinning. His chest was seizing. Still, he clung to the memory like a lifeline, teeth gritted, vision tunnelling.

“Show me your face,” he whispered to the echo. “Please… just let me see her face…”

I’m a heartbreaker, one touch and you’re through, Oh, I’ll make you mine, then I’ll make you blue.

He caught her by her cheek as the music drowned out all other thoughts. There was an obsession, an addiction to her every little movement that demanded her explore her. Sweaty fingers tangled themselves in her hair, pulling just far enough to reveal the pink colour.

I’m a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell? Wrap you up in heaven, then send you straight to hell…

He pulled himself closer, breaking through the shadows to uncover the light, her light. The edge of her profile, catching in the candlelight. A sharp cheekbone. The sweep of glitter along one eyelid. Lips-stained berry-red.

Their lips collided, the kiss of death marking their final embrace.

Hawkmoth opened his eyes facing the ceiling of the morgue, as if the memory had physically tossed him out of it. He gasped for air, clutching at his chest. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, too fast, too familiar--his own, yes, but laced with the after-echo of Lucian’s final rhythm. That terrible beat still rang somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Fainter now. But not gone.

His hands trembled.

The taste of iron lingered in his mouth, though he hadn’t bitten his tongue.

He forced himself upright, bones protesting every motion. For a moment, he feared the damage was real--that the connection had seared something into him permanently. That the echo of death might follow him forever.

But he had all that he needed.

It was trickier to escape the police station undetected whilst he was heaving like a dying man, but he managed it. The moment he was out of sight, under the shelter of an alleyway, he broke out his cane and pressed his back against the nearest wall. It was fortunate that the communicator could be used as a regular phone as well.

All the tidbits came together now that he had time to stew on them, enough ammo to sink his target, he was damn sure. The killer was a musician, that much was clear, some sort of pop artist who haunted her victims with her song. She was making a notable splash at some club recently, that narrowed the pool of suspects well enough, but he also had her face, and her hair; he could pick her out from a line-up. All he needed was a name.

“Respectfully sir: You complete buffoon!” Nathalie’s voice came out unusually stern through the communicator, edged with the sharpness of a blade. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“No time for this drivel, Queen.” He grunted, just settling for being used to his compatriots being weirdly mad at him today. “I have my attacker’s identity within reach, I just need one final puzzle piece.”

There was a breathless sigh, Nathalie just letting his dismissive response sink in before she slinked over to a computer screen. “What do you need me to look up?”

Ah, good old reliable Nathalie.

“The outing that Adrien was grumbling about the other morning.” He hissed. “It was about his friends visiting a club, right?”

“I think so?”

“Chloe would have been with them, I presume. And it just so happens that our killer was performing at that very same club.” He explained slowly, lightly annoyed that he couldn’t see Nathalie’s cute little micro expressions as she slowly understood his amazing work. “I need the name of that club, and a list of performers.”

“Give me a second…” The sound of feverish typing was so grating on the ears when you were stuck in anticipation. “Here we go, it was the ‘House of Joy’, I think.”

“Names. Give me names.”

“The Jarheads… Parlour Tricks… Rowdy Records…” Nathalie listed them off slow and bored. “Oh, and of course, the main start of the club; Pepper Piper. Stagename Heartbreaker.”

“Wait…” Hawkmoth paused for a moment, stunned. “That’s… That’s her name?”

“Yes?”

He could barely contain his laughter. “Oh, we are not dealing with a criminal mastermind, I can tell you that.”

---

Ladybug had thought that a simple, gentle tap on the window frame would be enough to get Mrs. Bustier’s attention. The weather had other ideas, as the sudden boom of thunder made the young hero miss her step, tripping over the frame and tumbling through the open window and into Bustier’s chair.

“Oh, Ladybug! You scared me.”

Despite her exclamation, Bustier didn’t sound scared. In fact, she gave Ladybug a slow, blinking look, as if she was all too used to people jumping through her classroom window in the middle of the night. Still, Ladybug paid it no mind as she tried to untangle herself from the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t really see a way of announcing myself.” She laughed awkwardly, one arm putting all its energy into a vain attempt to act casual when slung behind her head. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but I have something very important to ask you about.”

Once more, there was very little reaction from the teacher. She merely nodded along at a snail’s pace, holding up a stack of papers Ladybug recognised as the latest homework turn in. “I understand, can I put away all this paperwork first? It’ll be an extra day of going through homework if I don’t.”

Ladybug silently followed Bustier around the empty classroom, filing away her paperwork at an excruciating slow rate. For the moment, Ladybug didn’t interrupt her work, because the hero was still figuring out how she should go about this. She didn’t want to just spring a possible murder attempt on her and send her into a panic attack, but there wasn’t exactly any easing into this. Maybe she should just start with her other questions and lead into killer.

In the end, Ladybug slapped her hands over her cheeks, massaging some sense into herself. No, while it may be hard to hear, the fact that a killer might be after Bustier is the heart of the matter, the one that matters the most and thus the one she should start with.

It was slightly awkward to talk while Bustier had her head in a cabinet, barely paying Ladybug any mind. “Miss Bustier, I won’t sugarcoat this; I believe that you are in danger.”

Bustier didn’t react immediately.

There was a soft shuffle as she pushed a folder deeper into the cabinet. The pause that followed stretched just long enough for Ladybug to wonder if she’d been heard at all--until Bustier responded in a tone so casual it was almost surreal.

“Danger?” Her eyes flicked over Ladybug's face, reading something in her expression, and then she walked back to her desk, smoothing her skirt out as she sat. “I admit that my work is stressful, but nothing that’s going to get me akumatized.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at the casual attitude, watching in confusion as Bustier began to bob her head side to side at a gentle pace. Did she not get how serious this was? Something seemed to be distracting her.

“I’m not talking about akumas, Mam.” Ladybug cleared her throat, reiterating. “There have been some deaths recently, and I believe you know two of the victims.”

The yoyo came out, hung under Bustier’s nose and unclasped to showcase the headshots of the first two victims. The visage of the two men seemed to chip away at Bustier’s apathy, allowing her eyes to sparkle with an approximation of grief before she returned to slouching in her seat.

“Phillip and Carlos…” She shook her head, sighing. “I knew them back when we went to school, but we haven’t kept in contact.”

What is up with her today?

Ladybug continued, sliding the screen to show off the three other men Volpina had dug up. “Do you recognise any of these men?”

Bustier idly dragged her eyes over the headshots, looking almost bored as she counted them off. “No… No…” A pause brought with it some emotion, and twitch of pain. “Wait! I know him. Oh, Benjamin Bewton.”

Ladybug leaned in, brows furrowed. “Another of the friend group?”

“Not exactly.” Bustier brought out her own phone, scrolling through her gallery until she brought up a picture depicting her younger self standing in a group photo with a few other teenagers. Her thumb was perched over the girl standing on the far-left side. “His older sister, Beatrice Bewton was.”

So relatives aren’t off limits, huh? Ladybug sat down on the edge of the des, contemplating. She stroked her chin, puzzling over the new information before speaking up again.

“Is she in town?” She asked.

A sad weight settled over them, prompting Bustier to frown and shake her head. “Cancer took her a few years ago, I’m afraid.”

She span around in her seat, pulling her knees up onto the chair as her delayed reaction finally caught up to the grief. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt him; he was always the gentle sort.”

“That’s three victims related to your past school group.” Ladybug explained. “This killer has a list, and I think you might be on it.”

“Oh my.”

Ladybug watched Bustier closely, waiting for the panic, the fear, anything resembling the appropriate reaction. But the teacher just blinked, wide-eyed, lips pursed in a way that was far more contemplative than terrified.

“Oh my,” she repeated, with the energy of someone reacting to tea being a little too hot.

Ladybug opened her mouth, paused, then tilted her head. “Is there anyone else you went to school with who might hold a grudge against you and your friends?”

“There could be a few.” Bustier murmured faintly. “We used to get up to a lot of mischief, you know.”

“Mrs. Bustier?”

“I mean, we were never cruel, but…” She tapered off, her head turning to look elsewhere with no real direction in mind.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. “You seem distracted.”

Bustier didn’t reply at first. Her head continued to bob, adding a slight sway of her shoulders into the mix. Even if there wasn’t the context of a murder investigation concerning her own friends hanging over the conversation, this behaviour was just weird. Was this how she coped with stress?

“I know hearing that someone’s trying to kill you is quite the shock--”

Her eyes snapped back to Ladybug’s. “Mhm, what did you say, Ladybug?”

“You need to focus on me right now. It could be life or death.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the music. I really need to shut it off.”

Ladybug froze. “...What music?”

Bustier inclined to the other end of the room where an old radio sat, one that was dim and busted and overall didn’t look like it would still be hosting music. “This radio is way too loud.”

Ladybug stared at the obviously broken radio for a moment, steeling her thoughts and wondering what brought her here. “Mrs. Bustier, the radio has been off the entire time.”

 Her next move was slow, shuffling up to Bustier with a lot more caution than she usually warranted. Ladybug eyed a culprit in the making. “What are you hearing?”

“That song! You know the one.” Bustier rolled her eyes at Ladybug’s blanket ignorance, pointing at the radio again. “It’s been stuck in my head all weak.”

Bustier opened her mouth and began to hum, a whisper of a tune escaping her lips. “♪ Love me like a sinner, like I broke your favorite vow... ♪”

The first line came easily enough, but something shifted almost immediately.

Her neck twitched. Her body trembled slightly. Her fingertips curled inward, and her breathing hitched.

“I’m a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell?” she whispered, slower now, as though her throat were thick with syrup, each word dragging behind the last. She coughed--sharply--then tried again, her voice cracking like a warped record.

Ladybug stepped forward, slowly, cautiously. Her eyes never left Bustier. “You don’t have to sing it. Stop trying to sing it.”

Bustier didn’t answer. She was too busy clutching at her blouse now, her fingers shaking as she dug them into the fabric. Sweat broke across her brow in an instant, a sheen of cold panic glazing over her normally serene expression.

She tried again, weaker this time. “Wrap you up in heaven, then send you straight to hell…”

Her knees buckled.

“No--no, no, no!” Ladybug lunged forward, catching Bustier as she collapsed sideways out of her chair. Her body writhed as though caught in an invisible vice, one hand clawing at the air as if to swat away something no one else could see.

“Please!” Ladybug shouted, cupping her face. “Stay with me--don’t listen to it!”

Bustier’s eyes locked onto Ladybug’s, wide and terrified now. The composure was gone. Every pretence, shattered.

 

“Mrs Bustier!” She scrambled for her bug phone, punching in the one symbol she needed and holding the yoyo to her ear. “Volly, get me an ambulance, now!”

“Heartbreaker?” Volpina asked.

“Is already attacking.” Ladybug practically screamed into the phone, feeling her nerves kick into overdrive as she watched her homeroom teacher break out into spasms on the floor. “Damn it, what do I do?”

She heard Volpina yell some orders to someone else in the room before hurrying back to the call. There was a struggle to find a pen and paper. “It’s all about music, right? Block her ears or something.”

Ladybug shook her head. “She’s hearing it in her head!”

Volpina, most likely, stunned. “Then go after the source of the music.”

“The source?” Ladybug scoffed, dropping down beside Bustier, desperately looking for something she knew how to help with. “How?”

Dumb solution. Dumb question. It wasn’t like Ladybug was here because she knew where the killer had gotten to. She wouldn’t know where to begin to say where she needed to go, or what the killer could have been up to-

“Wait, you’re right…”

An idea suddenly struck, one that shamefully should have been more obvious from the start. In an instant, she jumped to her feet, squaring her shoulders together and casting her gaze across the room.

“Heartbreaker’s power is short ranged.” She murmured, going over the desks, then over the doors. “If Bustier is hearing the song…”

There was a flash. Movement outside the window however faint that set off Ladybug’s sixth sense something fierce. Ladybug didn’t hesitate, letting her yoyo unsling and sail through the room and breaking open the window. She just caught the whisp of a cloak in her wake.

“Then that means you’re right here with me!”

There was nothing she could do for Bustier in-person. She had no medical knowledge, and an ambulance was one it’s way. However, what she could do was make herself a nuisance of the one focused on killing her.

With little hesitation, Ladybug threw herself out of the window, hot of Heartbreaker’ trail.

Notes:

Heroes solving the mystery: *Piecing together clues and information.*
Hawkmoth: *Just watches a magical re-run.*

Chapter 44: Heartbreaker: Connecting the Dots

Summary:

Ladybug clashes with Heartbreaker, Chloe gets some advice, Volpina and Alya connect, and Hawkmoth becomes a mood.
This makes sense in context * 2:

Amongst the conflicting blues of the roaring thunder clashing with the darkness of the night’s sky, the pink figure was hard to miss atop the brown brickwork of the school’s roof. The long, winding cloak did a good enough job of hiding her figure, but it drew the eye all the same, ending at the face where the domino mask feeding into a pudgy, protruding snout completed the look of the pig.

Ladybug landed a fair distance away from her foe in a low, guarded crouch; ready to push off into a any number of dodging manoeuvres at any moment. Master Fu’s storybook had set the tone for how easily this fight could become grim if she foolish charged headfirst into the hypnotizing bard. The sole advantage they had discovered so far was the villain’s short range, and for the time being, Ladybug would have to make use of that fact.

It was times like this that she wished her move set had more direct ranged attacks than swinging her yoyo.

“Heartbreaker, right?” Ladybug started, her voice fighting to break through the rain.

Stalling was her best option here, both to buy time for Volpina to join the fight, and to open up the door to her opponent letting slip any useful details. Volpina was definitely a more fitting match up for the pig miraculous; the manipulator of perception vs the manipulator of desire.

Heartbreaker’s eyes, pink diamonds shining through the darkness, widened in surprise, her whole body reeling back. “How did you-” She caught herself too late to save the embarrassment. “Uh… I mean…”

She cleared her throat. “Is that what they’ve been calling me?” With a shake of her head, she tried to slip back into confident smugness. “Mhm, I do like the name, I’ll be keeping it.”

Too late to hide that reaction, Lady. Ladybug hummed in her head.

She might not have figured out the significance of the slip up yet, but Heartbreaker was briefly panicked by Ladybug calling her by her alias. If she doesn’t know that the police gave her that moniker, then that meant ‘Heartbreaker’ was a name that had other significance in her life, perhaps something connected to her civilian identity.

Keeping up the cool act, Heartbreaker dramatically whipped her cape up. There was only darkness under the embrace of the fabric, but from that darkness her arm produced an electric guitar sparkling with glitter and red stars. “And I’ll be taking your heart as well.”

At the head of the guitar, the strings fed into a circular fixture that resembled depictions of the pig miraculous’ tambourine weapon Master Fu had shown them. According to Fu, every miraculous came with a default weapon, but that weapon could change it’s form to suit the user just like the transformation itself. In this instance, it seemed Heartbreaker had converted her weapon into her guitar, just like how the Pied Piper turned his into a flute.

“Sorry,” Ladybug shrugged, “but my heart belongs to rock and roll, not Disney channel pop.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be rocking the roll your body’s gonna take down the side of the building.” Heartbreaker fiddled around with the instrument, a wolfish grin bearing all fangs as she tuned it. “You know, when I knock you into the next high note.”

One pluck of her strings was enough to make the air around her shiver, the notes cutting through the space between them and stinging Ladybug’s ear like something had just clipped her lobes. The sound had no problem ignoring the rain, as if it weren’t even a factor. It was enough to keep Ladybug’s hairs standing on end, keeping her yoyo slack and spinning over her shoulder.

“Tell me, is all this worth it?” Ladybug asked, slowly shuffling around the edge of Heartless’ little bubble, watching the woman follow her every move with a keen eye. “What did a semi-decent schoolteacher do that makes it worth risking your life against superheroes?”

It was a split-second gesture, a tiny twitch, but Ladybug just managed to catch it. The way Heartbreaker’s right hand, the one predominantly used for strumming the strings, clenched and then throbbed, as if fighting off an ache.

“To be fair, you weren’t supposed to be involved in this.” Heartbreaker tried to sound gentle when she spoke, but there was an underlying hiss to her voice. “This is a personal matter, you know.”

“Making someone’s heart explode is a hell of a way of keeping a low profile.”

“It was an accident the first time.”

Another strum, this time two strings. Ladybug felt concentrated air tease at her hair.

“I was just using my power to make him look stupid, thought that was enough for my fill.” Heartless tipped to head down, pushing the butt of the guitar up to her chin, perfectly framing her hanging tongue. “Then that damn song came over the radio, filled me with the nostalgic vibes and- And…”

A full chord was enough to dig an invisible fist in Ladybug’s gut, sending her stumbling back. “Oh, the inspiration just hit me! Wrote a whole new chorus in under a minute, and he took that beat to heart.”

The chord transition to a simple sequence, gently sending waves of coaxing vibes in Ladybug’s direction. This time, Ladybug moved around the roof, making ample use of chimneys and doorways to act as cover.

“You know how it is. Once you get that catchy little ear worm in your head, you just can’t stop hearing it.”

Ladybug rolled over the edge, sliding down a section of sloped roof whilst the seductive serenade carved cracks into the brickwork behind her.

“Is that all?” She called back. “You went on a ritualistic killing spree because it’s like pringles and you can’t stop?”

A loud plop pulled Ladybug back up to the edge, throwing her head back to watch an upside-down perspective of Heartbreaker hopping on the edge and aiming her guitar right down the slope. “What can I say? When you find your calling, you need to answer it.”

“And your calling is, what? The magical equivalent of drugging your dates?” Ladybug fell forward into a summersault, flipping over the next wave of musical assault. “Are you just that much of a bore in real life?”

“My, my, you have quite the mouth on you.” Gritted teeth added roughness to Heartbreaker’s voice. “I don’t know if I’ll enjoy making it sing for me or ripping it out.”

As Ladybug landed, she found Heartless dropping down to persue, heels digging into the slope as she rode it down the way, positioned to face Ladybug side ways as she moved so she could continue blasting her soundtrack at her foe. Ladybug jumped up high, easily circumventing the attack and finally taking the chance to go for her yoyo.

“I don’t know about singing, my family say I have the scream of a duck with lung cancer.”

She casted the line, or more like punched in her line, sending the yoyo careening towards it’s target at immense speed. Heartless only barely managed to bring her guitar up to bat away the attack, left stumbling back over herself in the aftermath.

She’s uncoordinated; probably hasn’t fought with her powers before. That’s good for me.

Heartbreaker wasn’t running. She dropped into a slide, heels scraping as she surfed down the sloped roof, turning sideways just enough to keep the guitar locked on Ladybug like a sniper’s rifle.

“You’re not the only one who can chase a beat,” she growled.

Ladybug vaulted over the sonic blast, flipped onto a chimney stack, and hurled her yoyo down at the villain’s feet. Heartbreaker blocked again -- but this time, her footing slipped.

She landed hard with a yelp, her guitar clattering nearby.

Ladybug landed a few feet away. “Give up now, while you stil-”

Heartbreaker was slippery, and Ladybug underestimated the length of her arms, allowing the villain to quickly snatch up her instrument from the lower end and hurl it at Ladybug’s head. The quick, desperate action took Ladybug by enough surprise for the blow to land, a magically enhanced guitar neck whipping her across the nose and knocking her to one knee.

Her eyes blurred. The coppery taste of blood touched the back of her throat. But she pushed that pain aside, spotting where the guitar had fallen, skidding across the shingles with a clang.

Ladybug dove forward, fingers outstretched toward the weapon -- but before she could so much as brush the tuning pegs, it twitched. It shimmered. Then rose.

Floated, as though lifted by invisible strings, and whirled through the air -- returning to Heartbreaker’s outstretched hand like a boomerang. Ladybug’s hand slapped the ground where it had been, useless.

Right. The weapons had a return function. That was Miraculous 101. As long as the path was clear and the user could call it back, their tool would always come home. Heartbreaker caught it without fanfare and gave it an experimental strum -- like a pianist cracking their knuckles.

Without missing a beat, she took a stance. “You really should’ve stayed down,” she laughed, fingers already gliding across the strings.

The opening riff was slow -- dreamy. A rhythm built to sway to. It hit the air like smoke curling from a candle, thick and humid, soft enough to be beautiful, dangerous enough to be lethal.

Ladybug reeled.

The sound didn’t strike like before. It didn’t shove her. It slid into her. Like a lullaby coiled around her spine. Everything dulled. Her fingertips went cold. Her knees wobbled beneath her. Her breath came slower, heavier.

A low vibration pooled in her chest and rippled outward -- her heart syncing to the beat. A note hung in the air, dragged out in one pondering riff. It tempted her to follow it, she wanted to follow it.

No. No, no no-

Ladybug staggered back, throwing her yoyo out, hoping the motion would snap her out of it. But her limbs moved too slow. She could feel it now -- the intent. This wasn’t a soundwave. It was a feeling, projected and wrapped in a melody too sweet to resist.

The vibe was pulling her down. Making her numb. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket that someone planned to bury her in, tight enough to keep her from struggling too much in her coffin.

Heartbreaker smiled, triumphant, eyes half-lidded in rhythm with her tune. “That’s it,” she cooed, walking forward as she played. “Just relax. No more running. Let it happen.”

Ladybug’s legs buckled. She dropped to both knees, the rooftop spinning. Her yoyo unwound and slithered across the shingles like a snake losing steam. Heartbreaker towered above her now, cloak dragging like a curtain before the final bow. Strings shimmered. The music swelled.

“And now,” she whispered, “we cry.”

Something in the back of her mind cried out in that moment. The sight of someone looming over her as she was left helpless, oppressed by a wave of numb sensations that strangled her every desire to resist and run, that made her feel weak and dulled. Powerless before a sinister, angry adult with every intention of breaking her down. It felt like a familiar scene, one that triggered a fear-fuelled jumpstart to her adrenaline.

In her head, there was Marinette. Lying there whimpering, crying for mercy, swearing to do anything just to get rid of this haunting restraint that violated her body’s desire to escape. She was back there, in that dark place in her recent nightmares, with the Boogie Man grabbing her whilst she hung limp, a cheap puppet without a command.

Marinette would have let this happen; Marinette would have been helpless. Ladybug would never be helpless. Never. Ladybug was better, Ladybug was powerful, Ladybug was always ahead, Ladybug would never let that situation happen to her. Not now. Not ever. Not to anyone!

With a burst of strength, Ladybug yanked the yoyo into her grip. She yelled “LUCKY CHARM!” before shoving her yoyo into her attacker’s leering face. The bright flash of pink energy at such close range was more than enough to act as a spike through Heartbreaker’s eyes, sending the woman stumbling back, clutching her face and letting her instrument drop to the floor.

But Ladybug wasn’t done, she was on a roll now, and all her eyes saw was her boogie man on the defensive. She lunged forward, wrapping her fingers around the right hand, the one she noted the aching twitch to, the one he knew was the weaker one, and squeezed hard.

Powerful her miraculous may be, Heartbreaker was a newbie, she wasn’t a fighter either. No matter how much the magic protected her from Ladybug’s blow being fatal, it did not stop it from being painful. In an instant, Heartbreaker was howling a far more satisfying song, filling Ladybug’ ear with the assurance that Ladybug was in control here.

She didn’t even glance at her lucky charm, simply catching it in her hand and holding it to her back. With one hand still ensnaring Heartbreaker’s wrist, she yanked the villain forward and, with all this new momentum, reared her head back before shooting it forward to smash into Heartbreaker’s nose.

There was a crack -- sharp and wet -- and Heartbreaker let out a strangled wail as the blow sent her sprawling backward across the rooftop. She landed hard, her back skidding against the slick tiles with a painful thud, her limbs flailing gracelessly before going still.

Ladybug stood tall, chest heaving, hands clenched at her sides.

For a second, everything was still.

Then-

A sob.

Not quiet. Not broken.

Ugly.

Heartbreaker pushed herself up on shaking arms, blood running freely from her ruined nose and pooling at her top lip. Her hands clutched at it, trembling, barely able to apply pressure. Her mascara was smeared, her breath came in wet gasps, and her sobs were intercut with half-choked curses.

“You f- you- you btch!” she shrieked, spitting red into the rain. “You broke my fcking nose! You psycho cow! You absolute fcking savage!**”

Ladybug blinked, momentarily frozen by the sheer heel-turn. Seconds ago, Heartbreaker had been this smug, predatory shadow, all twisted smiles and sultry swagger. Now she was on her knees, weeping, cursing like a drunk teen in a bathroom brawl, furious tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocked with pain and humiliation.

“You think you're so tough?” Heartbreaker snarled, teeth gritted, hands shaking as she slammed a palm into the rooftop. “You think you’re the fcking hero here?! I’ll show you tough, you smug little virgin Barbie-btch!”

The guitar twitched behind her, then whooshed back into her waiting hand with a hiss of energy.

Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“I’ll make you choke on your own damn string!” Heartbreaker roared, standing on wobbling legs. “You’ll wrap that stupid yoyo around your neck and hang yourself like the dog you are!”

Then the guitar lit up, the whole instrument glowing with that sickly, glittery energy as she slammed her fist into the strings. The beat she pounded out was no longer smooth or hypnotic -- it was raw, chaotic, furious. A thundering, primal tantrum turned into rhythm. The notes hit Ladybug like shockwaves, numbing her arms and legs with each vibrating pulse, each sonic burst infused with manic, jagged emotion.

This wasn’t the siren’s song from before, this was a breakdown in music form. But Ladybug’s face hardened; No more freezing and no more sympathy.

That song -- the one of rage, of helpless fury -- she knew it. She’d sung it, in her own way. She'd cried and screamed in her pillow, wished revenge on people who'd made her feel small. But she never let it define her.

Ladybug wouldn’t be dragged down by someone else's spiral, and she definitely wasn’t going to die to a brat with an amp.

The Lucky Charm was still warm in her grip. Time to use it - A megaphone.

Ladybug stared at it for a single, stunned heartbeat. A flash of disbelief danced across her face, followed by the grim, incredulous start of a smirk. "Seriously?" she muttered, the ‘weapon’ vibrating ominously in her hand.

Her mind raced back -- back to earlier that week, when she’d joked to Alya that her voice could “shatter mirrors if she screamed loud enough.” Back to every music class where she’d mumbled along with the lyrics just to avoid destroying the melody. Back to how even Tikki flinched when she stubbed her toe and yelped.

She didn’t need to think too long to realize her solution.

“Alright then,” she whispered, raising the megaphone. “Let’s see who really kills the vibe.”

Heartbreaker didn’t notice the shift -- she was too busy thrashing her guitar, chords crashing like thunder. The beat had turned demonic, possessed, practically cracking the air around them as shockwaves pounded across the rooftop, tiles splintering and rippling under the force of her fury.

Then Ladybug screamed.

Not a word. Not a war cry. Just a raw, unfiltered, blood-curdling shriek -- a banshee's wail cranked to eleven and then blasted through the megaphone’s enchanted cone.

With the megaphone’s amplification, her voice became a sonic battering ram that crashed into Heartbreaker’s performance with all the subtlety of a meteor strike. The rhythm wobbled, then fractured, the magical energy around Heartbreaker’s guitar flickering and twisting under the opposing sound wave.

Heartbreaker screamed back, but her voice was drowned out entirely. Her next chord barely left the strings before being sucked into the howling void of Ladybug’s attack.

The villain staggered, but held her instrument strong, making feral swipes at her strings to blow back at Ladybug twofold. For a time, the two were locked in a stalemate, Heartbreaker jamming out her fury whilst Ladybug rubbed her vocal cords raw shrieking the pure power of a five-year old’s tantrum into the megaphone.

It ended when the two clashing voices, building up to impossible levels that would leave Marinette with one hell of a sore threat for the next week, stirred up such force that the rain was exploding into white mist. Following that, thunder boomed, summoning lightning to strike at that precise point between them, blowing the mist outwards, ripping apart the shingles of the roof and knocking both fighters off their balance.

By the time Ladybug had recovered her senses, she found that her foe had decided to cut their loses and flee the scene. A second later, she heard the grunts of Volpina arriving just a moment too late.

---

Chloe couldn’t believe she was even considering this. It was already humiliating enough having all these stupid thoughts, but discussing them out loud? With him? One night out with Nino had truly been enough to turn her stark raving mad.

So mad that she stood here, under the bleachers after school hours, using what time she could be using to perfect her make up to instead watch two idiots race each other around the track field. They’d grown bored of regular running and upped it to include roller skates whilst balancing a basket ball on their heads. The shortest one was currently leading with the most balance, twirling in place to send a few cheeky gestures behind them. Only for the larger one to duck low, speed up and flick the ball off their head as they raced past.

By the time they reached Chloe, a pissed off short pint was using their laughing companion’s head as a mobile basketball hoop, perfectly bouncing the ball off the helmet and back into their hands. Of course, by that point they also noticed Chloe and skirted round the edge to home in on her. Officially, she’d lost her chance to backpedal on this.

She took a deep, nervous breath as he came to a halt just in front of her, a towering and daunting figure she was about to make a fool of herself in front of.

She cleared her throat. “Hey, Kim. Can we talk?”

Silence followed, both Alix and Kim waiting with bated breath for the punchline. To be fair, which Chloe rarely was, the number of times she’d ripped Kim a new one for even thinking of being in the same room as her did make her request sound ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. But hey, Kim and Alix act like they hate each other all the time, and yet they’re still attached at the hip. So is Chloe approaching Kim, willingly, really that hard to believe?

…Yes. The answer is yes.

Chloe’s shoulder slumped, her lips pushing out into a pout. “I’m serious, I need your help with something.”

Kim study her as intently as a man as thick as him could, brow furrowed in thought. He was well versed in pranks, so he at least had enough experience to consider what possible prank could be at play here, but he couldn’t think of any that would be that impressive. Still, he eventually found himself smiling simply because, even if this was a prank, it could be a funny one.

“Sure.” He shrugged.

Alix sniggered, stretching out her arm to point. “Aw, Kim, she brought you flowers.”

Chloe jumped, glancing down at the flower base she clutched under her arm before turning her typical disgusted gaze on Alix. “Shut it, Munchkin.”

“Or what?” Alix gave a lazy grin, piking Chloe’s shoulder, easily showing off a comparison of how thin and smooth they were compared to the hint of muscle and red flushed bruises on the more sporty shortie. “You gonna wave your widdle barbie doll arms at me?”

Kim didn’t exactly look concerned, watching the two’s bitter exchange with a giggle. But seeing how impatient Chloe looked, he decided to skate in between them, throwing one arm around Alix and failing to throw one over Chloe who ducked away from it.

“Whoa, you two need to cool off. It’s way too early for all these bad vibes.” He grinned, adding insult to injury by ruffling Alix’s hair.

His gaze dropped to the flowers. “Though, I gotta say, Chlo; I don’t like flowers.” He tipped his head back, contemplating. “Maybe stuff, like, a whole bunch of rubber bands in a vase.”

Ick, like I would ever give a boy flowers. That would just make me look stupid! I get the boys to get me gifts.

“These aren’t for you!” She exclaimed, red in the face and huffing steam through her nose. “If you must know, I’m heading to the hospital after this.” The vase was brought up and shaken in Kim’s face. “These are for Mrs Bustier.”

Kim blinked, “She’s in the hospital?”

That earned him a slap across the shoulder from Alix.

“Don’t you listen at all? She got attacked last night.” She groaned, pushing Kim’s arm off and wrapping her own around her basketball. She squeezed it like a big stress ball. “Some weirdo super villain or something. Ladybug kicked their butt.”

There was no register of pain or bashfulness on im’s face, just an absentminded curiosity as he rubbed the back of his head. “Damn. Now I feel bad about not signing that ‘Get Well’ card…”

Both Alix and Chloe united in this one moment to call out to the boy. “How did that not tip you off about her being in the hospital?”

He paused, as if he was putting any thought into his answer, before shrugging. “I thought she was faking to get out of class.”

“She’s the teacher.”

“Teachers can skip school too.” He said passionately, thumping his chest.

Chloe rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t dislocate. “Look, anyway; I need to talk to Kim.”

Kim straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “What’s up?”

“…Without the rodent breathing down my neck.”

Alix scoffed, clutching her basketball dramatically to her chest. “Pffft, I don’t care about your melodrama anyway. When you’re done with your girl time, I’ll be beating your spin-out record.”

She kicked off the bleachers and rolled away backward, sticking her tongue out as she went. Kim waved lazily after her, calling out, “Try not to fall on your face this time!”

Alix responded with a very expressive middle finger before vanishing around the track.

Kim turned back to Chloe, brows raised, grinning with that boyish obliviousness he wore like armor. “Sooo… what’s the deal, Chlo? You finally gonna confess you’ve been secretly in love with me all these years?”

She grimaced like he’d offered her a used gym sock. “Ugh, don’t flatter yourself.”

Kim chuckled, unbothered, hands behind his head. “Can’t blame a guy for hoping.”

Chloe bit her bottom lip and looked off to the side, suddenly unsure of herself. Her fingers tightened around the vase. “It’s not about you.”

Kim blinked. “Wait, really?” Then he squinted like he was solving a crime. “Is it… Adrien? Wait no, of course it’s Adrien. Who else would it-”

“It’s not Adrien.” The words came out sharper than she intended. Her cheeks were red now, and not just from the cold. “And I d-didn’t say it was about being in love with anybody!”

“Oh.” He hummed, not entirely convinced, but to intellectually lazy to question Chloe’s obvious lie. “Do you want work-out advice? ‘Cus I’ve been thinking of getting a side job as a personal trainer, even if Alix thinks it’s stupid-”

Chloe interrupted him with a screech. “Are you saying I look fat?!”

“No.” He stated simply, leaning away from her outburst without a hint of change in his facial expression.  “…Well, not in a bad way. Some of the guys say you’re thi-”

“I will break this vase on your face.”

“Wow, not even ‘your empty five-head’?” Kim almost looked concerned as he leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay!” Chloe hissed, sliding down the side of the bleacher with the vase hugged to her chest. “I’m having feelings. And they suck.”

“…So, you need the bathroom?”

“I’m emotionally constipated, not physically; keep up.”

It’s like talking to a brick wall, Chloe paled a fraction, Is this what I sound like!?

Kim still stood there, a blank wall of cheery simplicity. And he was thinking, by God he was trying. “You know, I’m not that good at this, but I’m pretty sure that you gotta use your words if you want me to understand what’s eating you.”

“It’s just like… I think… I don’t how to… Argh!” She whined, curling even further into herself and wrapping her knuckles against her forehead.

No matter how she went about it, she couldn’t verbalize the problem, it was all a smatter of strange thoughts and sensations that left her chilled. She wasn’t a great speaker, she knew that, but she thought it’d be easier talking to Kim, that she’d be able to simplify it. Besides, Kim, while not book smart or emotionally sensitive, he was one of the most emotionally leading people she knew.

For once, Kim’s face seems to soften with a hint of understanding as he studied her features. She didn’t now how much thought went into it, but there was something rattling in that brain of his, leading to him shuffling over to sit down beside her.

He held one knee up, the other falling to lay on its side, a picture of half-assing it. “Alix says that when you’re having a hard time thinking, it’s ‘cus you’re thinking too big.” He pressed his finger to his temple, squinting in thought for a moment before miming out breaking something in two. “You gotta break it down, like when you’re eating. Digest the food thought better.”

That… Didn’t sound half bad actually. It was like a math problem, you break the calculation down into pieces, work those out and then put it all back together. And yes, she was still having trouble with math.

“Okay, so it’s like…” She mimicked Kim’s expression, scrunching up her face as she racked her brain. Her problem was Nino, her feelings for Nino. So breaking it down, there were a few pieces that came to mind. The first and most prominent in her mind was the fear, the doubt, the desire to give in. “You like me, right?”

Kim nodded, but made no verbal response.

“And I do everything in the book to reject you every time, and I guess I can be a little mean about it.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “And I make you do dumb things.”

“Aw, it’s okay, I don’t hold it against ya.”

“That’s not the po-” She stopped herself before she could go right back into mean Chloe mode, telling herself to just accept his assurance and move on.

There was a sigh that dragged from her lips to make her look away. “How do you deal with it? All of it?”

“What do you mean?” Kim asked after a beat.

Chloe closed her eyes, suddenly annoyed by the sight of her own feet, by the reminder that she was too scared to face Kim, and her feelings, head on. “You’re like... used to this, right? Having feelings for someone who doesn’t like you back. Getting rejected. Mocked. Ignored. You just… bounce back like it’s nothing. How do you do that? Why aren’t you afraid or ashamed of all these stupid little hurtful thoughts that keep interrupting your day?”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “Ouch.”

She grimaced again. “Okay, that came out meaner than I meant it.”

He shrugged with a small grin. “Eh. You’re not wrong.”

Kim completed his transition to the ground, sliding down onto his side, looking up at her. “Honestly? I dunno. I just… don’t take it personally.”

Chloe blinked. “But how?”

Kim picked up a stray stick and twirled it between his fingers. “I mean, yeah, it sucks. And sometimes it gets to me. But I figure, if I let it keep me down, then what’s the point? I like liking people. I like hoping. It’s not really about winning or losing, it’s just… you know, feeling stuff. That’s kinda cool in itself.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“…That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she muttered.

Kim snorted. “Yeah, but it helps.”

She felt the instinctual need to snort back. “I don’t know what I expected from a guy who still thinks the whoopy-cushion gag is still a killer prank.”

“Hey, don’t you diss the classics.” He bemoaned, poking at her with his foot. “Besides, I’ve pulled off bigger pranks than that. Remember when I trapped Nino in the boiler room back in middle school and he thought we’d never let him out?”

It took a moment for Chloe to respond. The instant image came to mind, of Nino, smaller, frailer, but just as cute, shivering in the dark as he desperately pounded on the door crying out for someone to help him. Nino was being tormented, and that made the bile in her throat rise, made her defensive instincts stand at attention. When did she get so protective of another person who wasn’t Sabrina?

She suddenly wanted to punch Kim in his dumb, grinning monkey-ass looking face.

“That… That sounds terrible.” Chloe snapped, glaring down at the boy. “How could you do such a thing to someone so sweet?”

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, disbelieving and more than a little bemused by her scowl, as if she’d just done something seriously stupid.

“What?” She growled.

Kim rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, Chloe? You were the one who told me to do it. Remember? You even made spooky noises at the locked door to make him piss himself.”

She blanched. “W-What? I never did that to Nino…”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “Well, he was Nino Gruber back then, so maybe you just got him mixed up.” He leaned back on his hands, glancing at the sky. “Think that’s why he’s still afraid of the dark.”

“I…” Her voice faltered, the vase suddenly much heavier in her lap. “I did that to Nino?”

Kim didn’t answer right away. He just gave a slow, almost apologetic shrug.

Chloe clutched the ceramic tighter, her eyes wide and distant. “Then… why is he so nice to me?”

“Dunno,” Kim said, voice surprisingly gentle for once. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”

“Lucky,” she echoed hollowly. “Lucky I didn’t break him.”

Her fingers dug into the smooth curve of the vase as she pressed her lips together. There was a long beat of silence. Then, almost in a whisper:

“Maybe I should just grit my teeth and give up.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’d probably just screw it all up anyway. I mean, it’s practically my second nature to humiliate people.”

Kim sat up straighter, a small frown forming on his face. “Now hold on…”

She didn’t look at him. “It’s true.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sugarcoat it, which surprised her. “But you know what I think when I ask you out?”

Chloe finally looked at him, eyes narrowing warily.

“I think, ‘she’s gonna say no,’ ‘she’s gonna tell me to do something that Alix is gonna tease me about later,’ and ‘this is gonna hurt.’” He said it casually, like he was listing the weather forecast. Then he smiled, soft and sincere. “But I also think, ‘she’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, so what the hey.’”

Her throat went tight.

Kim stretched his legs out with a sigh. “It sucks to put your heart on the line like that, but I always thought you were worth it.”

Chloe didn’t respond. She stared ahead, silent, until Kim added, a little more hesitantly:

“And if… Um… if Nino makes you feel like this, and makes you ask all this stuff you’d never think to ask before…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, that’s gotta mean he’s worth it too, right?”

Chloe bit her lip. The answer was already there, waiting.

“…Yeah.” Her voice was barely above a breath. “You’re right. Nino is worth it.”

She paused and then squinted. “Wait, I never said it was Nino.”

Kim laughed. “Shot in the dark.”

Chloe sat stiffly, fists clenched at her sides, jaw locked like it had rusted shut. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I-” she tried, eyes squeezed shut like the word might physically attack her. “T-Th-Thuuuuuu- Crap.”

Kim raised a brow, clearly trying not to laugh. “Chloe, you don’t have to-”

“No, no! I can do this.” She held up a finger like she was about to cast a spell, furrowed her brow, and took a deep breath. “Fuuuua- Fu- Rrank- Thaaaaan-”

She punched her knee in frustration. “Damn it.”

There was a pause. Then, voice low and reluctant, she muttered, “I ap-preeee-ciate your advice, Kim.”

He blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. Then his grin returned, gentler this time. “Anytime, Chlo.”

She looked away, arms crossing over the vase in her lap. The silence hung again, not uncomfortable this time, just… full.

After a minute, she muttered, “Don’t you feel bad that I like someone else?”

Kim shrugged, stretching his legs out again. “Nah, not really.” He leaned back on his elbows, eyes up at the sky. “Nino’s a pretty cool dude.”

Chloe blinked slowly, the response not at all what she was expecting. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head toward her. “I mean, he’s not me, obviously. But he’s smart. Chill. Sticks up for people. Good taste in hats.”

She snorted. “His hat is stupid.”

And yet she was keeping it.

Kim laughed. “Yeah. That’s why it’s cool.”

They didn’t have time to say anything else as the pint-sized form of Alix skated back into view, eyes narrowing at the two casually lounging about. “Kiiiiiim, I lost my basketball. Gimme yours.”

He clicked his tongue, reaching for the ball by his side and scrambling to his feet. “Looks like I’m back in the game.” He gave a mock salute as he rose. “See ya, Trumpet.”

“See you- Wait, Trumpet?!” Chloe blanched. “Who told you about that?”

There was no answer, just Kim’s laughter as he reached Alix. He held the ball out only to swipe it up and far out of Alix’s reach, watching the girl struggle and hop trying to get the ball. It worked, until Alix decided that the best course of action was to kick Kim in the shin, forcing him to double over and deliver the ball into her waiting palm.

Chloe was let forgotten as the two moved away, talking amongst themselves as Chloe made to leave for her hospital visit.

“So, what did you two talk about?” Alix asked curiously, idly tossing the ball between her hands.

“Feelings.” Kim sounded so damn proud of himself. “Real deep stuff.”

Alix sniggered. “Kiddie pool deep, I bet.”

Kim secured his arms behind his head, casually skating around Alix. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna give up on asking Chloe out.”

“Wait, you for real?” Alix gasp, punching him in the shoulder as he passed. “Damn, who’s going to challenge you to ridiculous bets now?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I mean… Isn’t that what you already do?”

“Yeah, but unlike other girls, I’m not just trying to humiliate you.” Alix crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Maybe if you learned how to talk to girls properly, this would stop happening.”

Kim made a show of darting his head to look around the field. “Great idea. Do you know if there’s any girls around here?”

“Asshole!” The basketball made direct contact with his face. “Just throw the stupid ball so I can kick your ass with it.”

---

“How’s your throat?” Alya asked, peering over her phone at the irritable hero across the roof.

Ladybug let out what could only be described as a dying squawk, idly scratching at her throat as if it would do anything to ease the ache. “Like I’m gargling a chainsaw.” She murmured in a low rattle. “Master Fu’s special tea blend can only do so much.”

Still, she held said tea in hand and downed the piping hot liquid down her throat like a dying man finding an oasis in the desert. Yes, the scalding hot brew burned holes into her throat. That was the point. The burning was better than the itching. In fact, hitting herself in the head with a hammer was better than the itching. The only thing worse is when she has a cold, and the roof of her mouth starts itching.

Oh God, why didn’t she just let Heartbreaker kill her?

Aly, the unsympathetic, heartless weasel of a friend only laughed, laughed, at Ladybug’s eternal torment. “I still can’t believe you screamed a supervillain into submission.”

“I work in mysterious ways.” Ladybug grumbled, flipping open her yoyo to loo at her messages for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. No reply from Volpina yet, just more notifications from Hawkmoth asking for her opinion on his latest outfit. She didn’t know why he was making a punk rock set and, if God was merciful, she’d never find out.

“Any leads yet on the killer?”

“Volpina said she had a solid one she wanted to check out, but she hasn’t answered any of my texts for an update. Where is that girl?” There was a regretful amount of her mother leaking into her voice there, ever annoyed at the amused glint in Alya’s eye, as if Ladybug worrying about her partner’s safety was an overreaction.

It wasn’t! In Ladybug’s view, it was the most objectively reasonable worry to have. Volpina didn’t explain anything about her lead, or where she was going. What if Volpina was doing something dangerous? They were dealing with a mad, mind controlling serial killer here! Everything was dangerous.

“Volpina is a tough girl, have some faith and chill.” Alya lightly tutted, multitasking the conversation to simultaneously punch in texts at a mile-a-minute. “You sent that piggy crying all the way home with one punch, I don’t think Volpina’s got much to worry about.”

“That’s only because that was Heartbreaker’s first fight!” Ladybug exclaimed. “Next time, she’s going to know to fall back on her strengths and ambush us with her music or something. Volpina could try to go after her and walk right into a trap, and we’d never know!”

“Buggy, we’re partners.” If it were possible to verbally roll your eyes, Volpina’s voice was the closest to it. “If I was going to make any big moves, I’d run them by you first.”

Ladybug blanched, jumping straight up onto her heels with a scream, whirling around to find Volpina, spread out on her side on the edge of the roof with that signature grin. Fighting both embarrassment and her aching throat, Ladybug was rendered unable to speak for the moment, so Volpina’s eyes flickered over to Alya.

“You know, if you had told me we were gonna be entertaining such a distinguished guest, I’d have dressed up.”

And if you had told me that you were on your way instead of ghosting me, Alya would have left before you got here!

There was a slew of panicked questions in her head, Ladybug mentally going over her entire conversation with Alya since reaching the roof. Volpina could have been there, cloaked by illusions, the entire time for all she knew. Did she say anything personal? Did she say anything that revealed Alya knew who she was? Did she expose her own identity? Crap. Crap. Crap.

---

Oblivious to her friend’s plight, Alya put her phone away to return Volpina’s amused stare. The two had technically met before for Ladyblog interviews, but that always had a professional expectation hanging over it and how they act. This was a more casual affair, so Alya got to look over the fox without having to focus on getting through an interview in a timely and appropriate manner.

The girl was certainly more subtly cheeky than the louder, in-your-face positivity she wielded on camera, with a small, curious look and a shrug of her brows to welcome Alya’s gaze. A lackadaisical and uncoordinated look, one that made it clear that she was taking in the details behind those golden eyes and had no care for preserving her grace in the moment.

“What does ‘dressing up’ look like?” Alya asked, not hesitating to cross the distance. She knew nothing real about this person, only the persona she wielded, and the things Marinette shared; this fox could be dangerous or weary of non-heroes, but Alya wasn’t one to fall back on assuming the worst. Either way, she wanted to know more about the woman she was trusting to watch her best friend’s back.

Volpina drew her upper leg back, arching her knee to form a perfect arch over her lower leg, and showing off her tail lazily moving down her leg. The consistent thing between Volpina on and off camera was that she always positioned herself like she was posing for a photoshoot. Adrien was like that sometimes too; maybe Volpina was a model in real life?

“I put on a ribbon.” The fox answered, using her free hand to smooth back her hair whilst her other pushed up her torso ever so slightly. She winked. “Wrap myself like the gift I am.”

Alya smirked, stroking her chin. “Can’t argue there.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Césaire.” Volpina practically purred. “Though, not to sound like I’m not happy to see my favourite fan, but should I be jealous that you were invited here before me?”

Whether or not Volpina could lie with her words, Alya could see the truth in the fox’s ears standing at attention to soak in the compliments. It took a second for Alya to process that the ears and tail weren’t just a costume, and another to supress a small squeal at how cute they were. Did Chat Noir’s ears work like that too? Damn, suddenly she just wanted to scratch them.

“Not at all!” Alya flicked her hair back, pressing her thumb back against her forehead and her forefinger pointing forward. “I just needed a super-hero taxi to get up here is all. I may be quite the fox myself, but there’s no replacing the original.”

“Do you know Ladybug well then?” Volpina gave a suspicious glance.

It was unintentionally fortunate that Marinette was distracted by herself at the moment, she would have easily gotten close to giving away the game with rushed, half-baked excuses. But Alya was a world class bullshitter under pressure, and this half-truth was easy to explain. “Wouldn’t say we’re personal yet, but she recognised that I’m a good source of information on social media and the hero community. She calls me up for information gathering, an unofficial scout of the Ladybug cause, y’know? This case has got her paranoid, wants as many eyes as she can get.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Volpina flipped over onto her front, pulling Alya’s gaze down low to watch her uncoil to sit up. She could have just sat up normally, but that wouldn’t have been eye catching. The hero rested her chin on her shoulder, eyes half lidded and her smirk baring teeth. “I get the feeling you’d make one hell of a fox if the shoe was on the other paw.”

Alya leaned down to meet her gaze on even ground, confidence bolstered by the knowledge that she was the original candidate considered for the fox. But she was sure Volpina didn’t know that. “Well, not to brag…”

“Brag away. You have a lot of material to work with.”

“I’m not the only flatterer here.” Something about clicking her tongue always sounded so satisfying, rolling into the blooming amusement of Alya’s expression. Inquisitive eyes narrowed to stare Volpina down. “Do you come up with these on the fly, or do you write them down for later?”

Volpina let out a mocking gasp, one hand fluttering over her heart to hold her steady. “Cutting words, Miss Césaire.” That same hand dropped from the hold, turning on it’s back to reach out to Alya. “And not to mention unfounded! I wouldn’t waste the effort on a girl who wasn’t worth it. Not when I’m already so effortlessly charming.”

“You know you can just call me Alya, right?”

“I could.” She hummed, pursing her lips. “But ‘Miss’ just rolls off the tongue so much better.”

“Mhm, you got me there.” Alya closed the distance, grasping Volpina’s open hand. “And what do I call you?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something extravagant.”

“’Cus I’m thinking ‘Stripes’.”

Volpina’s face immediately fell and Alya couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Never mind, I never should have trusted you with this.”

“Too late.”

Somehow, Volpina managed to push her eyes to be inhumanly wide and adorable. “Alya, I’m begging here.”

“Fine, fine…” Alya tilted her head, thoughtfully humming as she pretended to consider it seriously.

“You’re a star, Miss Césaire.”

“For the fox, you sure know how to pour on the honey, Vixen.”

Volpina’s grin widened just a little, the tip of one fang poking out past her lips in an almost predatory curl. She laced her fingers with Alya’s, just enough pressure to let the contact linger, to test the waters. “Oh, I like that one.”

“I’m still gonna be workshopping it.”

“Hm.” Volia paused her playful banter for the moment, gaze flickering down to Alya’s grip. “You’re still tense. Does something about me worry you?”

Alya could try and play coy, but she wasn’t afraid to look Volpina in the eye. “It’s just that Ladybug is my favourite hero, and after Chat Noir running out on her, I can’t help but wonder about her new partner whose whole gimmick is illusions and trickery.” Her grip tightened. “Do I have anything to worry about?”

Instead of falling back on her charm and batting the accusation away with her charisma, Volpina’s face grew uncharacteristically stern and serious. She pulled their hands upwards, pressing a chaste kiss against Alya’s knuckles. “I am with Ladybug for the long haul; against Hawkmoth, sentimonsters and the world itself if I have to be.”

The two turn their sights slightly to the side, gazing across as Ladybug who was still muttering incoherently to herself about whatever fresh anxiety she was fixated upon today. “Even if she can be such a dolt sometimes.”

And then, they returned to a stare down, connected by the tight binding of their fingers and the desire for truth roaring in their hearts. Two open ears, inquisitive fingers and observant eyes; both trying to prove that they were in complete control.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The smirk returned. “Now, what’s this about Ladybug being your favourite? I’m literally right here.”

Alya shrugged, letting go of Volpina’s hand, though slow enough to let her fingers brush against the underside. “The thing about using illusions is that the coolest things you pull off aren’t actually you. Ladybug just comes off as cooler.”

“I know you’re just saying this to make me jealous, but I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed.” Alya patted Volpina on the cheek.

“Hey, I’m always adorable.” Another glance over to Ladybug. “Should we snap her out of it? I’m starting to get worried.”

---

Ladybug’s mental prison of questions, ranging from ‘Did I expose myself?’ to ‘Did I leave the stove on?’, was shattered by an ambush of clicking fingers so close that they might as well have been shoved up her nose.

“Huh- Wha?” She fell back against the wall, a weight pulling at her body as if she’d just gotten out of bed.  Alya and Volpina stood over her, shoulder-to-shoulder, with their deadly clicing weapons still poised to poke and irritate her. “What were we talking about?”

Volpina shook her head, sharing a silent glance with Alya that made Ladybug suspicious that they were making fun of her. “About how I’ve agreed to let our unofficial third member listen in on the meeting.”

Ladybug rubbed her head, her voice dull. “Oh. Right.”

She wasn’t even allowed that as Volpina’s fingers thrusted forward to flick her right in the nose, leaving her to yelp and rub her now bruised red nose.

“And hoping you were planning to tell me about miss Cesare’s involvement sooner rather than later.” Volpina finished.

All Ladybug could do was glare back, because if she opened her mouth she knew she’d stumble over the explanation.

“Give her a break, Vixen.” Alya cut in, her social knight in shining armour, bumping Volpina aside with her hip and moving to help Ladybug up. “She was probably scared of what you’d think if you found out that she was relying on the help of a civilian.”

Back on her feet, Ladybug tried to remain indignant. “Y-Yeah, that’s right.”

Volpina, on the other hand, saw this as an invitation to take hold of Ladybug’s poor nose and squeeze it. All in good fun, of course. Good, painful, humiliating fun. “Oh, Buggy; you know I’ll accept you even if you’re dumb.”

“Hey! I’m no lame brain!” Ladybug moaned, slapping away Volpina’s hand. “I was like Sherlock Holmes at the crime scene the other night.” She crossed her arms with as much dignity as a superhero with a slightly throbbing nose could muster.

Volpina let out a snort. “Well, if you’re really so smart, you probably don’t even need my lead.” she said, all faux innocence and smug tail flicks, pulling up a little folder she’d kept on the side and putting it within tantalizing distance to Ladybug’s face.

Ladybug reached for it, only for the folder to be yanked away.

“That’s not fair, Volly.” Ladybug pouted. “…Come on, spit it out already.”

“Fine, fine.” Volpina sighed dramatically, letting the folder fall to the floor before them. Opening up and spilling different photos across the ground. “I figured out our little contradiction.”

Ladybug perked up, dropping to her knees to look over the photos. The flaw in their initial theory had been a major set back in the investigation, she’d take anything that would ease that blow. “Wait, really?”

The photos were all headshots of numerous victims, some she recognised, and some she didn’t. Volpina crouched, taking one photo from the pile, the one of the victim they found the other night.

“Whilst you were blowing out your vocal cords,” Volpina paused to observe Ladybug’s sour expression with glee, “I noticed something about some of our new victims; and suddenly it all fell into place.”

Alya leaned in over Ladybug’s shoulder, watching as Volpina started to move the photographs around. “These are all our known victims of Heartbreaker.” Soon enough, all the victims they’d known about prior were arranged into an orderly row while the confusing victims were left in chaos. “Now, I’m going to arrange them into groups; this group fits our original theory.”

Ladybug scrunched up her face, confused. She gestured to the chaotic jumble. “Okay, but that means all of these prove our theory wrong.”

“Nope!” Volpina booped Ladybug’s nose, which Ladybug desperately hoped wasn’t going to become a thing.

The chaos was pulled apart, piece by piece, and then rebuilt in order. And in that order emerged a bigger picture. Right off the bat, Ladybug noticed a key difference between this new group and the others, mostly in how well-off they all looked. Perfect hair, prim and proper suits, plenty of golden accessories adorning their bodies, the backdrop always some fancy restaurant or apartment.

“You know what connects these guys? Money.” Volpina clapped her hands together, before holding them over her heart and then miming an explosion. “They were all stinking rich, and all died soon after they stopped being rich.”

“Oh, I think I get it.” Alya snapped her fingers, pointing between each group. “Group A is a vendetta; group B is a sugar daddy racket.”

“Bingo.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened. They hadn’t been on the wrong track after all; these weren’t all one list, they were two separate lists with two separate reasonings, and thus different approaches. She slapped her hand over her face, a low whine escaping her throat as revelation struck.

“T-That explains why the murder method is slightly different!” She groaned; it was so obvious now that she said it out loud. Mentally torturing someone and making their heart explode and leave a cartoony hole was making a statement. Making someone’s heart just slowly stop was probably what a serial killer would consider a mercy. “She only made a violent example of the ones she had a grudge against. The other victims were just business.”

Volpina banged on her knees with a steady rhythm, treating them as a drum to belt out her backing track. “And the miracles of the amazing Volpina don’t end there.”

She jumped up, bouncing on the balls of her feet with all the giddy energy she’d clearly been waiting to release since she’d gotten here. “See, I figured that if these guys were paying our girl, and she isn’t that much of a criminal mastermind, then there has to be records of these guys sending enormous amounts of cash to someone with no public connection to them.”

Alya let out an awed gasp. “Good thinking, Vixen.”

Ladybug tried not to look too salty over her best friend complimenting her other best friend. Oh, I see how it is. I unravel an entire crime scene from just footprints in flour and a left-over diner, and I’m still an idiot. She figures out that big money leaves big trail and she’s a genius.

“Roger got me their bank records.” Volpina pushed off, pacing around them. “Now, our friends in the police force said that there wasn’t technically enough cause for them to legally go through the files of anyone our victims sent their spoils to.”

There was an excitement in Alya’s eye that Ladybug had only ever seen when Alya found something to write about. “Buuuuuuut?”

Falling onto the tip of her toes, Volpina dropped her torso to make a show of bowing. “But you’d be surprised what you can get access to when you can make yourself look like the people who are allowed to go through those files.” She clapped her hands together, rubbing them so violently Ladybug feared that she was about to create fire. With her other foot, she hook her toes on the finale, unsorted photo in the pile and flipping it over. “Long story short, I think I found our Heartbreaker.”

Ladybug rushed over to the photo, scrambling like a mad dog to get the first glimpse, to look closely and think over every detail she could make out of Heartbreaker. Thoughts race through her mind on how she’d deal with this information. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but she was desperate to make some headway in this case. After all, the longer they didn’t bring her in, the more people who’d suffer.

Glancing over the picture, Ladybug found herself chewing through her nails. Alright, take a good look, observe all the details, don’t rush it. This is probably going to take for-

Alya interjected. “Wait, isn’t that Piper Pepper?”

Both Ladybug and Volpina fell limp, blankly staring at Alya. “…Who?”

“The musician?” Alya glared at Ladybug in particular for not knowing the name. “Me and my friends went to this club the other night where she was performing. She has a whole pig theme.” More blank faces. Marinette’s only memory of that night was causing a riot and getting cornered by Dutch.

Alya let out an unimpressed scoff, shaking her head. “Her stage name is Heartbreaker.” She hissed.

Ladybug’s jaw dropped. Volpina’s mouth ran dry. Both of them turned to look at one another, silently reassuring each other that they weren’t alone in their befuddlement.

“…It couldn’t be that obvious, could it?”

“I feel like I just wasted my weekend.”

Alya sighed, pressing her hand to her temples. “To be fair, she didn’t come up with her villain name, the police coined it. This is purely a coincidence.”

Ladybug flopped backward onto the floor, limbs spread wide, defeated by the sheer absurdity of it all. “We could’ve just Googled it,” she whispered to the ceiling. “All this time -- interviews, investigations, sleepless nights -- and we got beaten by a club flyer and a dumb stage name.”

Volpina sat down beside her, expression torn between second-hand embarrassment and a deep, soul-crushing sense of wasted potential. “I pulled a heist,” she said, deadpan. “I impersonated a city clerk for thirty-two minutes. I wore khakis, Bug. Khakis.”

Alya tried not to laugh but failed spectacularly. “Hey, look on the bright side: your instincts were right. The name didn’t crack the case -- you did.”

Volpina tilted her head slightly, considering that. “…I guess. Still feels like we tripped and face-planted into the answer.”

Ladybug raised a limp hand. “I’m declaring a moratorium on new villain names. From now on, no more dramatic metaphors. If your theme is ‘heartbreak,’ your name has to be, like, Cardio Pain Person or something. Something we can Google.”

“Alright, so that wraps this all up then?” Ladybug sat up, brushing dust off her pants. “We just tell the police and they go over to her house and cuff her?”

Volpina snorted. “Ah, if only law enforcement was ever convenient when we actually need it to be.”

Alya folded her arms, tapping her foot thoughtfully. “Technically, this evidence is illegal and can’t be admitted to the investigation. We’d probably end up waiting on a lot of red tape before the police actually go after her.”

Ladybug’s expression soured. “Then I guess us vigilantes will have to sort this out the old-fashioned way.” She turned to Alya, determination building back in her voice. “Think you and Volpina can find us a home address or her next venue?”

Alya gave a sharp nod. “You got it, Ladybug.”

“In the meantime,” Ladybug added, already planning the next step, “I’ll try getting answers out of Bustier. We need to know who’s next on her list.”

Volpina offered a mock salute. “Looks like we’re in this together, Miss Césaire.”

“Don’t worry, Vixen,” Alya said, offering a confident grin. “I’ll watch your back.”

Volpina raised an eyebrow, smug. “Just my back?”

“I only have so much space in my camera,” Alya shot back without missing a beat.

Ladybug looked between the two, only now catching on to the weird energy she was feeling. Were they… Flirting?! Her two best friends couldn’t flirt with each other. That’s like… incest! Friendcest.

“Do you two need to get a room?” She groaned.

“Oh, I think we’d need more than a room, Buggy.”

Now Ladybug needed to add some good old fashioned brain bleach to her shopping list. She was making a mental note to never bring Alya on the same case as Volpina again, this wouldn’t end well; it was just weird.

And it had nothing to do with Marinette’s paranoia that she’d get left behind again. She was completely secure in her position as best friend for the both of them, and had no abandonment issues what so ever.

As Alya was carried off by Volpina, Ladybug ducked under the cover of a little alcove and detransformed. She’d been Ladybug for a good few hours now, even if she hadn’t exerted herself too much, Tikki still needed to eat before she went to visit Bustier.

Minutes later, Tikki was chowing down on her usual macaroons, but her eating was slowed as she peered up at her holder with slight concern. Marinette’s face was scrunched up in thought, thinking about something hard, something she needed to calculate.

“What is it, Marinette?”

“I’m just worried.” Marinette muttered, stroking Tikki’s head. “Since Heartbreaker’s current sugar daddy is dead, she’s going to be looking for a new one. Gotta wonder which poor bastard she’ll hypnotize next.”

---

It was the most miserable car ride Hawkmoth had ever been on. Which was strange to say, because he’d been driven under worst circumstances, with more tragic news nipping at his heels. Yet, he was convinced that nothing could compare to the emptiness afflicting him as he watched the streets of Paris peel away into speedy blurs.

He’d been filled with so much energy when he set out on this venture, gleefully designing his ‘hip’ new disguise, proudly proclaiming his imminent victory. But soon enough, as he stepped out of the mansion, that feeling, that drive dissipated. The world around him shifted to a blander view, all colour plucked from their perch, as if gravity was tearing them down.

He crawled into the car a hollow creature, a shambling amalgamation of bones and paling flesh held together by fabric. Something was missing, he knew not what it was, only that it was absent, that he needed it back, that he needed a spark.

The only thing unaffected by the gloom was Nathalie. Somehow, against all odds, she retained her colour, retained that glow that now stood out even more in contrast to the depressing filter. Just sitting next to her as she drove, it provided a brief filling sensation. A teasing preview of what could be, almost tempting him to close the distance and trap her in his arms if only to allow her to fill that growing hole in his heart.

It was a mindless thought, a fleeting instinct that came again and again and refused to gleam any of its logic to him. It just was.

“Are you sure that this is a good idea, Sir?” She asked, her worried tone lashing out at the cold that claimed him. It pained him to hear, but the fact that he could feel the pain, that he was alive enough to feel it, was a testament to the effect this woman had on him. “You don’t look well.”

Even if she was saying such foolish, ridiculous things. Of course this was a good idea, the best idea; the only idea. He had to act as soon as possible, had to find her, had to get back to- Somewhere. This pain was temporary, but victory would stay with him forever. He had to do this, otherwise this emptiness would consume him, and it had already consumed him so much throughout his life.

“Would I be doing this if I wasn’t sure, Nathalie?” He said it sharply, and in his Hawkmoth form, he was painfully aware of the sudden spike of hurt that flickered in response.

He quickly raised his hand before she could open her mouth. “Don’t answer that.”

He’d made it a rule long ago that he’d never use Nooroo’s power on his family, that he’d refrain his senses from striking any connection with their hearts. Not just for his own sake, not just out of respect for their privacy, but because it was different with them.

With the random denizens of Paris, it didn’t matter what he found when walking them into being an akuma. They were strangers to him, he’d never meet with them on a personal level after the akuma was done and dusted. Nothing he’d pry from them would matter, and he’d never be tempted to pry in the first place.

The likes of Nathalie and Adrien, that curiosity would be a certainty, and what he’d find was a fearsome prospect. If he connected to them, if he felt out their emotions and mental state, he’d have to face them knowing what he knew, he’d have to confess that he violated that sanctity, and it would loom over every interaction.

Still, there would be moments where, against his will, he’d naturally feel the sting of a sudden emotion slapping him down. Some things he simply couldn’t shut out. And in this instance, it stung. Knowing how easily he could hurt Nathalie for the pettiest of reasons, but that guilt, that cloud of lucidity was easily drowned out by something else.

“My plan is perfect.” He continued in Nathalie’s silent acceptance. “I’ve already heard about her abysmal performance against Ladybug. This woman isn’t a fighter, she’ll be defenceless when I’m in position.”

He glanced into the rear-view mirror, admiring his new iteration of Hawkmoth. The suit was turned into a long trench coat the flowed down to his knees, completely unbuttoned and allowed to freely swirl out in front of him and expose the dark, ruffled undershirt that took on an almost inky texture. His shoulders, his trousers, and his shoes-converted-to-combat-boots were adorned with studs and creases. What little of his face that was visible through the mask had a white, painted edge.

“Her threat isn’t in how well she can fight,” Nathalie urged, her tone fighting to bite back some more colourful words, “it’s in how she can make you fight yourself. Look what she managed to do to you by complete accident.”

Staring at his reflection, he could only think of how this would be what Gabbi Grassette’s Hawkmoth would have looked like. Back when he was a punk, before… Before he turned a new chapter in his life. A better one.

He grunted. “That was because I was taken by surprise, and was… Indisposed at the time.”

He did not want to explain to Nathalie that he had been foolishly indulging Mayura’s foolish fantasies in that foolish moment of utter… Foolishness!

“This time, my heads in the game and I hold all the cards.”

Gabriel had considered it an enormous stroke of luck when, during his research into the dear, soon-to-be-departed miss Piper, he was just in time for an enormous opportunity. She was clearing her scheduled appearances to set up a private concert just for her and her biggest fans. A direct meet up with the villain herself, and better yet, Gabriel could easily make himself stand out as a potential new ‘investor’ by spending an exorbitant fee for the full Heartbreaker VIP experience; including a one-on-one meeting with the star herself.

Best of all, the attendees were all require to dress up for the event in funky, concealing costumes representing their ‘inner self’ or some crap. He didn’t even have to hide his mask.

If he gave her enough credit, he’d think that this was an intentional honey trap to weed out a big spender she could use her powers to exploit. And he planned to be the sweetest of honeys tonight. He’d have her alone, she’d think she had him wrapped around her finger, and that was when he’d- Well, he’d get creative.

The car rolled to a smooth stop at a red light. The streets around them were quiet, but then, faintly, a sound began to drift in through the cracked window. It was music.

Distant, hauntingly sweet, and threaded with a pulse like a heartbeat. A sultry guitar riff coiled through the air like smoke. No one noticed it, Nathalie just heard the passing of cars. No one but Hawkmoth.

And in an instant, he knew it was her.

His breath caught, shoulders tensing as something shifted. That cold void in his chest, the dull grey filter over the world -- gone. Like the flip of a switch, the emptiness dissolved, and the colours bled back in, rich and intoxicating.

The streetlights shimmered with intensity. The moon hung above them, glowing like a spotlight. The texture of his coat felt luxurious against his skin, and the air suddenly smelled like lavender and rain.

And above it all was the music.

The tune weaved around him, through him, and with it came her. Her voice. Her promise. Her magic. It was all he needed; it was her. He could feel her existence again, like she was tethered to him. And it was glorious.

He exhaled a breathy, near-giddy laugh, startling Nathalie in the driver’s seat.

Her eyes flicked to him. “Sir?”

“I feel alive, Nathalie,” he sighed, practically lounging back in his seat now, hands resting in his lap like he didn’t have a care in the world. “This... this is it. The moment before the victory. The sweet scent of conquest before the first sword is drawn.”

He smiled, broad and strangely genuine. “I’m simply basking in the victory to come.”

Nathalie stared at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Right…”

They pulled up in front of the venue -- a sleek, dimly lit theatre, already pulsating with bass. Private security lined the front like statues, and somewhere inside, her song was reaching a crescendo.

Gabriel practically bounced in his seat like an excited child. His fingers drummed against his knees, and his legs twitched like they wanted to leap out and run to her.

Nathalie, ever his anchor, still hadn’t left her doubts behind. Her expression was tight, unreadable, and her voice laced with a subtle tension. “I know you feel confident right now,” she said slowly, “but this isn’t like dealing with an akuma. She isn’t one of yours. And her power-”

“Is magnificent,” he finished for her, smiling again. But then his gaze lingered on her -- really lingered -- and something else began to click.

Even with the world returned to colour, she still stood out. She’d always stood out, but now... now it was overwhelming. Her presence had an edge to it, a brightness that pierced through the music's haze. It didn’t fit the palette of the moment; it surpassed it. She was radiant. Blinding.

Almost as if she’d never been grey to begin with.

“Nathalie,” he said gently, tilting his head. “It’s quite simple.”

And before he could stop himself -- before he could think -- he leaned in. Softly, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

A gesture so out of character, so disarmingly tender, it stunned her into stillness.

He drew back with a smirk, utterly oblivious to the way Nathalie’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a vivid red.

“Nothing can go wrong when I know you’re here to back me up,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he popped the car door open. “If anything happens to me, you know the combination to the safe with the Black Cat Miraculous.”

And with that, he was gone; coat flaring behind him like wings, energy practically thrumming through him with every step as he walked straight into the lion’s den.

In the car, Nathalie sat frozen, completely rebooting.

She touched her cheek slowly.

“…What the hell just happened?”

Notes:

I lied the idea of making Heartbreaker a different type of villain from the ones we've had so far, showcasing in this first bout that she's not a fighter, she's a wash out drunk on power; immediately crashing out and throwing away all theatrics the moment Ladybug gets a hit in. Forcing her to retreat and find a way to win without a direct confrontation.

AlyaXLila was a ship I was purely throwing out there to be a running gag, only to realize "Shit, I actually need to develop it now.".

Ship Dynamic Chart:

Marinette/Chat - "I don't need a girl that could kick my ass, but she damn well better try."
Mayura/Hawkmoth - "I think you're pretty cool." "STAY BACK, DEVIL WOMAN! You shall not tempt me."
Chloe/Nino - "Ah, sincerity! Kill it!"
Alya/Volpina -

I, for one, am happy for Gabriel. It's about time he took time to be joyful and jubilant. I'm glad to have ended this chapter on such a positive note.

Chapter 45: Heartbreaker: The Last Piece

Summary:

Adrien stumbles upon a piece of his father's past in the attic, Ladybug hears out Bustier's story, and everything goes to hell during Volpina's stake out.

Was it weird that Adrien never knew that they had an attic? He’d never heard of it, never saw it, never had any reason to go anywhere near it.

The entrance was a trap door with a foldable ladder that blended perfectly in with the high ceiling, there was nothing at all to draw his attention to its existence. His father apparently hadn’t agreed, because he was just fine with leaving Adrien a simple note tell him to clean the attic with no directions to this fabled hidden hatch. Adrien had to spend over an hour searching the house top to bottom before giving up and begging for G to help him.

G may not have been able to talk, but the disappointment in his stare was immeasurable. A stare that then turned to bashfulness when he too couldn’t locate the attic. After another hour of faffing about, Adrien ended up on G’s shoulders, poking at the ceiling with a broom handle until he found something loose enough to push open.

Unfortunately, by his father’s rules, G wasn’t allowed to directly help Adrien with his chores, he was just there to make sure Adrien didn’t hurt himself. Honestly, what could possibly happen to him whilst he’s waving around a feather duster? It’s not like he has Marinette’s disaster magnet.

A thick sheet of dust puffed up as Adrien swept aside an old blanket that had once been white but now resembled ash. The attic was quiet in that old house kind of way—just the creak of wooden beams and the soft hum of electricity running through forgotten light fixtures. It smelled like cobwebs and time.

Speaking of Marinette, he was absolutely giddy about her. As he made his way through the creaky old attic filled with boxes older than him, his first point of action was to find a decent corner to sweep away from dust in, nestle down and open his secret second phone to flip through Marinette’s texts. His father had officially announced that his school time restrictions would be removed starting next week, he’d finally be able to go back to his friends, back to her.

He truly didn’t know how good he had it until he lost it. As both Chat Noir and Adrien, interacting with her, laughing with her, hugging her; it had all become the norm for him. But almost a month with only text messages and pathetic Instagram scrolling to tide him over, it made him feel like an addict getting hit with withdrawals.

The closest he got to her now-adays was her daily updates on her latest creation, flooding him with pictures of the process for him opinion. He had no where near the expertise of his father, but he suspected that she knew that, and was doing it more to give him a chance to feel like he was doing more. She was sweet like that. And hey, he wasn’t going to ask her to stop, not when she usually featured prominently in the pictures, wrapped in loose threads with random pieces of paper and cloth stuck to her grinning features.

“Thought you’d like to see what happens when I lose a button, and it declares war.”

“Rate this jacket: 1 to 10. Or just send crying emojis if it’s a disaster.”

“You’re legally required to say this looks amazing or I will combust on the spot.”

He’d replied that she looked amazing, but he was pretty sure that she didn’t catch the flirting.

Adrien was helpless against it. With every text, she filled that aching void a little more. Even now, as he sat surrounded by antique boxes and forgotten portraits, she managed to make everything feel less... lonely.

His fingers paused mid-scroll when he found a picture from this morning. She was wearing the beginnings of a coat—half-finished, sleeves pinned awkwardly in place, one eye squinting as she pointed accusingly at a crooked seam.

He smiled to himself. Then sighed and got back to work. The next half-an-hour of sweeping and dusting went by on auto pilot, it wasn’t until something unexpected caught his eye that he was suddenly dragged back to reality. His foot had collided with something hard, prompting him to look down to find, stuffed into the corner of the room and buried under old carp rolls, was a chest. One that was colourful and clearly expensive despite the ware and tear of time; it stood out as an oddity amongst everything else.

With nothing better to do, Adrien sat down and pulled the chest into his lap. He opened it, cautiously.

Adrien coughed into the crook of his arm as the dust puffed out like a curse, swirling around his face in a cloud of ancient attic vengeance. Blinking away the sting in his eyes, he set the chest down in front of him and stared at it with growing intrigue.

“Punk Princess,” he murmured, reading the glittery, bedazzled lettering that gleamed faintly in the sunlight slicing through the attic window. “That… doesn’t sound like something my father would own.”

He ran his hand over the letters. The rhinestones were uneven, clearly stuck on by a child’s hand—some half hanging off, others glued in crooked lines. It was old. Really old. Not in a “belonged-to-your-great-grandfather” kind of way, but in that charmingly embarrassing “I-was-a-kid-and-this-was-my-personality” kind of way.

Carefully, Adrien lifted the lid. It creaked like something out of a horror movie, but instead of cursed dolls or haunted heirlooms, the inside was surprisingly wholesome.

Patchwork dolls—lumpy, handmade, clearly stitched together with clumsy fingers and too much imagination. A little doll with a safety pin mohawk and a cape made of sock lint stared up at him. Another, shaped like a lopsided cat, had beads for eyes and buttons for ears. There were also necklaces made of macaroni and painted bottle caps, bangles twisted from pipe cleaners, and old concert wristbands in faded colours.

He picked up one particularly chaotic craft—an “earring” made from a bent spoon and glitter glue—and let out a soft laugh.

“Okay, now I know this isn’t Dad’s.”

He reached deeper and found the most curious item of all: a thick, leatherbound book, heavy and worn, with a faintly embossed title on the front.

“Grassette: From G to A.”

Grassette? He’d never heard of that name before. Maybe it was some sort of autobiography his father snagged?

He held the book in both hands, thumb grazing the metal strap that bound it shut. It wasn’t just a decorative lock. It was a real clasp, designed to stay closed.

Adrien furrowed his brow. “What are you hiding, old man?”

He turned it over in his hands, examining the binding. He could probably force it open—he’d seen enough action movies to know how to break through a lock if he had to—but… that would definitely damage the leather. And if the book was as old as the contents of the chest, it might be too fragile to survive that kind of brute force.

He sighed, flopping backwards onto the dusty floorboards, the book resting on his chest.

A soft, crackling zzzzt reached his ears, bringing his attention to something slipping down his side. A piece of paper had fallen loose from the book’s bindings, and he eagerly snatched it up. It wasn’t just some parchment, it was a photo, an old polaroid.

Eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when he got a good look at the two people pictured. The first one was unmistakably his father. A much younger man, adorned with some makeup, with hair as black as oil that stood up in a half-assed mohawk, rocking a leather jacket and studded ensemble. It was a far cry from the man of the present, but they shared that same uncomfortable scowl at the camera. Though, on a teenager, it just made little Gabriel look like a grumpy wet cat.

Adrien couldn’t believe it; his father used to be a punk.

This was a rare find, the arc of the covenant of the history of Gabriel Agreste. The man made himself out to be a ghost, even Nathalie admitted that he kept tight lipped about his life prior to when Nathalie and Adrien’s mother entered into it. Finding actual proof that the man hadn’t just been born into the world an old, grumpy scrooge was discovering footage of first contact with aliens.

However, getting over that revelation, the second mysterious character caught Adrien’s attention real quick. It was a tiny girl, couldn’t be more than ten or twelve with those dark, dainty pigtails and missing teeth in her smile. Her purple ballerina dress was coated in glitter, and probably would have been bright enough to burn the camera if it wasn’t for the black splotches of paint she’d seeming dumped all over it.

Was she trying to match Gabriel’s clothes?

She wasn’t tall enough to fit in the frame, so she had treated the taller boy as monkey bars and climbed up to hang off his arm. There was such a powerful force to the joyful loving gaze she directed up at the man who couldn’t look more annoyed with the set-up, and Adrien couldn’t help but feel a desire to now the reason behind that smile.

In the end, Adrien stuffed everything back into the chest. Everything, save the photo, which he deposited carefully into his pocket and carried on with his day.

He knew he was breaking some sort of rule in doing this, but he couldn’t shake the curiosity settling into his bones. He knew so little about his father’s life, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep with an answer so close at hand.

---

The last person Ladybug expected to find in Bustier’s hospital room was Chloe. She’s always imagined Chloe to be the sort of person to sneer at the idea of being in the same building as sick people, and who probably had her own private hospital made of gold or something. Seeing the snobby little brat by Bustier’s bedside, heaving a flowerpot delicately onto a table and asking the woman about her day.

Ladybug narrowed her eyes as she entered, wondering if there was some upcoming test Chloe was buttering up Bustier in advance to help her pass. It was none of her business, really, but the Marinette in her couldn’t help but be curious, and cautious.

“Oh my God, Ladybug!” And with that, Chloe’s inhuman shriek shattered Ladybug’s ear drums and easily put her performance against Heartbreaker to shame. There was little time to recover as Chloe threw her arms around the hero and forced Ladybug into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

Sometimes, it was really easy for Ladybug to forget that Chloe was, inexplicitly, a big fan of hers. Which had the terrible consequence of ensuring that Ladybug was never prepared for Chloe to ambush her with her fangirl-isms.

It took a lot of Ladybug’s willpower to keep herself steady, reminding herself that she doesn’t have the same relationship with Chloe that she has as Marinette, and that expressing how much her insides shrivelled up at hugging Chloe out loud would only make her look like a bully.

With a twitch in her fingers, she lightly patted Chloe on the head and chuckled nervously. “Ah, well… I was hoping to talk to your teacher about her attacker.”

Chloe’s head snapped up, balling up her hands into fists and beating the air in front of her. “You’re gonna get that bitch, right? Right?! You’ll kick her ass, no problem. I heard you had her crying for mommy with one punch.”

I got her crying for more than her mommy, trust me.

“Heartbreaker doesn’t stand a chance, that’s why she’s hiding.” Ladybug managed to get out with a hint of pride. “Which is why it’s important that Mrs Bustier tells me all that she knows about her.”

“What? Me?” Bustier sat up in her medical bed, a worrying amount of tubes and wires feeding into her, keeping her stable whilst the doctors manage the damage that Heartbreaker left on her heart. “I really don’t know anything about magic serial killers, I’m sorry.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. “Pepper Piper.” She said, simple and sharp.

Bustier’s eyes lit up in recognition of an instinctual memory unlocked. “You don’t mean…” She scrunched up her face, her voice falling low. “Old Pepper Pigsnout? What’s she got to do with this?”

Chloe snorted. “Pigsnout? Classic.”

Only to clear her throat and look away when Ladybug’s glare fell on her. “I mean, that’s a… Horrible name to call someone…”

“Pepper’s the one who put you here, and she did it for a reason.” Ladybug pushed past Chloe, crossing her arms over her chest. “That means you know everything about this magical serial killer.”

Bustier shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Pepper’s a sweetheart, she doesn’t have a violent bone in her body.”

“Grudges can make even sweet people go sour.”

“There is no grudge, she even still regularly sends me texts and cards; we meet up for brunch every few months.” Bustier frowned under Ladybug’s accusation, holding strong, but her flittering eyes gave way to doubt. “She’d already forgiven us for that stupid prank, anyway.”

Ladybug moved to slip down into the chair beside the bed, mimicking the same look of disappointment Bustier would level at her students. “I think you have a story to tell me.”

Chloe shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. “I know we all want to catch this girl, but you’re clearly making Mrs Bustier uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright, Chloe.” Bustier nodded with a strained smile. “If Ladybug thinks it’s important, it’s important.”

“Besides, this could be important for you too, Chloe.” Ladybug added, a small, amused glance sent over her shoulder. “After all, you never know when one of your bullying victims might become a serial killer.”

---

Usually, when carrying civilians, Volpina was strictly a professional. Carrying Alya, on the other hand, was very, very personal to her.

Civilians were usually very fussy, and sometimes annoying, in how they wriggled, screamed and demanded as she took them to somewhere safe. She’s tune them out, put herself on autopilot, she never cared about anything more than doing the job. With Alya, that concentration went out the window, and she was hyperaware of everything Alya did whilst caged in her arms.

They went back and forth with the little comments, Alya remained still and comfortable in the position she secured, burying her face in the crook of Volpina’s neck as her legs wrapped around Volpina’s forearm for balance. Volpina could feel Alya’s inquisitive stare and picture those vibrant dark eyes even as her focus was on the way ahead, relishing in the giddiness of Alya’s skin brushing against hers, and finding some simple beauty in Alya’s hair draped over her other arm.

And it was strange, because Lila never looked at Alya like that. Yeah, Alya was always attractive, but that wasn’t the same. Lila looked at Alya as a principled, but gullible, pawn. A journalist with a thirst for truth, but too trusting and naive to pursue it in any real way. Alya was a convenience to Lila, far too useful to be thrown away, but far too troublesome to be kept close, much less trusted. As such, she didn’t care about Alya’s looks or actions past logging them in her mental profile.

So, how was it that the moment Lila transformed, Volpina suddenly found herself looking at Alya twice-over? It felt too simple an answer to chalk it up to how Alya is constantly singing her and Ladybug’s praises. If she wanted that in real life, she could easily spin enough lies to get everyone cooing over her like she was a hero.

Their journey ended on the roof of an office building under renovation, one that was conveniently situated across from the venue that Alya had managed to learn about. The perfect spot to stake out their little piggy, and potentially catch her in an incriminating position, until Ladybug and the police found something to work with.

Once more, as she placed Alya down, Volpina couldn’t help but let her eyes roam whilst Alya turned towards the building. A grin found its way as she observed how scuffed and wrinkled Alya’s clothes had become; Volpina was a graceful creature, but her rough handling left her mark in every twist and crease in that plaid shirt. Eyes turned to the sight of their fingertips still connected, and she had the urge to run her thumb over Alya’s palm.

Lila always liked the texture of sand. These rough grains of course material made from the pressure and hard work of nature, that became a soft bundle in her hands, and so easily they fall apart and slip through her fingers if she wasn’t careful. But even when they left, she would still feel their touch remain between her fingers.

That was how she saw the feeling of Alya’s skin, the roughness that told of effort and determination, the skilful touch that never left, telling of skill and purpose behind the details. It fit the girl who ran headfirst into certain death just to be a part of the action. Who’d so easily fall into a back-and-forth with Volpina like they’d always been bantering.

On that thought, Volpina wondered if it wasn’t that she saw Alya differently now, and more that she saw Alya at all. What changes between her two personas isn’t just a costume, but a mindset.

As Lila, she was in survival mode. Everyone was a potential threat to her elaborate lies with potentially years in the making, everyone was an unknown variable that had to be sorted into enemy and useful idiot. She didn’t see people, she saw pieces on a board, she saw everything that could attack and expose her. Lila was a lie, the moment the truth was found, she was dead. Alya being a dedicated truth-seeker only made her more of an annoyance for Lila.

Volpina was no such lie, for the most part. The people she saved, the things she carried with Ladybug, the fights she had, the feats she pulled off; they were all real. Ordinary people couldn’t threaten Volpina with the truth, they didn’t need her to go through her backlog of mental notes to figure out which story she was spinning today, they didn’t need her to be corrected.

As Volpina, she didn’t have to hold her breath and ponder on every word Alya said for challenges to her lies. She could simply listen to Alya as she is, and note that she likes the way Alya talks. She could look at Alya simply because Alya had alluring curves, a killer thriller smile, and always seemed to be in the perfect pose for a newspaper headline. She could face Alya’s pushback and see it as friendly, instead of challenging.

Volpina could see Alya, and she liked what she saw. And hey, she needed someone to try out all her super hero flirting quips on.

Lila was all business, so why not let Volpina have some fun? You know, so long as no one finds out about her getting purposely akumatized and trying to steal all the miraculous herself. Alya might be a bit peeved if she found out about that, or the lies she used to beat Nino into ending up with Chloe, or… Well, there’s a few things even Volpina has done that some would consider immoral.

But hey, what was the chances of those ever coming back to bite her in the ass?

Alya stepped away from the edge of the rooftop, phone still pressed to her ear. She frowned, muttering under her breath before lowering it with a sigh.

“No luck?” Volpina asked, watching her from where she leaned against a rusted scaffold pole.

Alya shook her head, tucking her phone into her back pocket. “I was trying to get a hold of Nino, let him know I might be late to our movie night. Y’know, superhero duties call, pig-themed supervillain loose in the city, the usual. But I think his phone’s off.”

Volpina raised an amused brow. “Maybe he’s ignoring you.”

“Nah, he’s gotta be busy with something.” Alya shrugged. “None of my friends have been able to talk to him all day either.”

“That aside,” Alya said, nodding to the glowing concert venue across the street. “What exactly are we looking for?”

Volpina turned her gaze, the teasing edge dropping into something focused. “Anything of interest. You saw those damn prices on the website, she’s probably setting up another sugar daddy in there.”

“Can’t we just go in there and kick her ass?”

“Ladybug got saved by her lucky charm, but she almost fell under Heartbreaker’s spell. We don’t know where she could be hiding in that building until she comes out on stage, and now she knows we’ll be coming for her.” Volpina shook her head. “We charge in there; we’ll just end up getting jumped by giant amps blaring mind control music.”

Alya sighed, bringing her binoculars to her face. “And I guess there’s a whole lot of civilians in there that’ll be in danger if a fight breaks out.”

Volpina just nodded silently, because she hadn’t thought of that at all.

“Makes sense that she’s a musician.” Alya’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “A concert is perfect for a big emotional payout. Loud, packed, and full of vulnerable targets.”

“Like me, apparently.” Volpina gave her a side-eye.

Alya just smirked. “You’re only vulnerable to charm.”

Volpina didn’t flinch. “Then I’m in very real danger right now.”

There was a snort from Alya, sinking down the overlook beside Volpina and passing the binoculars. “Okay, but seriously, if we’re that worried about falling to her charm, what are you gonna do in an actual confrontation?”

Smoothly, the fox moved her fingers through her hair, pulling aside half of her fringe to expose a silver device shoved in her ear. “Something Master Fu cooked up, plays white noise in my ear; he thinks it’ll combat the music, but we won’t know until we actually face her.”

Hours passed.

The sun had long since dipped below the skyline, leaving the concert venue across the street glowing like a neon wound in the night. Music still throbbed faintly from within, just audible enough to be a dull, insistent rhythm—like a heartbeat with no body behind it.

Alya adjusted her position with a groan, rolling her shoulders. “Still nothing. What kind of concert starts three hours late?”

Volpina squinted through the binoculars again, drumming her fingers on the ledge impatiently. “Maybe it already started and we just didn’t notice. That’s how slow everyone’s moving.”

Alya frowned and took back the binoculars, scanning the windows. Sure enough, the audience inside was… off. Some were seated, heads nodding gently like they were about to doze off. A couple leaned against walls, eyes glassy. And the ones actually dancing?

“They look like they’re sleepwalking,” Alya muttered. “It’s like a zombie rave in there.”

Volpina leaned forward slightly, glancing down through a large glass skylight over the venue’s lounge area. “I can see the bar from here. Still nothing special. Just a bunch of weirdos doing the slowest dances I’ve ever—”

She stopped.

Squinted.

Froze.

“…Okay,” Volpina whispered, lifting the binoculars again. “There’s a guy in a long purple coat and a cane. Spiky white hair. Mask. He looks like—he looks like—” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “He looks like a punk Hawkmoth.”

Alya’s head whipped toward her. “Excuse me?!”

Volpina was already on her feet, crouched at the ledge like a coiled spring. She brought her flute up, tapping along its length before flipping open the communicator screen embedded along the side. “No way,” she murmured, fingers flying over the tiny interface. “No way—”

She fired off a quick message:

FoxyLady: Hey, do you still want that vacuum cleaner back?

Alya squinted down at the message. “Hawkmoth gave you his vacuum cleaner?”

“Look, it was a whole thing.” Volpina shrugged, lips drawn into a tight line. “Mine wasn’t working, he wanted to tell me how superior his was and that I shouldn’t be settling for junk- This is not the important information here!”

She didn’t even get to blink before she saw it happen—down in the lounge, the purple-coated figure visibly startled. His hand went to his coat. Then, with a glance over each shoulder, he slinked into a shadowy corner like a cockroach ducking into the baseboard. A faint glow lit up his face.

Then came the reply:

MothMan: If it’s in the same state as the deluxe fan I let you borrow, no.

MothMan: I still can’t believe you dismantled it like that.

FoxyLady: I already told you, that wasn’t my fault!

FoxyLady: Some dumb girl bumped into me and caused a traffic accident.

How Marinette managed such a colossal pile up with one hard shoulder nudge was one of those questions best left to legends.

Volpina’s expression had curdled into a scowl by the time Alya leaned in beside her. “Please tell me that wasn’t a fake-out.”

She slowly turned the screen to show her. Alya leaned back, horrified. “That’s really Hawkmoth?! What’s he doing here?!”

FoxyLady: Look, I’m finished with your vacuum cleaner. Do you want it back or not?

MothMan: Not now. I’m busy.

FoxyLady: Busy? But I haven’t seen an akuma alert.

MothMan: I have a life outside of you, you know.

FoxyLady: Oooo, you going for a night out on the town?

MothMan: It’s none of your business. I’m allowed to have a good time without being interrogated.

FoxyLady: I don’t buy it.

MothMan: Is there something wrong with me being happy?! Enjoying myself? I’m having FUN and I’m not breaking any laws.

MothMan: For the first time in forever, I actually feel whole and at peace with myself. Just let me have this.

FoxyLady: Everyone knows that puppies die any time you smile, so yes, everything is wrong with you being happy.

The communicator closed, and Volpina continued to pace back and forth. “Maybe some sort of villain team up?”

“Or he’s a fan.”

Volpina shivered. “I do not want to think about Hawkmoth getting funky.”

There were two distinct possibilities here: Hawkmoth was shacking up with Heartbreaker and this villain alliance was gonna get ten times more annoying, or Hawkmoth had no idea what he was walking into, and Heartbreaker is about to get a brainwashed Hawkmoth working for her. Either option they were looking at a boiling pot fit to blow the lid off.

She could take the chance to warn him, maybe get him out of there and temporarily on their side; he’d take attempted brainwashing to heart. But if he is working with her already, then Volpina would just give away their position and tip off Heartbreaker to escape.

How long could she let this play out? How long would it take to get Ladybug here? She was just explaining the importance of exercising caution, but did they have time to be careful?

Volpina shook her head. Damn it all.

She opened the communicator once more, switching over to her DMs with Laydbug.

FoxyLady: Hawkmoth is in Heartbreaker’s sights.

FoxyLady: I’m moving to intercept; we can’t afford to let this happen.

FoxyLady: I already sent you the address; I’m leaving Aya on the office building across the street. Call me as soon as you can.

Alya watched Volpina snap her flute shut, retaining a calm determination in her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

Volpina hopped onto the edge of the roof, going over the best entrance she could spot on such short notice. “You’re staying here to give me a birds-eye-view.” She turned on her heel to face Alya, leaning her flute against her shoulder. “And I’m going in there and dragging that masked moron out by his antenna.”

The girl dashed forward, her eyes wide and fearful. “Are you crazy?” She gasped, exasperated. “Didn’t we just go over why this is the worst idea?”

“All the good ideas take time; time that we don’t have to risk in an emergency situation.” Volpina leaned over, catching the girl’s cheek with the flute. “Stay here, stay informed, stay safe, and…” Her free hand pressed two fingers to her lips, blowing Alya a kiss with a grin. “Don’t miss me too much.”

With that, Volpina fell back off the roof, pulling the flute to her lips and letting her own addicting song flood the skies. By the time Alya looked over the edge to watch her drop, she found Volpina reduced to nothing but dust in the wind.

---

Hawkmoth didn’t know what this music was called, but he was keenly aware of how much it spoke to him. It understood him, and they hadn’t even gotten to the main event yet. He supposed he could call it nostalgic in a way, conjuring images in his head of better times, brighter times. Where he moved freely, with no chains of discipline to keep him in line, just him, Emilie and the dance floor.

Oh, how she loved to dance. She was pure magic when she got her shoulders rolling and her feet swinging. This was exactly her type of music. The sort that would make her work up a sweat pulling him along, wrapping herself in his arms and apologizing in advance because she was probably going to ruin his feet by the end of the song.

He could almost tell himself that she was here, by his side, whispering the song into his ear and telling him that everything was okay now. He could rest. He could just sit back and enjoy her again without all the complications that burdened him. She was here, she’d always be here; to fill that empty hole his heart has born every day after she was lost to him.

Maybe he should have invited Nathalie to come with him, she would have loved the music as well; and he wouldn’t mind having her hanging off his arm if he could be so honest. Would it bring back Emilie for her as well? Or would she just see him? Hm, part of him wanted her to only see him, to wrap him in her company without work weighing them down.

That day he saw her in her apartment, before he went and made it all depressing, it had been nice. And not just because he caught her in a… Different state of beauty. He simply adored not having to act professional around her, not having to put up those walls again; he could just be there with Nathalie, the woman, instead of Nathalie, the assistant he should not be having these thoughts about.

But no, he left her in the car to play back up in case… Um… In case of what? Leaning against the bar, sipping from a drink he didn’t remember ordering, Hawkmoth found himself drawing a blank. Why was he here again? It wasn’t just for the vibes, was it? Gabriel seldom willingly sought out relaxation, it was a matter he was forced into by either his family or the limits of his bodily need to rest.

No, no… He came here to do something. He tried to think hard about it, but Emilie leaned into his shoulder and told him that he shouldn’t think too hard about it. Questions were so frustrating, and he didn’t want them to get in the way of his happiness now, did he?

Around him the energy was palpable, a sea of costumed fans swaying to the wave of the music, those who arrived early with less energy than others, but the demand for more outstripped them all.

The pre-recorded preview that was playing over the speakers was an earworm, don’t get him wrong, but it would be nothing compared to the live performance when she embraced the stage. Until she arrived, the room, no matter how bright, was a little dimmer. He could feel it in his miraculous, the jubilation stemmed by disappointment latching onto his heart and forcing him to internalize everyone’s wails for satisfaction.

His gaze swept across the room, seeking out the almost monochrome looking victims among them, slumped over their tables or lurking in corners, deprived. At this rate, there’d be nothing left by the time Heartbreaker arrived on stage. He could endure it, his energy reserves were through the roof today, but he thought that having half of the attendants looking like corpses might dampen the mood a bit. Even the bartender was looked dazed, his shades hanging off his nose as he wiped a glass at an agonizingly slow pace. The only point of light was the hearts in his eyes.

Not Hawkmoth, no. He was awake, aware, eager; and as such easily whirled his cane around to dispel the illusion keeping Volpina cloaked.

She materialized in midair, tumbling forward with all the grace of a cat falling off a bookshelf. Her tail fluttered. Her boots hit the hardwood floor of the lounge with a decisive thunk—and yet nobody turned towards the commotion. As far as the room was concerned, she didn’t exist, Hawkmoth was the only one there to acknowledge her.

“Gah! Did you have to take a swing at me?” She squeaked, using the bar for support to drag herself to her feet.

Hawkmoth shrugged, “You were coming at me. If you don’t want me to feel defensive, I’d suggest just walking up and starting a conversation.”

“I was coming to save your ass!” Volpina crossed her arms, before looking away and quietly adding, “Which was going to include beating your ass…”

Seeing his arch nemesis’ sidekick should have been alarming for Hawkmoth, should have welled up some irritation and had him getting into that supervillain groove; ready for a smack down that would end with him stealing her miraculous and sending her back to Ladybug as a piñata.

But why waste all that effort on some stupid, annoying, pointless fight when he was already in the zone? It’s like someone asking you to do something just as you’ve settled into bed, he simply could not get up.

“Well, I thank you for the concern about my ass-” Volpina had a clear double take at Hawkmoth thanking her. “-but it is perfectly comfortable in this seat.”

For further emphasis, he patted the seat beside him with a wide grin. A grin that seemed to only creep Volpina out. “Hey, you already made the effort to get in here, why not stay a while and listen to the music? You know how much I had to spend to get into this show?”

“Stay a while?!” She gestured broadly at the space, at the half-zombified guests, at the black-and-white bartender scrubbing a glass for the fifth minute straight. “Do you not see that’s something’s wrong here?”

“What could be wrong?” He asked, “Everyone’s having a good time. Everyone’s happy.”

“You call this happy? I’ve been to funerals that are livelier than this joint.”

He looked over his surroundings again, but the dreamy look didn’t fade. “You’ll see, when the heart of the party arri-”

Suddenly, she took hold of his shoulder and yanked him down to her level. Her eyes bore into his own, scrutinizing him, before gasping in horror. “Y-Your eyes…” She let go of him, slipping back into the chair he offered her. “Your pupils have been replaced with love hearts!”

“Is that a problem?”

Her jaw dropped. “Is that a -! Yes! People’s pupils aren’t supposed to be anything but blobs!”

“…It sure sounds like you’re mad that your eyes are boring.”

Why was she so damn negative all the time? She needed to loosen up, have some fun. He pushed his drink towards her. “I think you need some happy juice.” He didn’t know what was in this concoction, but he did know that it was his mother’s favourite when he made her too angry.

“Shit, we need to get you out of here. I don’t know what her power’s doing to you, but I don’t wanna see what else it can do.” She started incessantly tugging on Gabriel’s sleeve, and he didn’t like that one bit.

“I want to stay.”

“You’re in danger, dipshit!”

“And?” He ripped his arm away from her. “Who cares? Sad people, that’s who cares.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’s real sad that you won’t get to hear some stupid song you can find online anyway.” She advanced upon him again, but this time he jumped out of his seat and batted away her hand with the cane. “Oh, I am going to drag you out of here even if I have to knock you the fuck out first.”

One chord.

One chord was all it took to silence Volpina.

One chord was all it took to breathe life into the room.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my little piggies.” Heartbreaker entered the stage like a flashbang going off in Hawkmoth’s face. When he regained sight and focus, the room was alive, everyone was up on their feet, cheering, bright and energized. “But I wanted to see how dedicated my adoring fans were!”

---

Volpina had known that her plan was shaky at best, but she was pretty sure that this was the worst possible way it could have gone down. She was exposed, the man she was trying to rescue was actively in her way, Heartbreaker was on the scene and all of her seemingly dead fans were standing at attention.

“Great, now you’ve made this so much more complicated.” She started, pushing off the seat and heading towards the nearest window. “We’re getting out of-”

A hand shot out to catch her arm. It was the bartender, now springing to life like a zombie from a coffin, and with a surprisingly tight grip. “The show’s starting, you can’t leave now.”

“I’m gonna be real nice and give you one chance to get your mitts off me.” She snarled, only to find nothing but blankness in his reaction.

Not to say that there was nothing, there was a smile there, that sort of weak, dizzy kind a drunk would give when even they don’t now why they’re laughing. But it felt fake, empty, a smile born of the need to smile rather than a reason to smile. Staring at it long enough, it grew to be almost eerie in how still and artificial it felt.

“You need to sort your attitude out, Lady.” The bartender grunted back. “We’re just trying to have a good time here, and you’re ruining it.”

Volpina rolled her eyes. “Sorry, your chance has expired.”

Without much fanfare, she levelled her miraculous super strength against his slouch, weak pose and flipped him over her shoulder like she was flipping pancakes. The average man was no match for the power of the miraculous, slamming into the floor and sent tumbling into the crowd. Ladybug would admonish her for being so forceful later, but Volpina thought she was more than justified when she was escaping.

“Well, well, well.” The villain on stage chided with a disgusted hiss. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Ladybug little pet causing a commotion by the booze tonight.”

And the chance of escaping was looking slimer by the moment.

No, Heartbreaker’s attention was on her now, making it to the door and out of the building was a risk. Turning her back on the supervillain could leave her open to any sort of ambush. What she needed now was swift and decisive action.

No hesitation, Volpina had made up her mind, sweeping liquor and glasses into her arms from the bar before jumping high into the air. Heartbreaker wasn’t prepared to defend herself, Ladybug proved that, and her power relied on her guitar. All Volpina had to do was bum rush the off-her-rocker rocker and get that guitar out of her hands, then she was free to pound her into next week.

Mid-air, Heartbreaker was only given enough time to gasp before Volpina started her assault. The armful of junk was her ammunition, locking glasses between her fingers and hurling them down at the stage, bombarding Heartbreaker with bar room bullshit. Heartbreaker had to hold her guitar up as a shield to protect herself from the onslaught, which meant she wasn’t strumming it to use against Volpina.

However, just as Volpina was getting in the mood to secure her victory, she found that she was just as vulnerable to flying objects. Bottles smashed into pieces on her body, one cutting into her side and the other clubbing her in the jaw as she fell. She hit the ground with a harsh pop, but quickly recovering to jump back on her feet and glare into the crowd surrounding her.

“Alright, which one of you has the balls!?” She yelled.

“Oh, you poor, stupid, stupid creature.” Heartbreaker cackled, accompanied by the throbbing pulse of her song washing over Volpina.

Crap, she’s started playing. Volpina swore in her head, backing away slowly. At the very least, she’d confirmed that the earpiece was working for real. Hawkmoth had mentioned that pre-recorded music was already playing, but she didn’t know how that would have compared to the real thing. She could still feel the music trying to worm its way into her heart, but it wasn’t making any progress against the white noise.

“That Ladybitch may have scarred my beautiful, perfect face when I was alone…” Heartbreaker continued, her rhythm steadily growing. “But I’m not alone anymore, am I?”

The crowd closed in on her, a sea of shoulders and blank stares that all seemed to have been overtaken by a black-and-white filter.

“I don’t know how you’re resisting my song, but that doesn’t matter anymore.” Heartbreaker lorded over them all, banging her head as she hit the next big riff. “We got ourselves a downer here, my lovelies. She wants to ruin everybody’s good time, wants to make us sad.”

One jump closed off her speech, dropping into a power slide that got the crowd roaring.

“Go show her some joy!”

Volpina didn’t stick around to give the crowd a chance to act on that command, already on her second leap—vaulting over a shocked backup dancer and twisting midair to land on the edge of the stage. Her eyes locked on the guitar like a hawk spotting prey.

Heartbreaker snarled, pivoting fast, hair swirling in a wave of rose gold light as her fingers flew to the guitar strap slung over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare touch it!”

“Sorry, was that a command or a suggestion?” Volpina grinned, grabbing the body of the guitar just as Heartbreaker strummed a single discordant chord—

—and the sound wave blasted Volpina clean off the platform.

She hit the floor with a skid, boots dragging against the polished wood, and her ears rang with the aftershock. The crowd didn’t scream, didn’t even flinch—they only clapped politely, eyes glazed with adoration.

Heartbreaker lifted her guitar, the instrument shimmering like it had been plucked from the dreams of a rock god. Her voice oozed from the mic, honeyed and cruel. “You’re ruining the atmosphere, darling. This isn’t your stage.”

Volpina coughed, blinking hard. “Then maybe don’t make your music literally mind-altering! You’re brainwashing them!”

Heartbreaker twirled her hair around a finger and gave a coy shrug. “That’s a very harsh word, sweetie. I prefer ‘emotional recalibration.’”

Volpina rolled to her feet. “I prefer shutting you down.”

She ducked behind a speaker column as another blast of sound rippled over the stage, curling the air with visible distortion. She popped out from the side, eyes blazing, flute gripped in both hands like a baton.

“Your concert’s over!” she yelled.

Heartbreaker just laughed. “Oh, sweet little fox. You really think you can silence joy? I haven’t even brought out the real band yet.”

She strummed a sharp ascending chord, and the crowd moved.

Volpina froze as the audience turned—all at once. Smiling. Empty-eyed. Dozens of well-dressed civilians began stepping forward, smooth and slow like dancers in a synchronized routine. Not a single word. Not a single thought behind their gazes. Just pure, glowing adoration.

Volpina scoffed. “Oh, please. Civilians? What are they gonna do—hug me to death?”

A man in a velvet blazer lunged at her. She dodged easily, spinning around and tapping him on the shoulder with the tip of her flute. “Buddy, I’m not on the menu—”

A woman in heels aimed a flying kick at her.

Volpina barely ducked in time. “Whoa, okay! Points for form, but you’re not exactly—”

A fist cracked across her jaw, knocking her back a full step. Her head snapped sideways, and for a moment her vision blurred.

Heartbreaker’s voice purred through the speakers. “Oh, darling, I never said they were mindless. Joy doesn’t just direct people—it inspires them.”

She played another sharp lick, and a pulse of pink light surged through the room.

The crowd roared.

Their smiles didn’t falter. If anything, they grew wider.

“Oh, come on!” Volpina muttered, throwing her back into a backflip just as two teenagers charged her like linebackers. She landed and dove under the table, kicking it up behind her to block the surge. Glasses shattered overhead.

She rolled to her feet, ducked a swinging chair, and drove her elbow into a man’s stomach—he didn’t even grunt, just stumbled back with a dreamy grin.

“They’re still people,” Volpina growled to herself. “Don’t hurt them. Just move them.”

She slipped between their attacks with fluid grace, throwing bodies aside with practiced movements. She twirled, grabbed a woman’s coat, and flung her into two charging dancers. They all collapsed in a heap, giggling like they’d just won a prize.

Volpina vaulted over a group of them, barely avoiding a dogpile. Her foot caught the edge of the bar counter, and she rebounded into a crouch—straight into the path of the bartender, who lunged with a broken bottle in one hand and a shake mixer in the other.

“You again,” she grunted.

He grinned, eyes wide with music-soaked euphoria. “Anything for her.”

He swung. She blocked. He kicked. She rolled, catching his shirt in her hand. They spun, tangled—and she yanked.

The shirt tore open with a rip, and Volpina stumbled back.

Her breath caught.

Right in the centre of his chest—where his heart should’ve been—there was a hole. Perfectly shaped. A jagged, glowing outline of a love-heart.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” Heartbreaker giggled. “I’ve moved on from exploding hearts. Holding them still beating in the palm of my hand is just so much more invigorating.”

“Aren’t you the clever little psycho.” Volpina hissed, leaping up onto the bartender’s head and trying to push off to leap over to the crowd. When all else fails, she could at least try to break through a window or something, anything to get out of this B-Grade zombie flic.

But, just like before, she was caught mid-flight. Only this time it was with a strike far more definitive than some glass bottles. Hawkmoth’s knee driving into her gut didn’t just hurt, it took the wind out of her sails and, for a split second, everything just went black. Her brain rebooted on the ground, enough time for Hawkmoth to come down and pin her there.

Unlike the rest of the crowd, Hawkmoth very much had the power to take her down all by himself.

“You need to relax, Fox.” He told her, leaning in close so she could see his heart-scarred eyes bulging out of their sockets.

She tried to move, but his knee reasserted its position on her stomach. “You look tense,” he added, almost gently. “You should smile more.”

Volpina writhed beneath him, teeth bared, twisting her arms against his grip, but Hawkmoth didn’t budge. His strength was terrifying—calm and deliberate, like he could crush her ribs with one hand and wouldn’t even break a sweat doing it.

Then he leaned in closer, and with one smooth motion, ripped the communicator earpiece from her head.

“Don’t you da—!” she snarled, just as the earpiece sparked against the floor and skidded out of reach.

A cold, sweet note drifted into her skull.

Then another. Then another.

Volpina’s pupils fluttered. Her muscles seized… then slacked.

It was like a wave crashing down over her mind—not cold, not overwhelming—warm. Comforting. The music spilled into her head, notes curling around her thoughts like silk ribbons, a lullaby cooing directly into her subconscious. She gasped involuntarily, and the sound that escaped her throat was closer to a sigh.

“Ahh… ngh—no. No. No, no,” she whimpered, thrashing her head side to side as if she could physically shake it loose. “Get… outta my… head…”

But it was already in.

“You don’t need to fight,” the song cooed in her brain. “You don’t need to hide. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Her breathing slowed. Her eyes glazed.

Why was she fighting again?

Ladybug?

That smug, perfect voice always second-guessing her? The judgment, the side-eyes, the tiny little hesitations every time she spoke?

Her lies?

Everyone lied. Lying was surviving. Why was it such a big deal? Why did it feel like every step she took was a tightrope over a pit of knives, waiting for the day someone called her bluff?

And this job?

This awful, chaotic, thankless job?

The akumas. The pressure. The pretending. The endless tightness in her chest.

All of it—

Just melted.

Her lips parted.

A small, dopey smile curled on her face.

She let out a small laugh—dazed, light, airy. “This is… kinda nice…”

Above her, Hawkmoth tilted his head, watching the change wash over her like a priest observing a baptism.

“That’s better,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to run anymore. You don’t have to pretend. You’re perfect just the way you are… with us.”

---

It was honestly strange seeing Bustier so uncomfortable. She was usually such a calm and understanding teacher, but then again, that probably made it all the more unsettling to look back at when she had been a dumb and ignorant teenager.

“It was an innocent prank.” She murmured, her eyes downcast. “Immature, stupid and reckless, I admit, but it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a little hurtful.”

She cringed, realizing how heartless it sounded out loud. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for teenagers to do dumb things without realizing how bad the consequences could be, but it was surreal for Ladybug to imagine her teacher having once been one of those teens.

“Back in school, we all had our little groups. It was me, Carlos, Phil, Bea and Alby.” Bustier reached for the picture Ladybug had flashed her, pulling Pepper’s present features under her nose to compare to the Pepper of the past. “And then there was Pepper, who… Uh… Well, wasn’t the most popular person. She was shy, skittish, a sickly complexion; and had an unfortunate nose that was the source of many jokes..”

Chloe was about to make another comment, but Ladybug’s eyes were already on her, reminding her how easily she could kick Chloe out of the room. With Chloe’s predictably insensitive and off hand remark averted, Ladybug turned back to Bustier, her eyes remaining hardened and motioning for Bustier to continue.

“But we were friendly enough with her.” Bustier’s voice sounded so weak, trailing off as if she realized how little that excuse meant as she said it. “She was the unofficial extra member of our group, always following us around, always hanging around us. Phil found it off-putting, but I was fine with it. She really was talented with that guitar of hers, and she liked asking me to hear out her songs.”

Of course, these were all just meaningless details at this point. A reprieve of justifications for only Bustier that Ladybug allowed the woman to take comfort in, but eventually, they had to get to the meat of the conversation.

“Now, some of us had some habits that the school staff frowned upon. Smoking and such.” For a split second, Bustier almost had a fond look, a memory of simpler times with her friends where they were just doing stupid things. But that was quickly smothered by the guilt of what followed. “And when Pepper snitched on us to the teachers one time… Well, we didn’t take it very well.”

Bustier bowed her head. “She got us suspended and in deep trouble with our parents, and we all thought we needed a little payback.”

“What did you do?” Ladybug dug her fingers into the cushion of the seat, tightening pressure just to keep her mind from wondering too far.

After all, Marinette had been the victim of many terrible pranks, especially from the very girl in this room. One had been enough to give her a crippling fear of tight spaces. It made her briefly wonder if she ever considered acting out, getting violent, just to get even with everything Chloe had done to her. She did not want to be relating to a serial killer right now.

“It was Phil’s plan.” Bustier blurted out, as if it made any difference. “Just a little humiliation ritual.”

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“See, everyone knew that she had a major crush on Alby, and we… Used that.” Bustier sounded sick as she said it, unable to bring herself to even look at Ladybug. “He approached her, pretended he was madly in love with her, that he wanted to meet her in the school at night, in the wood shop class. They were going to make something to symbolize their love, something she could put on her guitar.”

Ladybug couldn’t help but turn her gaze on Chloe as the story continued, wielding a scowl fuelled by the flickering memory of Kim pretending to confess his love to her under Chloe’s orders, of her getting trapped in a changing stall covered in spiders. Chloe shrank under her gaze, and Ladybug couldn’t help but wonder how many ‘harmless pranks’ Chloe was being reminded of in this moment.

And this was the brat that Nino was trying to convince her wasn’t that bad? The fact that he could think that when he knows everything she did, when she did such mean things to him as well; it almost felt like a betrayal the more Marinette thought about it.

Return to Bustier, she couldn’t help but be tricked by the light that made Bustier’s hair shine a more golden, blond colour. Had her kind, understanding teacher really once been like Chloe? “She reported you for breaking school rules and you decided breaking her heart was a deserving response?”

“We were just dumb kids, everything seemed like a bigger deal than it actually was.” Bustier didn’t say it with any confidence, just acceptance as she fell back against her pillow.

“So… She comes, Alby gets her to close her eyes, takes her guitar and then… We record Alby pressing a dead fish to her lips and come out laughing at her.” It had been hilarious in the moment, Ladybug bet, but in the present there was only regret in Bustier’s eyes. “The prank was supposed to end there, honest. We had no idea she’d take off crying, that she’d trip on her guitar, that it’d get broken… That she’d get her hand stuck in that machine.”

Ladybug could picture it in her head, that imagine of a hand trapped between pistons and gears, crushed into paste. It made her right hand shake, almost as if she could feel the ghost of the pain her-

Her right hand. Heartbreaker’s twitch; did the injury still haunt her, even in her miraculous form?

“She was out of school for a few weeks after that, getting her hand put back together in the hospital.” Bustier placed her hand to her cheeks in shock, surprised to find fresh tears rolling down.

In her other hand, the picture creased as she gripped the edges hard. Still trying to come to terms with it all, as if it only just hit her for the first time that all of her friends were dead. That the girl she hurt had grown up into a monster, a monster made by her actions. “But it was fine after that. She got better, she forgave us, and we treated her better for the rest of our time there. Why would she kill us over that?”

Music was Pepper’s life, of that Marinette could be certain. She loved that guitar, she was obsessed with the spotlight, and from Bustier’s description, her talent as a musician was the one thing even her bullies couldn’t deny. After such a devastating injury for her dominant hand, and losing her signature instrument, Marinette couldn’t help but wonder if it affected the woman’s ability to play her music even after being healed.

To have your heart broken and losing the one light you had in your miserable life on the same night, Marinette could imagine that pushing someone to a breaking point, especially if they had so many years to stew on it.

“I don’t think it healed as well as you think it did.”

“But she forgave us…”

“Or she placated you until she had something that would allow her to actually do something about it.”

Bustier choked on a breath. “We didn’t know—”

“You didn’t care.” Ladybug’s voice was still low, still measured—but the rage behind it buzzed like electricity in her lungs. “You crippled a girl’s hand. You humiliated her. And you thought it was all fine because you said sorry and acted nice for the last few months of school?”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She rolled her shoulders, calmly sweeping her hand over her hair.

“Okay, let’s focus here,” Ladybug said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. Her voice was sharper now. “Everyone else is dead, meaning Alby has to be next. Who is he? Is he still around?”

Bustier hesitated, blinking the fog from her eyes. “Albert Gruber. He moved after university. And no, he hasn’t been in Paris since he got divorced.”

There was a soft thud as Chloe dropped something on the floor, her leg suddenly stiff. Her face drained of colour in real time, lips slightly parted like she was trying to breathe through a straw. “W-Wait… Gruber!?”

Ladybug turned to her. “What’s wrong, Chloe? You don’t like the name?”

Chloe shook her head slowly, violently, her hands curling into the sleeves of her sweater as if that could keep them from trembling.

“M-Mrs. Bustier,” Chloe croaked. “Please… you have to tell me. Who was Gruber married to before?”

---

Luck was on the side of Pepper Piper, that was the only explanation for why the universe had hand delivered her perfect victory.  Her just recompense for a world that humiliated her.

She had such a fright when Ladybug’s pet had so rudely crashed her private concert; and without even paying the entry fee no less. Terrible thoughts of Ladybug appearing as well, of the two messing up her perfect face even more and taking Dazzi away from her, they were enough to drive a girl to tears.

Heartbreaker had managed to steel herself, even when that brat started pelting her with bottles. Volpina was alone, and Heartbreaker’s adoring fans, all screaming and cheering for her, answered the call to protect their idol. They were loyal to her, loved her, cared about nothing but pleasing her. She might have to cry anyway at the sheer beauty of their sentiment.

Still, the battle wasn’t over, and the odds weren’t as stacked in her favour as she thought. Even outnumbered by an army, Volpina was still a miraculous fighter with enough strength and cunning to hold her own against the onslaught. It was only thanks to Heartbreaker’s knight in shining armour that Volpina was put down for good.

And brining them backstage, she still couldn’t believe who it was that saved her at the last minute.

“You’re really Hawkmoth!” She squealed, taking both him and Volpina by the hand and dragging them along. The man himself may have worn that hideous mask, but his eyes burned through the tacky material with their sheer intensity, coupled with the loving touch of the hearts replacing his pupils; it was almost enough to make her swoon. “This is the best day ever.”

Pepper had no clue when exactly she managed to ensnare the man, after all she knew that he’d only just entered the venue an hour before her own entrance compared to everyone else that had fallen under the spell of the pre-recorded music. But that didn’t matter, all that mattered was that he was here, gleefully staring her down with a light blush disappearing under the mouth hole of his mask.

“I’m such a huge fan of your music.” He gushed, breathless. “It almost makes me feel like my wife is still with me.”

“Oh, that is so sweet. I love it.” She giggled, feeling almost drunk on her own power. She had no idea that the miraculous of jubilation was capable of such an experience, all her knowledge was second hand from her victims, but she guessed that effect made sense. Such joy flooding your system, it had to bring back the memories of those you treasure the most. It was practically bringing loved ones back from the dead.

Damn, she was amazing, wasn’t she? Ha!

“Wow, I never thought music could be so… healing.” Volpina sighed, her voice slightly slurred. Mostly because, even as she was grinning and swooning, she still had streams of blood gushing from her lips. She was probably in tremendous pain, but the joy stole her ability to acknowledge that pain.

“I know.” Hawkmoth groaned. “She’s like an angel.”

Heartbreaker gave them a light smack on the shoulder before urging them into the dressing room. “Oh stop it, you two. You’re going to make me combust from all this blushing.”

Volpina sighed again, dreamily leaning her head against Hawkmoth’s arm as she wobbled through the dressing room door. Her footing was sloppy, her movements syrup-slow, and there was an ugly, darkening bruise blooming beneath her ribs where he’d struck her earlier exposed by her torn costume.

Still, she smiled like she’d just won the lottery, eyes glassy and half-lidded. Heartbreaker wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scold her.

She chose to giggle.

“Don’t pass out on me now, sweetie,” she cooed, slipping in between them and guiding Volpina down onto the velvet chaise like a pampered lapdog. “I still haven’t finished showing you my wardrobe.”

Volpina blinked up at her, trying to focus. “Did you… did you design all of this yourself?”

Heartbreaker gasped in delight. “Me? Heavens no, my muse is music, but I swear the designer behind this was one after my own heart.” She twirled in place, flaring out her sheer pink cape as a cloud of light shimmered off the rhinestones. “We’re artists, you and I. You are an artist too, aren’t you? We suffer. We shine. We leave ‘em breathless.”

Volpina clapped dazedly, even though she was still bleeding from her mouth.

Hawkmoth didn’t sit. He loomed. The euphoric spell didn’t make him less threatening—it made him reverent, dangerous in a brand-new way. Like a zealous priest with a martyr complex, moved by divine purpose. There was a twitch beneath the surface of his devotion, something restless and agitated, but it was smothered beneath layers of syrupy joy.

“She’s right,” he said, his voice husky. “Your music… I hear it and I see her again. I feel her again. Like nothing ever went wrong.” He looked down at his gloved hand. “It’s all so simple when you’re singing. All the pain just… disappears.”

Heartbreaker practically glowed. “You’re so sweet, Mr. Moth. And you’re not wrong! That’s the power of a truly good performance. Not just entertainment. Not even just catharsis. It’s liberation.” She turned toward the dressing table and plucked up her mic, stroking it with something disturbingly close to tenderness. “And lucky for you, I have a special encore planned.”

She turned to Volpina, leaning in close, her voice dripping like syrup. “You want to be in it, don’t you, little fox?”

Volpina blinked. Then nodded. “More than anything.”

Heartbreaker smiled so wide it almost split her face. “That’s what I thought.” She leaned over and kissed Volpina’s forehead, then gave Hawkmoth a wink. “Of course, if you two want to be a part of my band, I need one little thing from you…”

She held her hand out to two of the most powerful people in Paris. “Give me your miraculous.”

It was like a record scratched.

Hawkmoth twitched. Volpina blinked. Something flickered beneath the glamour—muscle memory, instinct, alarm bells ringing from deep within their euphoric fog.

“My…?” Volpina muttered. She blinked again, slower this time, her fingers brushing her necklace. “But… I need it. That’s… that’s me…”

“Shhh, now,” Heartbreaker whispered, kneeling in front of her like a kindly stage mother. “You think you need it, but darling, you’ve already given me the most precious thing you have—your heart. The rest is just clutter, isn’t it?”

Volpina’s grip loosened.

But Hawkmoth—he was more stubborn. His hand had curled instinctively over his brooch, his body language stiff and closed off. Even through the bliss, there was resistance, a fracture in the haze. His pupils were still shaped like hearts… but they flickered, warping, twitching. Like something inside him was trying to claw its way free.

“No…” he said, hoarse. “This… this is all I have left… It makes me worthy of her…”

Heartbreaker stood and walked toward him slowly, her heels clacking with deliberate rhythm. Her voice dropped to a hush.

“And don’t you want her to be proud of you?” she asked, stepping into his space. “Don’t you want her to see the man you could be, if you let go of all that pain and just… let yourself shine?”

He trembled.

“I can help you do that,” she whispered. “I already brought her back once, didn’t I? I can do it again. But only if you let me.”

He didn’t speak. His breath hitched.

Behind them, Volpina let out a soft sob—a happy one. “I want to shine too…” she mumbled. Her fingers unclasped the fox necklace and held it out, trembling.

The butterfly broach, too, was placed in Heartbreaker’s palm.

Before her, the magic unravelled, leaving behind only two sad little humans before her.

“Oh my God!” she howled, throwing her arms wide. “Gabriel Agreste? The ice king of fashion?”

She couldn’t help but throw herself at him, one arm hooked around his torso, spinning her around his body like he was a pole. “It’s like two celebrities in one. Oh, I can get you to make me the most amazing outfits for my shows.”

At the end of her spin, she was pressing against his back, her chin digging into his shoulder. “You know, without that gawdy outfit, you don’t look half bad.” She brought her hand to his chin, lightly grasping it to turn his love-struck eyes to her. “You were tailor made for my show, weren’t you? Mhm, of course you were. You’re perfect for this, absolutely perfect.”

“And you…” She turned her gaze to what remained of Volpina, some demure-looking little runt in some grubby clothes she had obviously slept in. “I have no idea who you are.”

“Lila? I didn’t know you were a Heartbreaker fan!” A boy’s voice called out from the otherside of the dressing room.

Heartbreaker grinned at him, mischief twinkling in her eye. “Oh, is she a friend of yours? That’s great. You’ll work so well together. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Lila cocked her head back, eyes lulling back and forth, a camera lens trying to bring the subject into focus, as she took the boy in. “You’re a part of the band too?”

“He’s one of the most important parts!” Heartbreaker chimed in, poking Lila’s nose. “Aside from me, of course.”

She’d almost recognised him that night in the club. He had his father’s looks after all, and seeing them almost made her feel like she was back in school again; but his last name had thrown her off. It wasn’t until she was doing some light research to track good old Albert down that she learned about the boy.

“Now,” she tossed the miraculous back to their respective holders. Now that she was sure of her hold over them, she had no fear to stop her. “, doll yourself up. We’re sure to have a whole new audience coming for us soon enough.”

A second later, Hawkmoth and Volpina stood again, completely refreshed, and completely loyal. Heartbreaker tapped her knuckle against Hawkmoth’s chest, gesturing him to follow her towards the boy. She crouched behind his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You know what I think? All my show is missing, is an akuma.”

Albert was out of the country, unreachable for now. But that wasn’t a problem anymore. After all, if she couldn’t’ have the father, there was always the son.

And Nino Lahiffe was going to be the perfect centrepiece of her performance.

Notes:

And so, Bustier's rather dickish teenage years are revealed. I like to think of this as part of why she's so understanding and patient with Chloe all the time, because she knows that she was very similar when she was Chloe's age and grew out of it.

We also have a bit of a modification of the prank from Derision. In Derision, the point behind that story was to provide a backstory justification for Marinette's comedic/creepy tendencies. Here, I'm tweaked it for a different aspect of Marinette's character since in this story she doesn't really have those tendencies anymore. Menaces Marinette's unifying issue/fear is being powerless/being trapped, so the prank is instead about her getting locked in a small space against her will and making her claustrophobic, which then connects with her budding drug temptation and how Dutch restrained her and forced a chemical on her that strips her of her ability to act. Dutch is basically one big manifestation of that fear.

This, and the last chapter's conversation with Kim, is also supposed to highlight how Chloe still has a lot to learn and that getting close to Nino doesn't erase how she's treated everyone. Just like how Lila, despite tapping into her inner hero with Volpina, still has that scumbag mentality and has yet to see her own misdeeds as anything more than inconveniences.

Chapter 46: Heartbreaker: Opening Number

Summary:

Mayura and Ladybug are forced to team up against Heartbreaker and her brainwashed fans, and Chloe's coming with them whether they like it or not.

Mayura didn’t expect a psychotic, rocker serial killer to have a clean apartment; but this was an utter disaster. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought the place had been ransacked. Magazines were piled high and then strewn across the floor, dirty dishes were overflowing the sink, and half the wallpaper was in some form of cracked or deterioration.

She’d figured that while Gabriel was in the club waiting for the star of the show to appear and get conked over the head, the killer’s apartment would be empty and give Mayura an opportunity to snoop. There could be some useful secrets hidden inside, or clues of what Heartbreaker would do in the event that Hawkmoth’s attack failed and she slipped away.

And, who knows, maybe there’s some potential memorabilia that would soon become a rare collector’s item when the musician attached to it is revealed as a serial killer.

Any reason worked; Nathalie just needed an excuse to do more than wait in the car doing nothing. She took the peacock miraculous so that she could be useful, and damn it, she was going to find a way to contribute.

She tip-toed her way around discarded laundry and pizza boxes that had failed to be crushed into the bin, sliding her way over to the ‘cleanest’ part of the apartment. The sound room, set up with a computer, a desk, a row of speakers, a sound board set up and stacks of CDs. The speakers were curious, with them all being different brands, and half of them being blown out with great big singed holes in them.

Maybe this was her process of getting her music to go through the speakers? Mayura pondered, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that the miraculous magic can get finnicky if you try to transmit it through anything other than the miraculous.

From the mess in the desk, she plucked a notebook from underneath a stack of sheet music. A sparkly pink notebook with a picture of a younger Pepper on the cover, smiling with teeth full of braces and a ripped shirt that looked two sizes too small for her.

The front page very clearly set the tone with a series of pictures stuck to the paper, each headshots of people. There were only two things next to the pictures, a name, a location, and a box to be ticked. From Carlos to Caroline, the hit list was ticked to near completion.

The only one left was Albert Gruber, who was currently in Germany and a ‘?’ was left next to his box. The only other ‘?’ in the list was next to Beatrice Bolton, who was marked as dead. Next to that though there was a scribbled note: ‘Brother’.

Flipping through the notebook there were more scribbles in barely legible handwriting, some song lyrics, some song ideas, and some long and convoluted plans of murdering the people on the list in ironic ways. Eventually, the plans were scrapped as Pepper wrote about her new discovery, of how she accidentally made a guy’s heart explode and that it’ll be perfect for her. They broke her heart and ruined her future, and she’d give them exactly that in return.

A separate category from the main revenge plot opened up from there, this one experimenting with how she could use her powers to hypnotize wealthy people into paying for everything. There were many candidates, some Mayura recognised as other Heartbreaker victims Gabriel had dug up. It was when Gabriel himself appeared as a promising candidate that gave Mayura pause.

He had some extra notes, detailing Pepper’s views on the man.

Filthy rich.

I could commission outfits for free.

Actually, kind of a DILF.

‘I can fix him’ energy.

Son’s a total door mat, won’t be a problem when the father’s infatuated with me. Worst case scenario: do what they do in the movies and send him to a private school or something.

Has some old lady as an assistant. Seems to be close. Maybe his mother?

Still grieving from dead wife, probably vulnerable. Very lonely. Easy to take advantage of.

It wasn’t notably well-spoken, in fact it read like some stream of consciousness that was posted on a blog, but there was something unnerving about it for Nathalie. The thought of this murderer looking at someone she knew, someone she loved, and casually thinking about how they could use mind control and take advantage of Gabriel’s emotional torment so they could… Extort him both financially and physically. It was disgusting.

Mayura’s protective instincts and rage stoked, with an added subtle spike of fear knowing that Gabriel was going to confront this woman directly. It was like finding out that one of those obsessed celebrity stalkers just got superpowers. And that wasn’t even touching this little shit practically calling Nathalie a hag, and bragging about how easily she could further destroy the relationship between Adrien and Gabriel that was just starting to heal.

Pushing past her bubbling fury, more pages presented a few more candidates before transitioning into Heartbreaker talking about a man she was visited by. She couldn’t remember his name, something from the Netherlands, but he talked a big deal about some super criminal mastermind that was going to take over Paris. And they were paying Heartbreaker the big bucks to let them research her.

“The Mastermind is trying to recruit miraculous users?”

There were a few more notes about further meetings with this man, alluding to some type of project that was being worked on that was bolstered by her powers, that it would be her ‘encore’. But the notes ended there.

Mayura set her sights on the computer, her last bastion of information, and booted it up. Naturally, she only got as far as the log-in screen before she hit the wall of basic password protection. There were manual ways of breaking into a computer, but she wasn’t sure how much time she had to try them out.

Of course, she actually had something on hand for this sort of thing. A little device in her pocket that her and Gabriel had bought from some less-than-legal sources just in case they ever needed to snoop. Problem was, she needed someone on the computer back at the mansion to use it correctly; and Gabriel was indisposed.

She mulled it over for a minute, weighing how annoyed Gabriel would be with her for going over his head, but, glancing back down at the notebook, she figured it was worth it just to be safe. With a sigh, she slipped the device, a modified USB stick, from her pocket and plugged it into the computer. Her other hand brought her phone out and dialled a number.

It took a few rings before a groggy voice answered, “…Mhm… Nathalie?”

“Adrien?” She murmured, sliding into the seat, “I need a favour. One that, if your father ever asks, never happened.”

She could practically hear him straighten up. “I’m your man! What do you need?”

“I’m…” She paused, almost tempted to be vague about it, but there was really no point in beating around the bush. “I’m breaking into someone’s computer, and I need you to activate the virus I’m using from my work computer.”

“…I don’t want to assume anything, but…”

“It’s Heartbreaker’s computer.”

“Oh!” Loud footsteps followed the call as he moved through the mansion. “On it, what do I do when I get there?”

“Just open up my desktop and when you log in there should be a notification about whatever her PC’s name is.”

There was a click as Adrien settled into Nathalie’s office chair, the familiar hum of her work computer spinning to life.

“I’m in, I’m guessing I just press the start button and-” he said, slightly breathless. “Oof, that’s a big progress bar.”

“Thank you,” Nathalie murmured, eyes flicking back to Heartbreaker’s monitor, watching as the little spinning wheel on the USB’s interface slowly ticked along. “It’s taking longer than I’d hoped. This machine’s a mess.”

“Yours or hers?”

“Hers.”

“Figures,” Adrien muttered, typing on his end. “The deadbeat murder probably isn’t super into file organization.”

There was a pause. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that crept in like a draft under the door.

“So,” Adrien started, clearly flailing for something, anything, to fill the dead air. “Uh... how’s your night going?”

“I’m breaking into the personal computer of a homicidal musician using a black-market virus while your father gets a one-on-one session with her. So…  About average.”

“…Right. Stupid question.”

Another beat of silence passed.

Adrien idly tapped on the desk, “Why do you guys just have a hacking kit on standby?”

Mayura leaned close to the screen, as if that would make the progress bar fill faster as password-after-password was tried. When her flawless plan had no affect, she sighed, leaning back in the chair. “It started when Audrey found herself in possession of a very embarrassing picture that Gabriel wanted erased from her computer.”

“…Come on, Nathalie.” Adrien pleaded, “You can’t just leave me hanging.”

“What makes you think he told me what it was?”

“He tells you everything.”

Mayura pursed her lips, fighting back a grin. “He may or may not have had an uncredited role in Harry Clown’s smash hit classic; ‘Furious Fruit Fight’ that he very much regrets being talked into.”

There was a sharp howl of laughter, “Wait, was he the grumpy pear that gets dumped in purple slime? I knew I recognised that scowl from somewhere.”

“I can neither confirm or deny that he was washing gunk out of his hair for weeks,” Mayura continued, “or that it was your mother who took the picture.”

After another bout of awkward silence, Adrien cleared his throat. “You know, I always thought you were more of a… ‘strictly legal’ kind of person.”

“Oh no, I used to have quite the criminal skillset,” she replied dryly. “My parents taught me most of it, but I’d like to think I managed just fine after I left home. Though back then everything was in person, not all this digital junk.”

“Your parents taught you how to be a thief?”

“They were bank robbers.” She stated quite dryly.

There was a moment where Mayura knew that Adrien was staring at the screen in silence, trying to figure out whether Nathalie was pulling his leg or not. She refused to give him a clear answer and just let him push his conclusion aside.

He chuckled, awkward but genuine. “Well, hey, if this whole assistant thing doesn’t work out, at least you can pivot to cybercrime.”

“That’s the dream.”

The loading bar finally blinked green. With a soft chime, Heartbreaker’s desktop flickered to life.

Mayura blinked.

“…Is that… pigs?”

Adrien’s voice came through the earpiece with the same bafflement. “That’s a lot of pigs.”

The wallpaper was a saturated collage of cartoonishly adorable piglets—some wearing tiaras, others sunglasses, a few just rolling in sparkly mud. One was animated, snorting every few seconds with an excited wiggle.

Mayura tilted her head. “I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t this.”

“Can we take a second to talk about emotional whiplash?” Adrien asked. “Because five minutes ago I was reading about weaponized love songs and ironic murder plots, and now I’m staring into the eyes of Princess Oinklet.”

Mayura exhaled sharply through her nose. “Focus, Adrien.”

A loud ping interrupted the moment as a pop-up unfurled in the corner of the screen: a message notification from an app titled ALLIANCE.

Mayura clicked it open, bringing up a chat window. At the top, the sender: QueenOfHearts.

Adrien squinted through his own mirrored connection. “That’s gotta be Heartbreaker’s handle.”

She agreed with a nod, eyes scanning down the message log. Several threads were open, but only one conversation was marked as active. The other participant’s name blinked: YellowJacket.

The most recent message read:

YellowJacket: Don’t use names. We’ve been over this. No real identities here, not even initials. Delete this message after reading.

QueenOfHearts: Oh relax. Nobody’s breaking into my laptop. It’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

Adrien made a strangled noise. “Her password was ‘l0vely’. With a zero. That’s five letters and not even capitalized.”

Mayura muttered, “Tighter than Fort Knox, indeed.”

She scrolled back, absorbing more of the conversation:

YellowJacket: This isn’t a game. If anyone finds those files, we lose everything. The Mastermind has no patience for leaks. You will follow protocol.

QueenOfHearts: I’m not stupid, Bee-boy. Your boss wants me for my voice, not my computer literacy. I’ve got everything buried where even I can’t find it. Now quit buzzing and tell me if I’m still getting the cut once this ‘big plan’ kicks off.

YellowJacket: You’ll get more than a cut. When the project launches, everyone in Paris will hear your song.

Mayura’s breath caught. “So, it is the Mastermind…”

Adrien’s voice had dropped to something almost grim. “They're trying to amplify her powers. That can’t end well.”

Mayura’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she jumped further ahead in the chat log.

QueenOfHearts: Love it. Finally, people will get me. Not those washed-up nobodies from my old label. Not those talentless hacks who wormed their way onto my stages. No more critics. Just fans.

YellowJacket: Then play your part. We’ve already secured two properties under aliases for the equipment installation: 23rd Clovis Avenue and 2nd Marvello Hollow. Do not go there until the tech is ready.

QueenOfHearts: Fine, fine. Just remember who’s the face of your revolution.

Mayura quickly scribbled down the addresses on a torn piece of sheet music. Her mind was already racing.

“Two properties,” she said. “One’s probably the launch point. The other might be storage. Or backup. Or both.”

“I know!” Adrien exclaimed, “I’ll look up the addresses on google and-”

Mayura squeaked, “Don’t look at the auto fill on the search bar.”

There was a brief, simple, traumatized silence. And then sigh.

“I’m not judging you for looking this stuff up.” He began, “I’m judging you for looking it up on the work computer.”

“I don’t spend a lot of time at home, okay?!” Mayura slammed her head against the dek, trying to pummel away the scarlet shade encroaching upon her cheek with blunt force.

Adrien cleared his throat, awkwardly pulling them back on track “We should tell Father about this. What if she has some of those murder bots with her?”

Before Mayura could concur, another beep followed, the chat log, now caught up to the present, continuing on. Immediately, Mayura sprung forward to stare down at the new messages.

“She’s texting from the performance?” Her brows furrowed, “Shouldn’t she be on stage right now?”

QueenOfHearts: OH MY GOD.

QueenOfHearts: Bee, you’re never gonna guess what I got.

QueenOfHearts: I GOT A NEW BOYFRIEND.

Adrien snorted reflexively. “What the hell—”

YellowJacket: This is for business only, dumbass. I don’t care about your love life.

QueenOfHearts: You don’t even know who he is.

The image that followed left Mayura without a voice, dread flooding her stomach as she gazed upon Hawkmoth, Heartbreaker settled on his lap and lipstick stains dotting his mask. The most distinct detail was his eyes, now bright pink and sporting pupils in the shape of love hearts. He stared back into the camera, the lights on, but no one home.

“T-That’s-” Adrien clamoured to his feet, knocking something to the floor. “She’s got dad!”

“Damn it, I never should have let it get this far.” Mayura cried out, putting her fist through the wall just to distract her sudden surge of panic and anger. “I shouldn’t have let him get out of the house, he was obviously still affected by her!”

YellowJacket: Whoopdee-doo, you found a cosplayer.

QueenOfHearts: Nope. This is the real deal.

QueenOfHearts: He even showed me some magic tricks.

YellowJacket: You have Hawkmoth under your control!?

QueenOfHearts: Yep! It’s been a real good day for me.

QueenOfHearts: First, I found Alby’s boy.

QueenOfHearts: Then I got Gabriel Agreste in my concert.

QueenOfHearts: And now I have super duper special guest!

YellowJacket: GABRIEL AGRESTE TOO!?

YellowJacket: JCSDJLKXFJKFB

Adrien inhaled sharply as Myaura’s eyes darted between the chat and the image still up on screen. “She knows. She knows he’s Hawkmoth.”

QueenOfHearts: You okay there?

YellowJacket: …Technical problems.

QueenOfHeats: ‘Cus it kind of looks like you just punched your keyboard.

YellowJacket: Technical problems.

YellowJacket: If you have Hawkmoth, that means you know who he is, right?

QueenOfHearts: Mhm, yeah, I may have been naughty and peaked under the mask.

QueenOfHearts: Maybe if this concert goes well, I’ll be in a good enough mood to tell you 😉

Mayura’s fingers twitched at her side.

“She’s using him. Displaying him like a trophy. If she announces who he is publicly—if she hands his identity to the Mastermind—”

“We lose everything,” Adrien finished, voice tight. “And if she gives him orders…”

Mayura turned, already throwing the chair aside. “We can’t wait. I’m going to that concert. I don’t care if I have to tear the stage apart.”

QueenOfHearts: Also, did you know that they text each other all the time?

YellowJacket: Huh?

QueenOfHearts: Yeah, they have their own little group chat, Hawkmoth and Ladybug’s crews.

QueenOfHearts: And there’s this Mayura lady, but I don’t know who she’s with.

QueenOfHearts: But I do know that she’s thirsty for Hawkmoth.

YellowJacket: I. Don’t. Care.

QueenOfHearts: You’re no fun.

YellowJacket: Wait.

YellowJacket: You can still use a weaker version of your song with digital files, right?

QueenOfHearts: …

QueenOfHearts: I have the chance to do the funniest shit.

“You’re gonna go in there all alone?” Adrien asked through the phone, a distinct high note to his voice, “You’ll end up just like father!”

“I won’t be going in alone, I assure you.” She assured him, softly. “Someone needs to warn Ladybug and Volpina before they get led into an ambush, after all.”

A sigh of relief was soothing on her ears, listening to Adrien shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “How are you going to contact them?”

“I have my ways.”

“And…” He continued, his voice dropping to a sadder note. “I’m guessing I’m just going to sit here and look pretty?”

Mayura’s eyes returned to the screen. The image of Gabriel—Hawkmoth—smiling vacantly under Heartbreaker’s touch. This was the man she became Mayura for, he was also the man Adrien joined a gang just to impress. If she really thought about it, she had been just as immature as Adrien that night, striking out on her own and throwing herself into a dangerous confrontation just to prove herself.

She continued with her immaturity to this day, whilst Adrien had been locked up for his. Maybe it was part desperation, or maybe it was her believing it to be fair, but either way she took a long, deep sigh.

Before telling him, ‘Your mother’s stomach, your mother’s chin and your mother’s cheek.”

“H-Huh?”

“The combination to the painting safe.”

A strangled, wheezing noise followed. Mayura assumed it was excitement. “D-Do you really mean it?”

“I need you to look into one of these addresses, 2nd Marvello Hollow.  See what they’re building before they spring it on us.” Mayura was half-way out the window trying to steady herself, to stop herself from immediately regretting her decision and telling Adrien to stay put. “I don’t want any more surprises while I’m rescuing your father.”

“G-Got it!”

She slipped out into the cold air, kneeling against the railing of the fire escape. In so few minutes the wind had been knocked out of her, leaving her heaving, both in fear for Gabriel and fear for Adrien.

But she had to trust Adrien; no, she knew she could trust Adrien.

“Let me make this clear: this is a scouting mission.” She continued sternly, “You sneak around, you do not engage and, if anything goes wrong, you get out of there and cataclysm anyone who gets in your way.”

“I promise, no funny business. They won’t even know I exist.”

"And no opening files on the group chat, Heartbreaker could try to release her song on there using your father."

"We can upload files?"

“Alright, and remember-”

“Thanks, Mom, I love you too!”

And then he hung up, leaving a stunned Mayura staring at the city skyline.

“Did… Did he just…?”

---

Nino was missing. And Chloe couldn’t understand any of it. Ladybug’s face had paled upon realizing that Nino’s father was Heartbreaker’s next target and was currently not in the country for her to go after. And for some reason that Chloe didn’t understand, that meant that the pig-faced bitch was going to go after Nino, because serial killers are all dumb.

Apparently, Ladybug had the number for Nino’s mother, ringing her up only to confirm the worst: Nino was gone, and nobody had been able to get a hold of him all day.

Again, it just made no sense to Chloe. This was Nino. Who could look at that lovable, goofy boy and think ‘They deserve to die because I’m too lazy to go over to Germany and axe their old man’? How could he get punished for the crime of being the wrong person’s kid at the wrong time? How could this be happening?

How could this be- Gah, what was this weird stifling feeling in her chest? It was the sort of sensation that passed in waves, pushing down hard on her heart, spreading gross sweat across her perfect skin, and tearing at her throat like something wanted to burst out. She had it since she left the hospital, not-so-subtly sprinting through the street trying to follow Ladybug’s rooftop journey from the ground.

Ladybug had left in a hurry, and refused to give Chloe any details. Chloe was going through some sort of emotional suffocation over here, Nino, her Nino, was in trouble; and her favourite hero was just telling her to go home, that it didn’t concern her. Respectfully, Chloe disagreed. In fact, she thought she was very concerned about Nino.

He was… Well, she was already honest about it with Kim, she liked the boy. Quite a bit. Enough that she knows she wouldn’t know what she’d do with herself if he got hurt whilst she was lounging around at home waiting for someone else to help him.

It didn’t help that, as Ladybug left, Chloe caught a snippet of conversation over her phone, revealing that Ladybug was calling Cesaire of all people about this. Why was that nosy know-it-all allowed to be a part of this while Chloe was thrown away? She didn’t even like Nino, she rejected him, how could she be as worried for him as Chloe was?! What, did she finally realize just what she was missing out on?

Too bad, Alya! It’s too late to take anything back now.

At least, Chloe secretly hoped it was too late, because she did not like her chances of competing with the vulture-in-training.

By the time she caught up with Ladybug, they were outside some big venue now swarming with cops. Barriers were put where journalists and civilians alike threw themselves up against to yell out for answers from the officers. Over the clashing yells, Chloe could only make out pieces of context, namely that the most consistent question was about missing people.

Naturally, where all those boring losers engaged with the police and stayed behind the line, Chloe opted to be productive and dive under the flimsy barriers whilst everyone was distracted. Despite her yellow attire being guaranteed to stand out amongst the blues and greys of the crime scene, no cop paid her any mind as she scarpered passed, setting her sight on where Ladybug and Roger conversed.

“There’s nothing then?” Ladybug stared ahead into the venue, her knuckles wound so tight  that the whiteness could be seen even through the spandex. “They just vanished into thin air?”

Roger sighed, taking a long sip from his coffee, “No one saw them leave, and all we found in the building is rubbish. Even all the equipment has been stripped clean.”

“There had to be over a hundred people at this private concert,” Ladybug exclaimed to anyone who’d hear her, “They can’t just disappear without a trace. There has to be some trail to follow!”

“Look, I’m sorry, but we’re not miracle workers.” Roger raised his hands up defensively, looking down at the heroine like she was a hungry predator. “That’s your department.”

A series of beeps escaped Ladybug’s earrings, prompting a bright, hopefuls mile to blossom as she scrambled to whip out her yoyo. It clicked open, she pressed a button and damn near slammed that yoyo-phone over her ear.

“Volly-”

Only for her face to immediately fall into a simmering glare into the space in front of her.

“What the hell do you want?” She growled, “Did Hawkmoth send you to gloat in his stead? I’m busy right now.”

Chloe couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but that didn’t sound like Chat Noir. The woman on the other end buzzed in Ladybug’s ear for a minute, progressively getting that glare to fade into slight interest.

“Hawkmoth’s a groupie now? Ew.” Ladybug let the disgust cover her face for a split second before breaking through it with a shocked gasp, “Hawkmoth’s her groupie now? Oh no!”

She started pacing back and forth under Roger’s worried gaze, “You’d think the guy whose superpower is getting into people’s heads would be immune to this type of crap.”

The communicator was pressed against her collar, covering it whilst she faced the sky with a squeal of frustration, “As if we didn’t have enough shit to deal with; now it’s officially a supervillain team up.”

A series of loud, but still not understandable squeaks and squawks escaped the communicator, enough to force Ladybug to hold it away from her. “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s a big problem. Trust me, I know.” She paused for a moment, cautiously leaning back in, “But I feel like you’re harping too much on her calling you a hag when we have a brainwashed Hawkmoth to worry about.”

More one-sided grunts and nods of affirmation.

“No, Volpina isn’t with me. She went after Hawkmoth.”

Her face went from annoyed, to pensive, to curious, to confused.

“She’s not working alone?” she clicked her tongue, “Great. That’s just great.”

Until eventually…

“23^rd, Clovis Avenue. Got it. I’ll meet you there.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m trusting you on this one because I don’t have any other choice, but if this is a trap, my next lucky charm is going to be a bullet with your name on it.”

Ladybug’s yoyo snapped shut with a loud clack, her expression taut and unreadable. She turned to Roger and—despite the audible chaos of the crowd behind them—her voice was low, controlled.

“Keep your men back for now,” she ordered. “If Heartbreaker’s here, I’m not risking a hundred armed cops getting turned into her backup dancers.”

Without another word, she turned and hurled her yoyo into the air. It latched onto the nearest lamppost, and she vaulted away in one smooth swing, disappearing into the city skyline like a red comet streaking through grey clouds.

Chloe ducked back behind a van just in time to avoid being seen. She poked her head out slowly, watching Ladybug shrink into the distance until she was gone.

Then she straightened, smoothed out her coat, and marched calmly after Roger, who was already retreating toward his squad car with a look of total exhaustion.

“Excuse me,” Chloe muttered politely to a passing officer, brushing past him like she owned the street. By the time Roger opened the passenger door and leaned inside to grab something, Chloe had already slipped into the driver’s seat and was adjusting the mirrors like it was her patrol car.

“What the—Chloe?!” Roger yelped as he whirled around. “Get out of there! What are you doing in my car?!”

“Driving,” Chloe said simply, hands already poised on the steering wheel.

“You don’t even have the keys!”

“I know,” she chirped.

He blinked. “Then how—?”

The engine roared to life.

Roger’s face contorted in pure disbelief. “Did you—did you hotwire my car?!”

“Yup.” Chloe gave the wheel a confident spin, checking over her shoulder before pulling out into the street. “The internet’s a magical place. I’d recommend you get a steering column cover, by the way.”

“Chloe, stop this, right now! You are not authorized to—!”

“Come on, Mr. Police Officer.” She smiled sweetly, a wild spark in her eyes as she pressed down harder on the gas. “It’s real simple: either you start giving me directions, or I let Jesus take the wheel.”

Roger stared at her, mouth agape, one hand bracing the dashboard like the airbag might pop at any moment.

“…23rd and Clovis,” he grunted after a long, pained pause. “That’s where she said she was going.”

“Perfect!” Chloe chirped, flipping on the siren for fun and ploughing through a red light. “Hold on, Nino. I’m coming.”

---

It was the first time Ladybug had ever set eyes on the mysterious woman that (not so secretly) captured her nemesis’ heart. There’d been some witness accounts of Mayura’s thievery, but none had the time to focus on describing her over describing whatever sentimonster she was using. Aside from some faceless banter over the group chat, this woman was a complete unknown to her.

Ladybug didn’t know the woman’s motives, she didn’t know her capabilities with the peacock, and she didn’t know what she could do against Mayura if everything went sideways. She dropped down into a long stretch of old dusty buildings, under the light of a malfunctioning neon sign welcoming her to ‘Clovis Avenue’, in a street completely devoid of life to meet a powerful villain she knew nothing about.

These were desperate times indeed.

And in these desperate times, Ladybug found herself with a desperate question upon finding the lady of the peacock leaned against the pole holding the sign up. A question that she immediately blurted out with the grace of a drunk.

"…Why are you blue?”

Mayura was so caught off guard that she broke away from her ‘smooth pose’ to fall back against the pole.

“I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

“Literally none of the other holders get a skin colour change,” Ladybug couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, “why did the peacock make you a Smurf?”

There was a pause. A long, awkward, what-the-hell-is-happening pause.

“…Excuse you,” Mayura said, adjusting her fan like it might shield her from the sheer absurdity of the moment. “It’s blue with mystic undertones. It’s a bold aesthetic choice, not a dermatological crisis.”

“No, yeah, sure, whatever that means,” Ladybug muttered, rubbing her temples. “God, you even have eye makeup. I didn’t know we could accessorize.”

Mayura opened her mouth, closed it, then looked away like she was trying to reset her brain. “You here to interrogate me about colour theory, or do you wanna talk about the literal supervillain we’re both trying to stop?”

“Right. Yeah.” Ladybug cleared her throat, schooling her face into something more serious. “That. I came for that.”

Mayura gave her a slow once-over, lips twitching. “Good. Because I’d rather not waste our time with wardrobe gossip.”

“Then don’t show up looking like an Oompa Loompa who ate the blueberry chewing gum,” Ladybug muttered under her breath.

Mayura tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Ladybug said quickly. “Let’s talk about Heartbreaker.”

“Let’s,” Mayura said dryly, swiping her fan at the air and stepping forward. “this is one of two properties she owns. The other is being looked into by Chat Noir.”

Despite it all, Marinette found her breath caught, “Chat Noir is back?”

“For now.” Mayura narrowed her eyes, “if all goes well, we shouldn’t be seeing him.”

Ladybug tried to stuff away Marinette’s disappointment and focus on the current situation, “V-Volly’s inside already. She called me on the way here.”

A dark brow quirked up at that, “She did?”

“She’s been silently tailing them since they left the venue and didn’t want to contact me until she was safe.”

It had been a relief to hear, up until that call Ladybug’s mind had been flooded with the worst-case scenarios for her partner. All she’d gotten from Alya was that Volpina went in the intervene before Hawkmoth fell under Heartbreaker’s sway, but that obviously hadn’t gone according to plan. Yes, Hawkmoth being Heartbreaker’s puppet was a big mountain to overcome, but with her partner by her side, and even Mayura helping out, Ladybug felt all the more confident.

Besides, she and Volpina beat Hawkmoth all the time, an extra villain in the mix wasn’t going to change anything.

Mayura was making a contemplative face, muttering to herself in a low murmur that Ladybug couldn’t quite make out. All she could hear was ‘well, the chat didn’t mention the fox, so I guess…’.

Ladybug looked up at the woman, “Something on your mind?”

She shook her head, “Nothing, just uneasy. Nothing about this situation feels right to me. How do we even fight off brainwashing music? Cover our ears the whole time?”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Ladybug yelped, rifling through her yoyo’s mini storage dimension (she had no idea how that worked) and pulled out more of Master Fu’s magic ear plugs. “Take one of these, they’ll block out the music with white noise.”

Mayura snatched it up with an appreciative hum, “So that old man is actually good for something without the miracle box?”

Ladybug ignored the insult and nodded along.

“Let’s get this over with.” She pushed on past Mayura, creeping down the street to peer around the corner of a disused convenience store, “Volly says that they’re all in that big stadium over there, setting up a stage. There’s a blind spot we can use to sneak in through the windows up there over the entrance.”

Mayura came up behind her, peering over her head at the large structure that dominated the end of the street, “Is your entire plan sneak inside and wing it?”

“My plan is to get into a position that’ll get us a better look at what we’re up against before we engage,” Ladybug crouched down, running her fingers alongside the concrete corner like she was drumming up thoughts in her mind, “We take out Heartbreaker, the fight ends. We just need to find a good place to ambush her from.”

She tilted her head back, “Think you can handle that?”

“Kid, I’m a professional; I can handle anything.” Mayura huffed, pulling herself back and bringing the fan out in front of her eyes. “In fact, I think I have the perfect sentimonster-”

“Not yet.” Ladybug’s hand caught Mayura’s wrist, an act that made indignation flare in the woman’s eye as part of a flinch.

“Careful, Kid.” Mayura warned in a low growl, “I’m not part of your little game with Hawkmoth, I don’t intend to pull my punches if you give me a reason.”

Ladybug felt her stomach twist, but still she weathered Mayura’s transition from smooth, dry glance to full on scowl.

“Jumping the gun isn’t going to get us anywhere,” she explained, keeping her grip tight and her other hand on her yoyo, “we get in there, we go over what we’re working with, and then we can see what sentimonster would be the most useful here.”

Mayura’s eyes remained locked on her, sharp as razors. There was a beat of tension between them, the older woman testing her resolve. Then—click—something softened behind the glare. The corner of her lips twitched up, amused.

“Well,” Mayura murmured, pulling her wrist back gently, “at least one of you children knows how to use that brain you were blessed with.”

She snapped her fan closed with a flick and tucked it away, resuming her usual posture: one hip cocked, arms folded, gaze tilted downward like a cat humoring a mouse.

“You’ll make a fine schemer yet, Ladybug. Just don’t make a habit of grabbing women older than you, hmm? It's very forward.”

Ladybug blinked, thrown a bit by the teasing lilt. “Uh. Right. Noted.”

Mayura chuckled, genuinely, and gave a shake of her head. “Relax, darling. You’re tense enough to snap in half. You need to breathe before your body forgets how.”

“I am breathing.”

“Through your teeth,” Mayura quipped. “Like you’re about to go into labour.”

She moved forward with a swish of her coat before Ladybug to squeal out her protest, lazily waving over her shoulder. “I’ll be taking point. The bright red spandex makes you a bright red bullseye, Little Bug.”

“H-Hey, my height has nothing to do with this!” Ladybug scrambled to pull out ahead of Mayura, her shorter legs meaning she had to pump twice as fast just to keep up with the older woman, “And this is my operation, thank you very much.”

“No can do, kid.” Mayura patted Ladybug on the head, casually striding past, “If I let another villain take you down, Hawkmoth will become insufferable.”

“…You mean he isn’t already?”

There was no further comments from either as they advanced upon the stadium. It certainly had a leg up on the House of Joy in sheer size, though it was more plain-looking than the ‘literal giant mouth for an entrance’ design.

As far as Ladybug knew, it was fashioned to look more like a roman colosseum but that idea was given up half-way through, leaving some muddied architecture. The result was an odd mishmash of faux-stone pillars, modern concrete, and corporate signage that had long since lost its colour in the sun.

The entrance was a large tunnel stretching out into the street, making it look like the straight line of buildings were all leading into it. Above the tunnel was a bulky set of windows overlooking the car park, and it was a simple matter for the two’s enhanced abilities to scale up the side of the tunnel and leap onto the window frame, shuffling over to a window that had been left open.

Ladybug gripped the edge of the window and looked down to whisper, “This should give us a direct view of the floor, if Volpina’s tracking was right.”

“Let’s hope so,” Mayura murmured, easing beside her. “If I got dressed up for nothing, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I’m sure Hawky will appreciate it after we knock some sense into him.”

“Oh, I know he will.”

“Eeeew, old people love.”

“I’m not even middle-aged!”

Ladybug offered only side eye but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at her lips. She pushed the window open with the edge of her yo-yo, and together, the two slipped into the shadows of the stadium’s upper tier.

The drop into the room was much deeper than Ladybug thought. From a brief glance outside, it had looked like a simple, short distance away. But not only did the floor escape her for over ten seconds, but lights around her had all dimmed and seemingly re-positioned at far ends of the room. She couldn’t’ even see the windows anymore.

Ladybug tried to catch herself with her yo-yo, but the cord swung uselessly in the dark as momentum took over. She hit something softish—probably an old curtain—before the world flipped again, and she tumbled down to the floor with a painful thump.

Mayura landed a split second after, though her fall had all the grace of a cat shoved off a windowsill. She skidded on her side, her coat catching on a strip of carpet, before coming to a stop with her limbs inelegantly splayed out.

The room was dim and musty, lit only by a few stage bulbs and the flicker of some far-off rig light trying its best to stay alive. The air smelled like dust, cheap perfume, and too many energy drinks cracked open in a hurry.

Ladybug groaned and rolled onto her back. “Well. That could have gone smoother.”

“I blame you,” Mayura muttered, pushing herself upright and brushing off her coat with pointed irritation. “For the record.”

Before Ladybug could shoot back, a shadow loomed over them. There was a shimmer, a gentle ripple of light—and then Volpina appeared, crouched atop an abandoned bar like a fox ready to pounce.

“Ladybug!” she whispered urgently. “Thank God you came—Heartbreaker has Hawkmoth cooking up one hell of an akuma right now. We’ve gotta stop her before he finishes whatever she’s forcing him to create.”

Ladybug sat up straighter, her instincts snapping into focus. “You’re sure he’s still with her?”

“Positive,” Volpina confirmed, hopping down beside them. “He looks like a zombie. But the good news is Heartbreaker’s in her dressing room right now—alone. I’ve been watching the security loop. Now’s our best chance.”

She gave Mayura a quick once-over and blinked. “Did not expect you to show up.”

Mayura quirked a brow, folding her arms. “Surprise.”

Volpina shook her head and smiled wryly. “Well, whatever. We’ll need all the help we can get. It’s a mess out there.”

Ladybug stood and dusted herself off. “Alright. If Heartbreaker’s alone, then we split her off and neutralize her fast. Volpina, you can draw her out—maybe with an illusion—then Mayura and I move in.”

“Sounds like a plan—”

“Does it?” Mayura cut in sharply, her tone suddenly sharp and cold. “Because I have a question.”

Both younger girls turned to look at her.

“How exactly do you know we’re not under her spell?” Mayura stepped closer, the edge in her voice sharpening.

“No heart-shaped pupils for one.” Volpina’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been hiding up there for over an hour. I’d know if she’d managed to snag two other miraculous holders. She loves to brag.”

“Let’s be honest, Volpina—can you really see our eyes from across the room in this lighting?”

There was a tense silence.

Ladybug quickly moved between them, holding out her arms. “Okay, stop. Mayura, you’re being rude—Volpina’s my partner, and I trust her.”

Mayura didn’t back away. Her eyes stayed locked on Volpina’s like she was reading the fine print of a dangerous contract. “How did you escape Heartbreaker again?”

“What do you mean, escape? I’ve been trailing them-”

“The Bug says you went in after Hawkmoth.” Mayura stated firmly, “You had to be in there long enough to confirm. And you would have been surrounded by Heartbreaker’s hypnotized fans and two miraculous holders. Quite the daring escape.”

Volpina threw her arms behind her head with a coy smirk, “There’s not exactly a limit to what I can pull off when I can make people see anything I want.”

“…You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

Mayura’s hand was too quick for Volpina to reach, the fan left her fingers in a wide boomerang arc, slicing through the air; and slicing through Volpina.

The image of Volpina, to be correct.

The next second was crucial, Mayura snapping into a turn to push Ladybug back and shooting her arm up, just a split-second before the unravelling of the illusion peeled away to reveal Volpina’s fist colliding with her arm. Around them, the shadows, the room, everything was wiped away, a fog of illusion disappearing into nothingness.

With no walls or darkness to trick them, there only remained the wide-open field of the inner stadium, with the roaring of hundreds of brainwashed fans cheering for them from the stands now allowed to enter their ears. The floodlights shined down on them, causing a blindly outline that almost distorted Volpina’s grinning face.

“Damn, first Hawkmoth and now you,” Volpina’s voice carried a breathless edge as she was shoved into a back flip, landing on the grass with a flourish. “I must be losing my touch at ambushes.”

Mayura shot back a sneer, “It sounds to me like you’re simply too familiar with not being interesting enough to be noticed.”

“V-Volly?!” Ladybug cried out, confused as she took in the real form of her partner.

If the pupils weren’t enough of a give-away, the change in wardrobe confirmed it. Her orange attire had been switched to a pink colour scheme, with purple hearts dotting her suit and pale make-up making her look like the bubble-gum ghost. Even her hair had shifted to a cotton candy wig that almost looked edible.

“Sorry, Buggy.” Volpina rested her flute on her shoulder, shrugging with a wide grin that didn’t look sorry at all, “I had to be a little naughty to get you into position.”

“I should have known.” Ladybug growled, mostly at herself.

She had half the mind to slap herself on the forehead for being so gullible. She’d been so blinded by relief that she didn’t even think to question the circumstances surrounding Volpina’s miraculous advantage. If Mayura hadn’t been there to break the illusion, Ladybug would have been led straight into Heartbreaker’s arms before she could realize what was going on.

I’ll beat myself up later, Ladybug reminded herself, breathing in deeply as she took in her surroundings, after I get us out of here alive.

“Don’t worry, Volly. I’m going to help you.”

Volpina opened her mouth to respond, but an annoyingly booming and familiar drama queen’s voice fell over them. “Oh, but Ladybug; helping you is all we want to do!”

Hawkmoth’s grinning, punchable, face was clear and visible even through the glare of the floodlights. He stood at the end of a mighty stage in the centre of the stadium, holding his cane up to his lips as a mic. On closer inspection, that grin was so… goofy looking. That dazed, utterly enamoured look was so wrong for a guy who spent 90% of his appearances brooding or dramatically pouting at his impending defeat.

He too had received a wardrobe change, a more punk aesthetic that had been tuned up with pink and purple highlights and a long flowing cape to match Heartbreakers. And if that mask didn’t look bad enough, now it was absolutely caked in glitter, bringing them full circle on the nickname ‘Chrome Dome’.

Speaking of faces Ladybug wanted to punch, it wasn’t long before a burst of confetti and smoke rose from the stage to announce Heartbreaker’s entrance. She exploded onto the stage to the adoring wails of the crowd, jumping into a power-slide to end up next to Hawkmoth.

“Mhm, Hawk-Baby; you were soooo right.” She purred, jumping up to wrap herself around his arm. “She really is that dumb when her partner’s involved. We would have had her if it wasn’t for…”

Heartbreaker broke her quip to squint at Mayura, blank faced. “Whoever the fuck that is?” she looked back to Hawkmoth and shrugged, “Oh well, I prefer it this way, anyhow. Wouldn’t be a fun rematch if Ladybug went down too easy.”

“No hard feelings, I hope, Ladybug.” Hawkmoth said with a cheerful smile, and damn did it feel weird for Hawkmoth to apologize to her, “I just couldn’t bare disappointing my lady, and Volpina was so perfect for her role.”

There was a guttural cry from Mayura, “’Your lady’!?”

“I know,” Heartbreaker giggled, lightly slapping Hawkmoth on the chest, “he’s such a flirt!”

“Only because you brainwashed him, you sick bitch!”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie,” Ladybug added, shuffling to press her back to Mayura, “Hawkmoth may be my nemesis, but he deserves better than any of the creepy shit you have planned, lady.”

“You two are overreacting,” Heartbreaker purred, “I’m sure my new boytoy here doesn’t mind, he lives for my pleasure after all.”

“I don’t mind at all, my darling!” Hawkmoth’s grin with bright and beaming as he pulled her head tightly against his chest, “Though, of course, if I wasn’t so overflowing with your wonderful music right now, I’d consider carving you open and turning your corpse into a skin suit…”

Everything stopped.

Literally. Even the music hiccupped.

Heartbreaker blinked. “…Hawk-Baby?”

But Hawkmoth just kept going, voice still filled with that pained, cheerful brightness, as if forcing joy through gritted teeth. “But all I can think right now are happy thoughts, like how almost all my favourite ladies in the world are with me here tonight!”

Ladybug shuffled slightly to lean her head up to Mayura’s ear, “…Did he just say I’m one of his favourites?”

Mayura shrugged, “Some might say that you’re the reason he wakes up in the morning.”

That was… nice, Ladybug guessed.

“I do love all this drama,” Heartbreaker’s annoying and smug voice was only amplified by her microphone, gesturing wide to the adoring crowd. “Forced to fight the only person who hasn’t abandoned you, surrounded by hundreds of people calling for you to lose, and completely defenceless against the awesome power of the woman you humiliated! Why, I could just cry.” She fanned herself with mock sorrow before flashing a dazzling grin. “But really, I just want to laugh.”

“Oh, trust me,” Ladybug muttered, narrowing her eyes at Heartbreaker. “I'm about to give all of you something to cry about.”

Heartless cupped her ear with a loud cackle, “What’s that, little bedbug? Mad that I’m better than you?”

“Not mad, just embarrassed.” Ladybug took a step forward, thrusting her hand up to point, “I know your story, Pepper. All this bloodshed because people played a nasty prank on you in school? That’s pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

“Ah, I see, so Bustier decided to squeal after all then?” There was an uncharacteristic drop in energy in Heartbreaker’s voice, letting the microphone drop to the ground and her guitar hang limp so she could grip her wrist. “Did she tell you how the doctors could never fix my hand? How I could never trust anyone again after that? How the guitar they broke was the last thing I had of my dad? Or that I couldn’t play my fucking guitar right ever since?”

Her quiet, simmer wail turned into a feral roar that needed no microphone to reach the entire stadium, “Did she tell you how they ruined my life?”

Ladybug sighed, “I’m sorry, I really am. That shouldn’t have happened to you, but this isn’t the way. This is wrong, and you know it.”

Another step forward, the accusing finger lowering and turning into an open hand, “You can stop this right now, and come and answer for your crimes. No one else has to get hurt.”

Heartbreaker picked up her microphone and blew a raspberry into it.

“That’s a big fat ‘wrong’ right there,” With a click of her tongue, she flipped her hair back, “see, someone else has to get hurt, a lot of people have to get hurt. There’s no way around it.”

A few experimental tugs on her guitar strings plucked out a tune that rapidly rose to a furious backing track, a frantic tune of a woman cornered.

“Don’t you understand? My dreams were dead until I found Dazzi. I need him, he lets me play my music again.” She sashayed across the stage, wiggling her torso back and forth and snapping along with her free hand, “But you won’t let me keep him, as you reminded me so helpfully in our last fight. Until you’re under my sway, until there’s no one left to challenge me, someone will always be there to take him away from me. I have to do this, all of this.”

“Pepper-”

One gloved finger came up with a snapping motion, Heartbreaker turning to her side and stomping her heel into the ground. “But wait! We’re not done with the opening number yet!”

Her hand whipped around to lovingly caress Hawkmoth’s shoulder, plunging down to his chest as she moved behind him, “You already know the hunk with the funk that makes anyone get crunk; HAAAAAAWKMOTH!”

For the first time in history, some poor bastard yelled ‘we love you Hawkmoth!’.

Heartbreaker broke her connection with him to let her arm fly out, pointing finger guns at Volpina as the fox in question backflipped back over onto the stage. Heartbreaker crouched down low to follow Volpina’s landing and then rise with her.

“And there ain’t no one around who don’t know this cunning fox, who’s ready. To. Rock. VOOOOOOOOLPINA!”

The spotlights all cut at once.

For a moment, there was only darkness—no glitz, no glitter, just a swelling thrum that seemed to vibrate beneath the audience’s feet, deep and synthetic like the first inhale of a rave about to begin. Fog curled in from the sides of the stage as a mechanical whirring echoed from above.

Then—

A platform descended from the sky, glowing neon pink, shaped like a floating soundboard. The crowd gasped, screamed, and scrambled to record on their phones as it hovered like some alien UFO descending to abduct them all. The moment the platform arrived, a pulse flushed across the skyline, spreading a thick, purple hue across the clouds until the entire area was bathed in the putrid colour.

At its centre sat a figure draped in sleek purple—a full jumpsuit with a flared, floor-length cape, like a rock star and a warlock had crashed into a DJ booth and gotten tangled together. A thick, glowing wire in the shape of a heart plugged into the centre of his chest and coiled into the surrounding sound equipment like a lifeline, or a leash.

On his head was a gleaming silver bucket helmet, totally concealing his face. Two stylized heart-shaped visors pulsed softly where his eyes would be, blinking to the beat of the music rising behind him.

Heartbreaker let the silence hang, drinking in the tension like champagne. She raised one arm to the sky and shouted, with every ounce of melodramatic fire she could summon:

“AND OF COURSE—no band is complete without our rhythm, our pulse, our beat! The boy with the broken heart… The prince of pain, the duke of desire, the little akuma that could— Give it UP for the one, the only…”

She whipped around and pointed as the soundboard locked into place with a thunderous clunk, floating just overhead.

“…DJ DISASTER!!”

Ladybug’s eyes widened in horror, “Nino…”

Notes:

Gabriel and Marinette share the thing where they're actually pretty damn smart, but all that smarts goes out the window for confirmation bias when someone they know is involved.

Next Time - DJ Disaster:

Adrien could not rush to his father’s office fast enough, charging through the door like a battering ram and stumbling over to the safe. He punched in the combination so recklessly that, afterwards, he was fearful that he might have almost punched more holes into his mother’s painting. However, he pushed that aside with ease, it was so easy to rid himself of the details when pure adrenaline and euphoria was pumping in the lead up to the safe swinging open.

His breath caught.

There it was, that perfect silver ring, just gleaming up at him, teasing him, welcoming him. It was so beautiful he could just cry, but he knew that time was of the essence… and Plagg would never let him hear the end of it if he started bawling right here and now. Instead, Adrien steeled his nerves and swipe the ring from the safe and, with only the briefest of hesitation, slipped it on.

There were no words adequate to describe how right it felt for that cold, metal surface to tighten around his finger. All he could say was that it was like reattaching a limb that
you had long since lost in an accident, a heavenly familiarity as you become whole once more.

“Oh, Plagg,” he sniffled, holding the ring up to his face as the dark figure emerged from within. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed-”

He was then hit with the mother of all yawns, one that produced enough air to rival an industrial fan.

Plagg looked groggy to say the least, sitting on Adrien’s hand, slumped over on his back and eyes half-lidded. “Go away.”

“Plagg-”

“I’m on vacation!”

“My father’s in danger.”

“Five more minutes.”

Chapter 47: Heartbreaker: DJ Disaster

Summary:

Chat Noir's back in action, Ladybug and Mayura are surviving, and Chloe starts realizing that the fight between the heroes and the psychotic serial killer is dangerous.

Adrien could not rush to his father’s office fast enough, charging through the door like a battering ram and stumbling over to the safe. He punched in the combination so recklessly that, afterwards, he was fearful that he might have almost punched more holes into his mother’s painting. However, he pushed that aside with ease, it was so easy to rid himself of the details when pure adrenaline and euphoria was pumping in the lead up to the safe swinging open.

His breath caught.

There it was, that perfect silver ring, just gleaming up at him, teasing him, welcoming him. It was so beautiful he could just cry, but he knew that time was of the essence… and Plagg would never let him hear the end of it if he started bawling right here and now. Instead, Adrien steeled his nerves and swipe the ring from the safe and, with only the briefest of hesitation, slipped it on.

There were no words adequate to describe how right it felt for that cold, metal surface to tighten around his finger. All he could say was that it was like reattaching a limb that you had long since lost in an accident, a heavenly familiarity as you become whole once more.

“Oh, Plagg,” he sniffled, holding the ring up to his face as the dark figure emerged from within. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed-”

He was then hit with the mother of all yawns, one that produced enough air to rival an industrial fan.

Plagg looked groggy to say the least, sitting on Adrien’s hand, slumped over on his back and eyes half-lidded. “Go away.”

“Plagg-”

“I’m on vacation!”

“My father’s in danger.”

“Five more minutes.”

Suffice it to say, there was a high toll of cheese to pay before Plagg was willing to get into gear. It turned out whilst Adrien was toiling away with hellish chores and the fearful emotional trauma of potentially never seeing Plagg again, Plagg was lounging around in his ring have a jolly good time goofing off.

Apparently, Adrien was pulling most of the emotional weight in this relationship!

However, there was no time to brood, so Adrien capitulated to running Plagg through the basic update, shower the ungrateful fiend in cheese, and take to the window. He took a running start, leaping out of the open window and into the night as he let the transformation phrase ripple through him.

Chat Noir was sure that he’d mapped every rooftop and back alley in the area to memory – a crook always needs an exit on hand, after all. By the third month of his illustrious career, he knew his and his father’s turf like the back of his hand. On a bad day, he could dance through the rain and mud and not get a single drop of sludge on his boots.

And dance he did, kicking off the front wall and snaking his legs around lamp posts and hanging signs. Swinging through the darkness, he propelled himself forward with all his might, stretching and curling his body past Adrien’s feeble limits. He had suffered weeks without a transformation, and he refused to waste a moment of his reprieve.

On some level, he could feel that Plagg was just as eager to stretch his legs too, adding an extra surge of exhilaration when Chat Noir swung off his next perch and launched himself into an air-born spinning cartwheel that ended with him catching the edge of a chimney in a handstand.

The address Nathalie gave him was a bit of a distance away, but nothing was too far when he had his extending baton to pole vault himself half-way across Paris in one leap, piercing the very heavens for a split second before falling into a deadly dive. Still, it did give time for Adrien, whilst still heeding Nathalie’s warning about Heartbreaker infiltrating the group chat, to go over anything he may have missed.

Ladybug getting on his father’s case, almost sounding worried about him. Filing that away to tease her about later.

Apparently, he missed an entire saga about Volpina borrowing everyone’s stuff and never giving it back, leading to a public blow out against her from all sides. Adrien had been wondering where the vacuum cleaner went.

Memes about Mr. Pidgeon. An argument about the rules of ‘Whatever Ball’. A debate about ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ adaptations (His father was a very vocal supporter of Jim Carrey, as it turned out). Ladybug trying to get Volpina to shut up about Alya, and Volpina accusing her of being homophobic.

And there was-

Chat Noir’s eyes narrowed in disgust as he passed the Eiffel Tower. And really, what other reaction would be fitting? These chats were downright despicable, and desperate, and icky.

Casually scrolling, his eyes easily caught onto tons and tons of messages of their latest miraculous holder making corny, inappropriate remarks about his father.

Who does this Mayura hussy think she is? Just because his father was cordial with her didn’t mean he was inviting her to drool over him, and corner him with cheap innuendos and internet blown kisses. Hawkmoth was a class act, not some cheap bar-room hook up that she could throw a few bad pick up lines at and take him home.

Now, Adrien didn’t want to play the role of overbearing, his father aced that niche. But he was the son, damn it! It was his job to protect his single, vulnerable and romantically disabled father from opportunistic women with bad intentions, and this Mayura character probably didn’t have a pure bone on her body.

Honestly, he didn’t want to be too judgmental, but it was almost pathetic. Father was obviously already had someone waiting for him at home, and it was gonna take more than some sultry catchphrases to beat Nathalie. Nathalie, who has been by his side since forever. Nathalie, who puts up with everything. Nathalie, whose entire wardrobe had been handmade by Gabriel by this point.

They complete each other. Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, if Mr. Smith also had a basement full of sentient butterflies and a war criminal phase.

“And now this Mayura shows up, thinking she’s cute with her fluttering eyelashes and her suggestive smirks and her, ‘Oh Hawkmoth, you’re sooo strong, I wish someone would restrain me.’” Chat mimicked in a high, mocking falsetto, then gagged.

Miraculous or not, if Nathalie knew what this harlot was getting up to, she would kick Mayura’s ass.

---

Eventually, Chat found himself hanging from the shaft of a construction crane, his legs stretched out over the metal rope and leaving him to look at the site upside down. It was a large, walled off construction site, the metal skeleton of a tall building looming over cement, wood and sand. All across from an apartment complex and a park.

There was certainly something going on here. Mostly because of how little there was going on. For an active construction site, there wasn’t much activity; Chat could see people moving across scaffolding and messing around with wheelbarrows by dirt piles, but it never seemed to progress. They just made their rounds, fiddled with their tools and then went back to doing nothing. The most activity was cars being waved in through the fence, only to all pull into the same tiny garage and somehow all fit despite no one leaving.

It was quintessential ‘stop and look busy’. They were hiding something, and if Heartbreaker was involved, then it couldn’t be anything good.

Chat Noir’s tail swayed with unease as he stared down from the crane, watching the fake construction crew pace in lazy loops. The eerie precision of their movements was too perfect–like someone had looped a video of busy workers and projected it onto real people. None of them spoke. None of them sweated. There were no loud tools, no shouting foremen, no music playing from someone’s phone in the background.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yup. Something is afoot...”

He paused.

“Wait, it’s supposed to be the ‘game’ is afoot, right?” Shaking his head, he threw his torso forward to spin himself around the rope, eventually righting himself up and the top. “Never mind.”

Chat Noir narrowed his eyes and dropped into a silent crouch atop a steel beam. The lights were dim, but not so dim that he couldn’t see the shimmer of something artificial in the air. These “workers”—they weren’t people. Not really. At least, not all of them.

With cat-like finesse, he dropped down to a lower level, then slinked between stacked pallets and hollow pipes, his footsteps silent against the concrete. He weaved through the skeletal framework of the unfinished building, taking careful note of the workers’ paths. They all walked in predictable loops—down a line of cement blocks, around a wheelbarrow, up the stairs, then back again. Never lifting, never hammering, just… existing.

Then something broke the pattern.

One of the “workers” peeled away from the loop and approached a supply truck parked at the side of the site. Chat ducked behind a cement mixer, peeking out just enough to watch as the figure opened the truck’s back doors and pulled out a heavy-looking case—rectangular, metal, secured with latches and marked with what looked like stylized hearts.

The worker slung the case over his shoulder and started moving through the site—but just as he turned the corner by the concrete ramp, another worker, walking in the opposite direction, brushed past him.

Or rather— throughhim.

Chat’s breath caught.

In that split second, the second worker flickered, like static on an old TV, his body shimmering with digital noise. The illusion snapped into transparency for just a moment—revealing a blue-tinted hologram beneath the vest and helmet—before stabilizing again and continuing his route.

Chat’s eyes widened. Holograms.

But his attention snapped back to the worker with the case. Unlike the others, this one had mass. He kicked up dust with his boots. His shadow bent with the wind. He wasn’t a projection.

Chat stalked after him, staying to the shadows as the figure made his way across the site. The worker adjusted the weight of the case on his shoulder and picked up the pace, heading toward the site’s far wall—where a garage structure sat half-buried under construction materials and scaffolding.

Then he did something impossible.

He walked straight through the garage wall.

No door. No keypad. No handle. Just through it.

The wall shimmered like heat off asphalt the second he passed through, revealing it too was a projection. Beyond it, for only the briefest instant, Chat saw flashing lights, a circular stage setup, and what looked like a wall of speakers stretching from floor to ceiling. The air shimmered with pink hues and digital static. Music pulsed through the opening—a muffled bassline that felt more like a heartbeat than a song.

Then the illusion reset, and the wall went solid again.

“Secret entrance, here I come,” he muttered to himself, slipping out from behind the column and creeping towards the fake wall.

Hesitantly, he poked his head through the hologram, finding his body submerged in the darkness of a deep, stone elevator shaft. He was sure that this wasn’t standard issue for construction sites, so he cautiously pushed all the way through, finding that natural cat-like grace and confidence carrying him easily into going over the edge.

The shaft wasn’t large. Enough for people to fit in, but tight enough that Chat could spread himself out wide and catch all the corners of it, that made it a simple matter to shuffle down the shaft; albeit uncomfortable. He’d extend his baton into a makeshift fireman’s pole, but he didn’t want to risk hitting something or someone on the way down that would set off any alarms. Nathalie wanted stealth, and with his father’s life on the line, he was keen to listen.

It was a few agonizing and itchy minutes where her couldn’t spare a finger to scratch any of the irritation flushing across his skin. The important thing was that he made it to the bottom, landing deftly on the top of the grounded elevator, popping open the access panel and slipping in through the ceiling.

Phase one of Chat Noir’s amazing perfect spy mission was complete, now to actually find something of use.

Exiting the elevator took him into a giant room shaped like one titanic metal cocoon. His path was on the middle layer, a small bridge that stretched around the edge of the room, leaving plenty of space in the middle that peered down on a platform below. It was much louder here, peering over the railing of the deep drop, Chat could see lights shining on hundreds of bustling bodies moving around equipment and fitting components together.

The workers, without the need for disguises, looked much like Dauntless’ androids. The difference came in proportion, and that the shorter workers were clearly wearing helmets and armour and moved with none of the precision that the androids did. Chat took that to mean that these were organic workers, and they were building something.

From up here, Chat’s enhanced vision could just make out the shapes of satellite dishes and wires. Maybe broadcasting equipment? Heartbreaker’s guy did say something about making everyone hear her song. For now, he held off on jumping down there, instead turning his gaze to the rest of the complex.

On his level, the circle led to more hallways breaking off, where a few men, and a scarce few androids, patrolled. Staying hidden was easy enough, especially when, overhead, the bridges all had support beams between columns, providing the perfect vantage point for Chat to hide on top of.

The upper layer of the cocoon looked important in how little was there, just a lift that carried supplies up to a platform housing a giant terminal and one man standing at the helm. A man who was dressed differently than everyone else. That screamed ‘important’ to Chat.

A few wall bounces and carful scaling quickly brought Chat to the support beam that held up the platform in question, letting him hang just under the platform, claws digging into the metal for dear life. Above him, the echoing footsteps of the man’s heavy armour were loud enough to make Adrien’s ears hurt in civilian form, with enhanced hearing, it was like someone shoving a pencil into his ear.

“Hawkmoth, god damn Hawkmoth,” the man started, his voice ever-so-slightly covered up by a filter. “That’s what she said.”

Ah, so this was the guy talking with Heartbreaker then?

“An interesting development.” The voice that replied was even more distorted; it wasn’t even one voice. It was multiple voices of varying pitches and accents all randomly changing with every word.

Yellowjacket’s heels loudly stabbed into the ground, letting out a horrible metallic screech. “That’s it? Interesting? Don’t mean to speak out of turn, Boss, but shouldn’t our trigger-happy little psycho having the butterfly king under her control be worrying? With that much power, she might just forget about us all together.”

“It is a risk only if we are not prepared,” The multiple voices replied bluntly, “or do you really think that we’d be so foolish as to extend our hand to her if we didn’t have a contingency in place?”

It was a rhetorical question, Chat assumed, as no response followed, just silent obedience.

“If Miss Piper starts forsaking her duties, she will be dealt with in the time it takes me to snap my fingers.”

“Ah, I see, the ring’s booby-trapped, ain’t it?”

The boss, who Chat assumed by this point was the ‘Mastermind’ figure that his father briefly explained after the horse/bee miraculous misadventure, promptly ignored the question, “How is the project coming along?”

Yellowjacket stomped over to the railing, showing Chat his metal, yellow boots and his sight barely missing Chat by inches as the man peered down at the workers. “Ahead of schedule. I may not know anything about this techno-mumbo jumbo, but I know how to get people to up their output.”

From below, a platform was raised high atop one giant piston to slot in behind Yellowjacket. On it was what looked like the body of a metal spider, all its legs coming down to form a cage, connected by energy bars. Its head was a flattened cylinder with various little light studs dotting the body and a satellite dish built into the tip.

Mastermind practically coo’d over their technology, it was the only identifiable expression of emotion they had the entire conversation. “With the amplifier in play, we can feed Heartbreaker’s song into all of Paris by the end of the week, bringing the vulnerable and the desperate under my guiding hand.”

Peeking over the edge of the platform, Chat got a better look at Yellowjacket. A man only a bit taller than him, lean in the torso, but wide in the shoulders, wearing a murky brown jacket fitted with pieces of armour striped with black and gold. All topped off by a big bucket helmet that had beaming red goggles hanging over a bulbous metal mouthpiece. He was not getting any style points, Chat could tell you that, looked like he threw together a Halloween costume over his casual clothes at the last minute.

“If this hunk of metal can do all that,” Yellowjacket jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, “why do we even need Heartbreaker?”

A multilayed sigh escaped the speaker, “The music needs to be created by the pig miraculous to work, even the pre-recorded weaker version she’s figured out won’t do anything without her involvement.”

A light inside the chamber drew attention to the interior, where Chat could now easily make out a silver chair rising into position. Metal straps laid open on the arm rest, and various sharp, needle-like implements and tubes fell from the ceiling of the cage to descend upon the chair.

“Fortunately, the device comes with the perfect method of extracting Miss Piper’s… Creative juices.”

Chat had seen enough horror movies with Marinette to know that this wasn’t ending anywhere fun.

Undeterred by the idea outside of a small whistle, Yellowjacket came dangerously close to stepping on Chat’s fingers as he leaned over the railing, humming. “I trust you boss, I really do, but things like this make me worried. Crap like this always goes wrong somehow; it’s like a universal rule or something.”

“Noted.” Mastermind said in an entirely unconvinced tone, “However, currently I believe you have bigger matters to worry about. Like the curious Cat eavesdropping on our conversation.”

Chat froze.

And then everything exploded.

Sirens blared. Red lights swept across the metal cocoon. The androids below stopped moving—then turned toward the upper level. Guards pulled weapons. Yellowjacket snapped his gaze downward, red goggles gleaming.

Chat Noir dropped like a stone, twisting mid-air.

“Welp,” he muttered, baton snapping out to full length in a flash, “I think I just skipped phase two.”

Red warning lights strobed across the metal cocoon chamber, flashing with a blaring siren that stabbed into Chat’s ears like knives. The air surged with the shrieks of doors slamming shut and locking into place. Androids below raised their heads in perfect unison, their mechanical limbs twitching, eager to punce; yet oddly enough they didn’t move to engage.

And then—WHAM!

Yellowjacket landed hard on the bridge right in front of him, a rifle in hand, a bulky one that bore the same glow that Dauntless’ armour had. It hummed with that all-too-familiar growl of plasma charging. A sharp snap-crack followed as a bolt of yellow energy shot past Chat’s head and singed a black scorch mark into the wall.

Chat ducked into a roll, baton snapping open in his hand. “That’s a cute little gun there, did you fish it out from Dauntless’ hand-me-downs, or did she just take pity on that bee costume?”

Yellowjacket snarled behind his helmet. “I ain’t a bee, you smug little punk!”

More blasts followed—short bursts of pulsing energy, each exploding against the walls with enough force to rattle the bridge under Chat’s feet. He flipped onto a support beam above, clinging to the underside to avoid the next volley.

“I don’t know, man,” Chat called, swinging around and launching himself toward his opponent, “yellow stripes, buzzing around, swinging at someone way out of your league — pretty bee-coded behaviour.”

Yellowjacket roared. With a flick of his arms, his rifle split apart and locked into compartments on his back. In their place, two wickedly curved wrist-mounted blades sprang forward with a metallic snkt, humming with energy along the edges.

Chat’s eyes lit up. “Oh wow! You even have stingers! That’s so cute.”

The man lunged.

Steel clashed with titanium as Yellowjacket slashed, fast but wild. Chat ducked under the first strike and brought his baton up to parry the second, the impact sending a shudder through his arm.

Up close, it was obvious—Yellowjacket wasn’t Dauntless.

He lacked the precision. The discipline. His moves were brute force, not form. Sloppy, angry, reactive.

Chat moved like water. He danced through each swing, letting the momentum of his dodges carry him into graceful counterattacks. A spin of his baton knocked one blade off course. A flick of his wrist struck Yellowjacket in the ribs with a dull metallic thunk. The man stumbled. God, it was good to be back.

“Y’know,” Chat taunted, flipping over his enemy’s head and landing behind him, “I think Dauntless actually broke a sweat. You’re just... mid.”

Yellowjacket whirled with a savage elbow, but Chat ducked again and used his baton to sweep his legs out. The man crashed hard to the floor, groaning in frustration.

With no time to waste, Chat darted for the raised platform and the machine.

The amplifier. The cage. The satellite dish. Heartbreaker’s horror chair. All of it had to go before Chat could leave, it was too dangerous to be left alone.

“Sorry,” he muttered, baton glowing with green energy, “but your broadcast just got canceled.”

CRACK!

A single, powerful strike sent sparks flying as the control node shattered. The satellite dish split down the middle. The cage collapsed in on itself in a tangle of ruined legs. Energy conduits blinked out, dying like extinguished candles before the entire platform plummeted into the complex below.

The workers erupted into chaos as the fiery metal wreckage rained down from above. Some androids surged forward. Others froze as if their instructions had vanished with the terminal’s guidance.

Just as he turned, Yellowjacket came roaring back, blades slashing furiously. Chat blocked high, then low, then countered with a sweep to the gut and an uppercut to the jaw. Yellowjacket reeled, stumbling back against the railing.

One last kick sent the man crashing over the edge—only for him to land hard on the floor one level down with a thunderous clang, groaning and sputtering through his voice modulator.

Chat took a breath. “Now, you stay down there and think about what you’ve done.”

He scurried back up to the main platform, hastily pulling up in front of the terminal and typing away. Despite all the fun he was eager to have busting up more of Mastermind’s robots or messing with the Bee cosplayer, he actually did intend to follow Nathalie’s orders and escape rather than fight. Besides, saving his father was the leading concern now, and with Mastermind’s Heartbreaker-adjacent machine out of the picture, only Heartbreaker remained in his sights and Ladybug and Volpina were probably already fighting her.

He just needed to find a way to open those security doors, and didn’t want to risk wasting a cataclysm on them only to get surrounded when the five-minute timer hit. Fortunately for him, Yellowjacket was already logged into the terminal, allowing Chat to just move over to the security controls and punch in the command for a false alarm.

The red quickly drained from the room and Chat’s poor ears were allowed to rest; for about two seconds. As before he could start his way back, the walls shifted, pieces breaking off to reveal speakers that were pushed through their hidey hole to lord over Chat.

“Real impressive, you got extra speakers just to hit me with more annoying alarms?” Chat grumbled, mostly just for the sake of grumbling, as he moved over to the railing.

From below, Yellowjacket looked up at him and, despite the helmet covering any expression, Chat could tell the man was grinning as he waved a remote in Chat’s metaphorical face.

“Oh, we’re done with the basic security measures, Rodent.” He started fiddling with the remote, clicking his tongue as he did so, “I just thought you’d like to hear Heartbreaker’s latest mixtape. I’ve been told its good enough to make you an instant fan.”

Chat’s eyes widened, “Ah. Shit.”

Yellowjacket threw his arms out, belly laughing hard enough to make his shoulders shake, “Ain’t you lucky that we saved up enough of miraculous energy to make this work? Now, you just sit back and get comfy while I decide how I’m gonna make you take off that ring and finish yourself.”

Jumping into action, Chat lashed out with his baton, slamming the butt end of it into the speakers, scraping away at them until they were almost completely ripped out of the wall. Then he went to the next one, and the next one, feeling his heart hammer harder as that song worked its way into his head.

The problem was that, as soon as Chat destroyed one, another came out of the wall to replace it, ending every attempt with no progress being made. As his desperate rush continued, Yellowjacket could only laugh at him.

“This has to be mind blowing for a one-note fella like you,” he hooted, watching Chat’s expression and rapid slashes grow more despondent, sweat trickling down his forehead so thick that the lights practically turned his skin into the sun, “A threat you can’t just cataclysm your way through.”

Yellowjacket wagged his finger, tutting between chuckles, “I mean, it’s not like you can destroy sounds.”

Mid-swing, Chat paused.

Then he smiled.

“That’s not a bad idea!”

“…Huh?”

“CATACLYSM!”

---

Considering that Chloe had never driven a car in her life, the fact that she managed to swerve into the parking space without any casualties along the way was probably enough for anyone to believe in miracles.

Roger, currently vomiting on the sidewalk pale as a corpse, was no such believer. That, however, was not Chloe’s problem. The incapacitated police officer could only muster the strength to peer over the hood of his squad car, watching Chloe take off towards the stadium like the sky over it wasn’t turning into a colour straight out of hell. Any words to cry for her to stop were quickly drowned out by his next heave.

Chloe wasn’t trying to get Roger fired; she was sure her daddy would be very understanding of Roger’s position. But, just in case, it wasn’t like Chloe was going to tell her father about this little act anyway.

Chloe ducked under the red ‘staff only’ tape—well, ripped through was more accurate—that wrapped around the car park and sprinted straight toward the stadium’s private access entrance. As a born VIP, she knew that there was always a private entrance for someone of her status.

Though, she usually had a limo parking right in front of it instead of requiring her to sprint for the first time in her life, in heels. She wasn’t even sure if her legs were working properly at this point; adrenaline had fully taken the wheel.

The closer she got, the worse it looked. The sky overhead had turned a deep, pulsing red, like an open wound. Energy crackled along the stadium’s curved dome as speakers around the structure buzzed with residual static. And at the top, near the open-air ring above the field, were the flashes of light sounding off with the booms of explosions.

The security door in front of her was sealed tight. Chloe pounded on it once, then screamed at the intercom: “HELLO?! Emergency! Important person outside, in danger of missing the entire plot!”

No response.

She gritted her teeth. “Oh, fine.”

The door was reinforced to withstand people, but Chloe decided to test if it was reinforced to withstand the brick she kept in her purse for emergencies. Her hand dipped into her purse, fingers brushing past her wallet and lip gloss until they closed on the rough edge of her chosen blunt instrument.

Yanking it out of her bag, she immediately jumped up to smash it through the glass porthole on the door. It took a few swings, but Chloe didn’t spend all those years constructing elaborate pranks to destroy her rivals’ lives without learning how to make doors her bitch and privacy a suggestion. Soon enough the glass was completely shattered and dusted off the hole. What took longer was Chloe’s attempts to wriggle through the hole.

Apparently, she wasn’t as tiny as she thought; but she was still perfectly proportioned! It was the hole’s fault for being a tight fit, why wouldn’t you make the hole in your door person-sized?

Anyway, none of that mattered, and certainly none of it would be repeated when she told Sabrina the amazing story of how she saved the day. What mattered was that Chloe was inside, and a minute later she was breaking out into the stands, and it was time to get shit done.

Chloe shoved open the last access door and emerged into the stands—only to be hit by the deafening roar of the crowd.

She winced and covered her ears. “Okay, ow. Can we not scream like it’s a clearance sale at Gabriel?”

But even through her own sarcasm, she couldn’t ignore how wrong everything looked.

The audience—packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands—was cheering like lunatics, hands thrown in the air, eyes glassy and unfocused. Every single person looked pale, drained, as if someone had run a black-and-white filter across the stadium. Skin tones were washed out, lips gray, pupils barely dilated. They clapped and shouted and swayed to a beat that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

No one looked at her. No one noticed her.

She slid between two men in business suits, trying not to gag as she brushed a hand against one of their arms—it was cold, like touching a mannequin fresh out of the freezer. “Ew. Ew. EW.”

She pushed forward, navigating her way down the stairs, hugging the shadows near the railing to avoid being caught on any cameras.

Getting close enough to a free spot, she peered out onto the field below to find that stadium turf was gone. In its place was something straight out of a sci-fi nightmare. The ground had cracked open, concrete split and lifted into jagged, uneven terrain. Spires of black metal jutted upward like the bones of some buried giant, flickering with red energy veins that pulsed to the rhythm of some terrible heartbeat.

Ladybug’s yo-yo snapped through the air, deflecting the word ‘BOOOOOOOOOORING’ as she rolled under another blast and countered with a whip-crack lash. She was bleeding somewhere—Chloé could see it from here—but she was still going, face set in absolute focus.

Before Ladybug could catch her breath, Volpina seemed to appear from thin air to aim a spinning kick across Ladybug’s face.

Wait, Ladybug and Volpina were enemies now? Damn, what did Chloe miss? And why did Volpina look so ugly? Ah, what the hell, she never liked that foxy twerp anyway.

Luckily for Ladybug, Volpina’s attack was halted by some weird blue old lady rushing up to intercept. Smurf Woman caught Volpina’s leg and slammed the fox down into the ground, but that left her open for Hawkmoth to charge in and drive his knee into her stomach.

Ew, why was Hawkmoth all sparkly?

Chloe’s head tilted. “Okay, what in the Lady Gaga is going on here?”

But she didn’t have time for more questions, because something else caught her eye—a floating platform, suspended by propellers and wrapped in LED screens and bass-pumping subwoofers. It hovered above the field like a sinister DJ booth turned imperial command post.

And at the centre of it—

“Nino?!”

Her voice was swallowed by the noise, but her heart slammed against her chest as she saw him. Or rather, saw what he’d become. Some weird heart-themed techno suit had replaced his usually simple, but cute, outfit, covering up all his best features. She couldn’t even see his adorable turtle-shaped face with that ugly visor in the way.

But she knew it was him, she could see him, in her minds eye, under all of it. And if that didn’t confirm her worst fears about her feelings, nothing would.

“What’s up, Paris? It’s DJ Disaster here, giving our home team the backing track they deserve!”

More roars, more screams, nothing that was pleasant on Chloe’s ears.

In the next instant, Ladybug got the upper hand on a distracted Hawkmoth, propelling herself off one of the pillars and turning herself into a speeding bullet that slammed into Hawkmoth’s chest. Hawkmoth was yanked back by the force of the blow, tearing up the ground as he passed, before tumbling into an unsuspecting Volpina along the way. Their journey ended with them both face down at the base of another pillar.

Boo’s were screamed from the crowd, amplified through DJ Disaster’s speakers. He stroked his chin, shaking his head at the ‘shameful’ display of the heroes.

“I don’t know about you folks, but that was a cheap shot. I don’t think these buzzkills have any game at all.” He paused to let the crowd roar to life before he started running his fingers across his soundboard, kicking up a new beat into gear, “But don’t worry! I have the perfect track to get us back on track.”

The beat hit so hard that it was physically visible, multiple tubes drained DJ Disaster of some swirling purple goo and fed it into the hover platform. And then, waves of crackling energy escaped the platform, stretching across the sky and out of sight in pules that synched up with the beat.

It took a moment for Chloe to realize the point of it, when Volpina and Hawkmoth pushed themselves back to their feet, the energy from DJ Disaster now feeding into them, purifying them of their wounds, making their muscles bulge and smoothing over any irritation from the fight to push them back into that pure joyful state.

Wonderful. An akuma that pumps people full of magic healing steroids.

In that moment, Chloé Bourgeois—queen bee of student government, breaker of friendships, occasional emotional disaster—realized something terrible.

She had no idea what the hell she was going to do.

---

Hawkmoth was bad enough on his own, Volpina by his side was an exercise in becoming a living ping-pong ball; the both of them freed from their restraints and out for blood was a nightmare Ladybug had never considered.

Fighting Volpina was like fighting the air itself, a constant game of paranoia between every blow as she desperately scraped her memory to find out what was out of place in the environment before Volpina materialized before her to kick her down. She was never fast enough to do anything other than react, than stumble back, than throw her hands up and hope for the best.

As the fight drew on, dread flooded Ladybug’s stomach at the horrifying realisation that touched her; Volpina was spamming illusions. Sure, Ladybug knew that Volpina had somehow broken her limiters and used her abilities more than once in a fight, but Ladybug also trusted Volpina to know her limits. But now, blinded by joy and devotion to Heartbreaker, there was no consideration for that, just what would get the job done.

Watching Volpina and Hawkmoth rise to their feet, rejuvenated by DJ Disaster’s music, Ladybug took the opportunity to whirl on Heartbreaker.

“You need to tell Volpina to stand down!” she cried out across the field, “You’re killing her!”

Heartbreaker bore no sympathy or understanding, only a snarling, predatory smile. “You’re the one pounding her.”

“You don’t understand, using our miraculous abilities multiple times, especially for evil purposes; it can destroy our bodies.” She felt her fingers for a fist, stabbing her knuckles into her side, “if she keeps this up… if you keep letting her use her abilities…”

The response from the supervillain was to kick up a bottle into the air and then punt it across the field with her guitar used like a baseball bat, in an attempt to smash Ladybug with it.

“You mean if you keep resisting us.” She laughed, “Let me tell you something even more worrying; that wonderful akuma ability of our DJ up there? Yeah, it has one drawback; every use drains him.”

Ladybug’s jaw set in tight, “Nino, no!”

“That’s right, Bug. Every minute you fight this; you’re killing these poor people. So, why don’t you just lay down and accept your fate?”

If Mayura had been a second late in tackling Ladybug to the ground, Hawkmoth’s blade would have made a clean slice through Ladybug’s neck. Despite the joyful surface, the precision and power of Hawkmoth’s blade when he no longer cared about keeping to his style was not to be underestimated.

It was enough to leave a fearful thought to Ladybug, imaging how short her superhero career would have been if Hawkmoth was this ruthless from the start.

“Get your head in the game, Kid!” Mayura spat as they tumbled down, fan wildly slicing wherever it could to deter either enemy from approaching.

Ladybug felt the mud cling to her throughout the skid, holding her breath until Mayura released her from the protective embrace, “We’re out numbered here. Could really use a sentimonster right now.”

“I’ve been trying,” Mayura grunted, helping Ladybug to her feet, “But our darling glitter prince over there won’t give me any breathing room to create one.”

“There’s no point fighting them,” Ladybug shook her head, “Not when the akuma above is just going to revive them.”

“Then we focus on the DJ.”

“But if we focus on him, we’re going to have those two, and probably Heartbreaker, taking us from behind.”

“Then we go after Heartbreaker directly?”

The two stood back-to-back, moving with each other to push away the next set of blows rushing to meet them. Hawkmoth and Volpina came from all angles, and they made the two work for every deflected strike, but Ladybug and Mayura refused to budge.

“She’s too well covered with all three of them in play,” Ladybug groaned, muttering different theories under her breath, “All their abilities build a solid, cohesive team that cover each other’s bases.”

“What can we do then?”

“Don’t you have any ideas?”

Mayura shrugged, “You and Handsome are the strategists, I just make it happen and add my own flair of common sense.”

“I know we’re stronger together, but splitting up and taking half of their forces with us might be the key here,” Ladybug sighed deeply, already imagining the absence of Mayura covering her back, “DJ Disaster has to have a range, and he can’t focus on both on them if they’re on opposing sides of the field.”

“It would split Heartbreaker’s focus too, maybe it could weaken her connection, help us get through to them,” her voice was quiet, but gained a steady confidence, “if you break the spell on Hawkmoth, that means DJ will be out of the game too. Two birds, one stone.”

“Why am I fighting Hawkmoth?” Mayura asked, shooting Ladybug a narrowed eyed look, “You have more experience fighting him.”

“You have more experience getting through to him. You have an effect on him, one he can’t control, use that to your advantage.” Fire flickered in her voice, forging a sharp edge that lashed out at Mayura as she continued darkly, “Plus, just because I’m forced to fight with you doesn’t mean I don’t trust you to not kill Volpina the first chance you get.”

The silence ushered in afterwards was palpable, keeping Mayura at bay with a loose, contemplative expression until she finally spoke.

“I won’t say I haven’t thought of how much easier that would be,” Mayura hummed, not even sounding offended, “but I’m not that kind of woman. I’m just a thief.”

Ladybug didn’t look back after she said it. There wasn’t time.

“Split on three,” she called, flinging her yo-yo to deflect a scything blow from Volpina’s illusory tail. “One. Two—”

“Three!”

She spun, yanking the yo-yo low and taut as it wrapped around Volpina’s ankle mid-pounce. In a blur, she twisted, heaved, and sent the fox Miraculous holder flying across the field like a discus. Volpina let out a startled yelp as she tumbled through the air, crashing into one of the jagged spires with a clang.

Ladybug barely caught the flash of Mayura’s blue trailing off in the other direction, headed straight for Hawkmoth.

Good luck, she thought grimly. You’re going to need it.

Because she had her own hell to deal with.

Volpina was already up. Of course she was. She landed in a three-point crouch, golden eyes gleaming as her lips curled into a feral grin.

“Rude,” she called out, tilting her head. “You used to be more polite about breakups.”

“Volpina, listen to me—”

But she was already gone.

Ladybug spun on her heel and ducked just in time to avoid a swipe at her neck from behind. Another Volpina shimmered into view, then another to her left, and another dead ahead.

Four.

No—six.

Seven.

Ladybug’s breath hitched. They were circling her. Fast.

Illusions blurred together, tail whips and clawed gloves striking from all directions. Ladybug couldn’t tell which ones were real and which ones were nothing but projections—every time she struck back, her weapon passed through them like smoke.

She ducked, rolled, barely kept her footing as her back hit the cracked earth.

“Volpina, stop!” she shouted, twisting her yo-yo to lash outward and scatter the clones. “You’re going to burn yourself out!”

“You always say that.” One of them giggled—close, to her right.

The real one?

Ladybug turned—but too late. A heel slammed into her side, sending her skidding across the field. She bounced once, rolled twice, and came to a jarring stop near the crumbled remains of a stadium bench.

Her breath wheezed in and out. Her ribs were going to hate her tomorrow.

“I thought you liked strategy, Bugaboo.” Volpina’s voice echoed around her—taunting, distant, overlapping with itself in multiple tones. “But maybe the truth is, you just like control. Everything by your book, everything your way.”

Ladybug climbed to her feet. Her eyes darted around the arena, scanning for any flicker of a shadow out of sync with the rest.

“I’m trying to help you,” she said, her voice steady despite the ache in her limbs. “Heartbreaker’s influence is messing with your head.”

“Oh, I love what she’s done with my head,” Volpina purred, suddenly appearing behind Ladybug like a whisper in the dark. “For once, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to mold myself into some clever trickster or some tragic loner or whoever people want me to be.”

Ladybug spun and lashed out with a leg sweep. It passed through the illusion.

Volpina’s voice was behind her again, closer this time. “She gave me freedom. Real, honest-to-God freedom. And you’re trying to take that away. Again.”

“I’m trying to save you!”

“From what, exactly?” Another illusion leaned over her shoulder, faux-sympathetic. “From being happy?”

“You’re not happy. You’re—You’re losing yourself!”

“Oh, and being ‘myself’ ever did me any favors? You don’t get it, Ladybug. I’ve spent my whole life playing parts just to keep people from hating me. So, if this new me is just a spell, then good. Because it’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I wasn’t lying.”

Ladybug’s chest heaved as she took a step back. Another illusion closed in.

And another.

And another.

“I’m not trying to make you into anything,” Ladybug said, gripping her yo-yo tight. “I just want you to live.”

She lunged, yo-yo whipping out in a wide arc—shattering three illusions in a single sweep.

“Because I don’t care who you want to be,” she shouted. “I just want there to be a you left when this is all over!”

Another.

Another.

Another.

It was an army, a flash food of bodies, too many to keep track of, too many to hit. They all closed in on her, a synchronized laugh bellowing into the night, all staring at her with that same joyful snarl, cheering for her demise.

Another.

Another.

Another.

What was she supposed to do? Was this really the end? Would Volpina be able to feel anything for what she was about to do?

Another.

Another.

An-

A flash of silver swept over the army, eradicating all the illusions the moment it swatted the real Volpina out of the sky like a bug. A dark figure came crashing down to drive his knees into Volpina’s sternum and plant her ass in the ground, before springboarding off of her to land in front of Ladybug.

“I leave for a few weeks and you ladies are already at each other’s throats,” he shook his head, extending his hand to Ladybug, “When will you two learn that my hearts already taken and there’s no point fighting over me?”

She didn’t know whether it was the Ladybug or Marinette part of her that was tempted to kiss Chat Noir in that moment.

---

Pain to Chloe was skinning her knee when she fell off her bike, or bonking her head on a doorway when she wore heels, or burning her mouth when she drank hot chocolate too fast. It was never like this, it never involved blood seeping down the side of her throat from a new patch of torn skin hid under her once pristine golden locks.

It had happened so quickly. DJ Disaster’s latest groove struck Hawkmoth, a pink bolt of purest lightning escaping his craft and snatching Hawkmoth from the ground. The glittery disaster then aimed another long, insulting word and hurled it at the blue woman, this word shimmering with fancy sparkles and a thick glowing outline. Naturally, smurf lady didn’t want to be flattened by the four syllables of ‘pedestrian’ and dodge out of the way.

Unfortunately, that meant that there was nothing stopping the attack from hitting the stands.

Chloe had awoken curled up at the bottom of the steps, fresh tears seeping into her skin and wails ripped from her throat as that unimaginable feeling flooded her. That pain. That flowing sensation of something physically leaving her body, replacing her warmth with a unique cold that carried on it the blood’s wake.

Through her blurry vision, she found more people in a similar state to her, strew about the stands on their backs, a sickly red forming puddles around them. However, they didn’t cry, they didn’t care, they smiled all the same, as if this pain was a blessing to them. They stared back into the sky, eyes bulging and bloodshot, thanking Heartbreaker for the experience.

Moving at all had become such a chore for Chloe, barely able to unfurl her knees without something screaming for her to stop from the inside. Clamouring onto her knees, throwing herself over the railing just to let something else prop her up, was torture. It was a mixture of stings prickling at her bones and nausea sloshing about in the pit of her stomach. She could taste her own blood, and it repulsed her so. It should have triggered her gag reflex, but her body felt too weak to even be disgusted.

Her hands shook as she clutched the railing, a thin line of crimson trailing from her mouth down to her torn collar. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this small. The world around her was spinning, too bright and too loud, yet muted at the same time. Her breaths came in shuddering gasps, each inhale jagged

She tried to stand. Her legs folded beneath her. A wave of agony ripped up her spine and dropped her flat on her face. She whimpered; teeth clenched against the scream that clawed at her chest. Chloe’s fingers clutched the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white, her nails biting into the chipped metal.

Below, Smurf Lady cried out as Hawkmoth’s blade slashed across her chest, the strike tearing through her sleek indigo dress, blood blooming like a dark flower. She stumbled back, hand pressed to the wound, her fan trembling in her grip.

Volpina went flying seconds later, her body cartwheeling through the air before she crashed clean through one of the stadium’s pillars. The stone cracked and buckled, raining dust and debris down with a thunderous groan. She didn’t get up right away.

Chat Noir stood over Ladybug, who looked worse for wear. Tears ran through the seams of her suit. Her face was bruised, smeared with dirt and blood. Chat’s baton had a splatter across it that didn’t belong to him. Ladybug’s arm hung at her side, stiff and unmoving, and her yo-yo swung limply from the other hand.

Chloe stared, trembling in a thought she’d never considered before.

All those times she watched Ladybug strut away from a battle with her victory pose and smug quip, she had never thought about what came between. What it took to get there. What kind of pain and danger lurked behind the costume and catchphrases.

And now here she was, her own blood drying sticky and warm against her skin, her heart jackhammering inside her chest, her body shaking so hard she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or blood loss.

What was she doing here? Why was she here? She was Chloe Bourgeois, for God’s sake.

She was supposed to be in her suite at the Grand Paris, surrounded by velvet and quiet, sipping overpriced hot chocolate from porcelain while wrapped in the softest blankets money could buy. She was supposed to be above all of this.

Not down here.

Not in this mess.

Her bravado crumbled like ash in her mouth. Her confidence was just a memory. Her ego, that stubborn shield she’d wrapped herself in for years, couldn’t protect her now.

This was real.

This was dangerous.

And she was going to die.

Her eyes darted across the stadium. Every part of her screamed at her to move, to go, to run. She didn’t care if it was cowardly. She didn’t care if someone saw her. She didn’t care if anyone judged her for it. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t stay. She shouldn’t stay.

“I—I have to go,” she whispered, breath hitching as she pushed at the railing. “I can’t—I’m not supposed to be here. I have to get out. I have to leave—now.”

“Nino! Please, you have to stop!” Ladybug’s shriek rattled something in Chole, the pure despair and horror raging in her voice.

Looking up, Chloe just caught sight of DJ Disaster using another flush of power to bring Volpina back into the fight. However, he couldn’t finish the process before collapsing against his controls, letting out a guttural scream of pain as the tubes slurped away at whatever it was taking from him. He grinned through it, of course, laughed at Ladybug’s worry, happily content to killing himself for Heartbreaker.

Nino saw Mirror Mistress nearly slaughter a whole squad of police officers, and still decided to face her down with just a gun he’d never fired in his life.

Alya regularly saw the reality of these battles, the damage, the terror, the risk of it all first hand; and yet she still threw herself into the fray, to report on the battle, and to support Ladybug.

Dupain-Cheng… And Adrien… They ran into that stupid gang war, stayed even when everything went to hell, to help. They didn’t let the risk of certain death get in their way of doing what they wanted to do for the people they cared about.

Even Sabrina, and Luka, and that shady bitch Lila were ready to throw down against some bruisers in a club brawl. And all it took was an energy drink for Sabrina to be willing to damage police property and start tearing up the town.

It was pathetic. It was unacceptable. The more she thought about it, the more it pissed Chloe off. She was Chloe Bourgeois, the queen bee, the crown jewel of Paris. Men wanted to be with her, and women wanted to bee her. She was at the top of every hierarchy, the pinnacle, the peak, the god damn champion. She was better than all these losers, they weren’t good enough o lick her damn boots.

If she was the best…

If she was better….

Then anything these losers could do, she could do too. A villain. A hero. A rock star. A fighter. She could do it all, because she was Chloe Bourgeois and she was a fucking star.

Her pride surged up to eclipse her fear with it’s light, as well as most of her thinking in general, allowing it to push her to going over the edge of the railing. It was a short fall, and muddy enough to be a soft landing. If she was thinking straight, she’d have been horrified at the mud now drenching her shoulder, but there was only one thing on her mind, her target; Nino.

Lumbering to her feet, she found that her heels were terrible on the soft grass and, without a second thought, kicked them off before they could hold her back. She broke into a sprint, barely noting how the worst and coldest muck now sunk through her socks, ignoring how her lungs puffed and huffed for air, spared not a care for her mother’s voice in her head decrying her.

She ran. Against all odds, she ran and she fucking made it to the pillar. Her brain was operating in the short term, there was no overarching plan, just get to Nino. Step 1, get close. Now that she was close, step 2 was get closer. In a very ill-thought-out train of immediate gratification, she figured that she needed to get higher, and so she jumped up onto the side of the pillar and dug her fingers into the grooves.

Fortunately, the jagged indents and patchwork surface of the pillar made for plenty of points for her to grab a hold of to pull herself up. Battles unfolded below her, the world lost in explosions, screaming and guitar solos. She paid these things no mind. She had to block them out, push aside every single thing in this world that would steal her courage and shatter her delusion, leave herself with only the mission and her full hearty belief that she could pull this off.

She never even questioned the fact that Heartbreaker’s magic music didn’t seem to affect her at all.

The climb was agony. Her arms screamed, her bloodied shoulder throbbed, and every jagged edge she gripped scraped her palms raw. Her body was already battered, already protesting, but her pride had taken the wheel—and pride didn’t care if it had to drive a corpse across the finish line.

Her nails caught a sharp outcropping. She almost slipped—almost. She let out a grunt, yanked herself higher, the mud sliding off her shirt, her ponytail clinging to her neck like wet ropes. She didn’t know what she looked like right now, but if there was a mirror nearby, she’d probably scream. Not because she looked bad, she never looked bad, but because she looked feral. Wild-eyed. Determined. Terrifying.

Another heave. Another burst of shaky strength.

She pulled herself over the edge of the cracked pillar—and promptly collapsed onto a makeshift ledge looking over the battlefield. Still, Chloe steadied herself, she couldn’t afford to fall apart now, not when she was so close.

DJ Disaster’s craft looped in erratic spirals overhead, spewing neon lights and corrupted beats into the air. The music was pure distortion now—heartbreaking and triumphant all at once—an anthem of… Uh… It was annoying and noisy, and getting on her nerves. Which was an insult to Chloe and an insult to Nino since she knew his music sounded better than this.

She waited.

Perched on the edge of the pillar, arms braced on her shaking knees, breath shallow. The pain in her ribs had settled into something sharp, something she couldn’t ignore—but she forced herself to stay still, to time this right. DJ Disaster’s station was circling back around. Lower. Closer. Closer.

Now.

Chloe launched herself off the edge.

Wind screamed past her ears. Her stomach turned inside out. Her arms flailed until she remembered what she was doing, twisting in the air to aim her descent—

CRASH.

She hit the deck of the flying DJ rig, skidding across the metal and nearly rolling right off the other side. Her breath left her lungs in a brutal gasp. Pain thundered through her entire body. She curled inward, coughing, head spinning, lungs fighting to reboot.

Above her, the music hiccupped.

“…What the hell?”

Chloe, still wheezing, dragged herself into a sitting position like a drunk trying to argue with gravity. “Y-yeah,” she rasped, pushing hair out of her face with a trembling, bloody hand. “Hi. Sup.”

DJ Disaster turned, blinking in stunned disbelief, but didn’t crack his smile. Instead, he reached for the microphone. “Well, here’s a heads up my fellow Heart Lovers out there, we have a fan whose come all the way up here to see how the magic’s made in person!”

“Fan? Boy, I’m the… the… the celebrity guest, and I’m- Ow, my back… I’m about to raise the roof on your whole shit-show.”

“Pretty and a big personality,” he whistled into the microphone to the cheer of the crowd, “We love to see it, don’t we Paris?”

He held the mic down to her, something playing behind his eyes as he did so that Chloe couldn’t quite place, “Let’s hear it then, girl. What’s your bomb-ass plan gonna be?”

“My plan…” she coughed again, flinching as her bruised ribs burned with every breath. “My plan is to… save your stupid, reckless, fashion-backwards self… because I’m not a loser.”

Chloé’s eyes squinted through the pain as she tilted her head toward him. “Also,” she added with an exhausted, disdainful grunt, “this outfit? The shoulder pads? Tragic.”

“…Did you almost get yourself killed jus to-”

“Shut up, Disaster,” she snapped, groaning as she tried to get up. “I don’t need a lecture from a man whose evil villain persona looks like a rejected Tron backup dancer.”

His jaw dropped. “That ain’t styling, Girl. What’s your issue with-”

“You look like you’re trying to sell discount energy drinks at Coachella,” she barked back, finally managing to get to her knees, even as her whole body screamed at her. “For your sake, and the sake of taste, I’m gonna… Stop you. And save you. At the same time.”

“You got some gusto, Goldilocks.” He came down on her like a hammer, slamming her into the controls and sending the craft rocketing around the stadium, “But at the end of the day, you’re just human. What are you gonna do? Scream at me some more?”

“I’m not good with words,” her voice came out in slurred coughs, righting herself against the wall and staring the menace down, “in fact, 90% of the stuff that comes out of my mouth is junk.”

She knew exactly what she was planning to do, it was just a matter of mustering the confidence. If she pulled this off, there was no taking it back… Then again, if she didn’t pull it off, she was dead and there was really no coming back.

Urg, I just hope the awkwardness afterwards doesn’t kill me.

“I speak with actions, ‘cus I’m an active sort of girl.” Her arms pulled back, propping up her elbows on the edge, “And… Well… This always works in the movies.”

She took a deep breath, and then she threw herself at him.

DJ Disaster was taken by complete surprise by the sudden rush, hit with all the weight of a young woman on a mission crashing against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her knees dug into his ribs and her momentum carried him back. There was nothing he could do; with all of his akuma power, he was powerless to stop her pinning him down.

With a kiss.

Chloe’s lips clamped down on his and refused to budge, smothering him until she’d sucked all the air from his lungs, until his legs crumpled and let her roll on top of him, until his fingers moved to brush through her hair, until his body surged with a real, raw sort of joy that no artificial miraculous magic could match.

Through sweat and tears, through slobber leaking from their amateur technique, the two laid in that cockpit wrapped in the other’s embrace until the hearts in DJ Disaster’s eyes stopped being literal, and became metaphorical.

“Chloe…” he mewed softly, their lips breaking away with a loud pop, breathless as if he were taking in the fresh air for the first time.

She was not ready for the way he looked at her, flushed with a cut cheek where her teeth had collided with his skin as she clumsily tried to find his lips. His visor was cracked open from the impact of her head and, despite the fresh headache rocking her mind, it was all worth it to see his eyes stare back at her, completely entranced by her.

Her touch was surprisingly tender, even to her, as she reached down for his cheek. It was difficult to move her lips, opening them just to speak felt like fighting against invisible strings.

Still, she tried to speak, “Nino, I-”

And then, of course, the out-of-control flying platform with no one to guide it crashed into the ground.

Notes:

Next Time - A True Kind of Love:

"Stay down, Fraudulent Mrs Fox." Chat's baton whirled into place, held out in front of him, tucked against his hip, a pool cue ready to bust some balls, "You're in the way of us rescuing my dad."

Ladybug tried to shuffle around him, but Chat seemed to naturally get in her way at every turn. She found herself huffing at this sudden burst of protectiveness just because she was bleeding.

"Chat," she groaned, pulling on his shoulder, "your dad will be fine now that we don't have the akuma powering them up. Mayura's taking care of him."

His head ducked forward with an almost animalistic growl rumbling from his chest, "That's why I'm worried!" he cried out, casually extending his baton to bonk Volpina on the head as he turned his head to Ladybug. "W-We can't trust her to do anything! How do we know she won't unhinge her jaw and eat him or something?"

Words failed Ladybug for the moment. Volpina dived in to try and catch Chat unawares, but Ladybug swiftly stepped in to smack her away with the yoyo. It was strange how casually confident and powerful she felt the moment Chat showed up on her side, they almost seemed to empower each other. Still, her focus was on making sense of Chat's hang up.

"Do you think that's something women can just... Do?" she asked.

Chat crossed his arms, pouting, "Only the ugly, no-good dad-stealing ones."

"Chat-"

"She's already a thief, tell me I'm wrong!"

Chapter 48: Heartbreaker: A True Kind Of Love

Summary:

It's up to Chat, Ladybug and Mayura to knock some sense into the brainwashed Volpina and Hawkmoth. Overall, Heartbreaker is not having a good day.

“C-Chat!?” she gaped, crashing against his chest.

Ladybug had to take a moment just to feel up his arm, proving to herself that he was there, that he wasn’t Volpina’s illusion or her own desperate hallucination. She hadn’t realized just how long it had been since she last saw him, since he left her bedroom still limping as he steeled himself to face his father’s wrath. No visits, no texts, nothing other than Hawkmoth’s assurance that he was still around.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You okay, Bug?”

It was a softer tone than he’d ever used for Ladybug. She’d only heard it when he talked to Marinette, when he wrapped his arms around her that night and told her she was worth getting a building dropped on top of him. It was fine for him to use it for the plain-old civilian, it wasn’t something eh should be using for his enemy.

But she didn’t call him out for it just yet.

“No,” she breathed out, “This is the worst concert I’ve ever been to.”

“Good thing I came to liven the joint up,” he turned his body outward, one arm still grasping her back, “You might not know this, but I’m quite the musician myself.”

They watched Volpina stumble back into view, nursing the thin steam of blood running down from where Chat’s baton had struck her across the eye. It looked painful. Not in that the wound hurt, but in that Heartbreaker’s influence forced Volpina’s face to retain that forced smile throughout it all, the edges of her lips twitching in protest of the pain.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, Chatty Boy,” Volpina growled, her tone flickering between irritation and elation, “I thought gentle-cats weren’t supposed to raise a paw against a lady.”

Chat shrugged, “Hey, find me someone on this planet that would call you a lady and I’ll apologize.”

It took a moment, but Ladybug managed to shake herself free from her clouded thoughts surrounding Chat’s arrival, surging forward before he could take another step and pulling him back.

“Chat, wait, you don’t know what you’re up against,” she pleaded with him. “Heartbreaker, she has the pig miraculous, and she makes this song, and your dad’s-”

“Do you think I just saw the light show and wondered in here, Buggabo?” He laughed, poking her forehead, “I’ve got a good idea of everything going on, thank you very much. I would have gotten here sooner, but I had to make a quick stop to knock some sense into an old buzzard.”

“So, you know that your dad-”

“Has become a mega fan of a washed-up psycho guitarist?” Chat’s jaw tightened, “Yeah, I may be chipper right now for appearances sake but trust me; I’m pissed.”

The howl of machinery washed over the night, bringing everyone’s attention, even the hypnotized Volpina, up above. DJ Disaster’s little UFO stage, lighting up the stadium like a mobile disco ball, was careening through the air in jagged, aimless zig-zag movements. Voices were coming out of the speakers, but nothing that could be made out.

In the moment, it didn’t really matter why. It just mattered that the craft smashed through one of the metal pillars and crashed into the far side of the stadium, leaving a plume of putrid smoke in it’s wake. DJ Disaster was down.

But that also meant…

“Nino!” Ladybug gasped.

Chat’s posture stiffened, rounding on her with wide eyes, “What do you mean, Nino!?” he cried out.

“Nino- Uh, Heartbreaker had Hawkmoth akumatized some kid to boost and heal her victims, that was his DJ station that just crashed.”

Gritted teeth peeled open Chat’s sneer as he looked towards the crash site, “Okay, maybe there’s some things I didn’t know yet.” He paused, fiddling with his baton, unsure, “He… He’ll be okay, right?”

“He’s akumatized, I’m sure he had enhanced endurance,” Ladybug looked down at her feet, her voice sounding less confident by the minute, “A-And my miraculous cure will heal any damages, so…”

“Right,” Chat cleared his throat, “We should go after my father first, then. Once we break him free of Heartbreaker, he’ll undo the akumatizations and that will heal Nino of any damage.”

Just then, Chat’s ear twitched, his gaze met Ladybug’s, and somehow she knew just what he was conveying without any words needed. Volpina had taken this chance to charge at them, splitting into multiple Volpina’s once more, despite the original Volpina being the obvious one leading the charge.

Ladybug scaled him with ease, his body instinctively curling with her climb to eliver her into his hands, raised as the perfect springboard. With his assistance, she was launched into the air in a wide arc that took her far above the Volpina army.

And right into the real Volpina hiding up above.

Ladybug thrusted her feet out and shattered the illusion, the cracks materializing out of nowhere making it look like she’d smashed the air itself. Her heel found it’s home digging into Volpina’s cheek, knocking the woman down and, at the same time, grounding Ladybug enough into the woman’s body to pull herself in and jump off of her.

There was never any question whether Chat would catch her, just like there was never any question that they both knew what the other had been planning. His baton shot past her to lay an additional strike against the falling Volpina’s stomach, coming dangerously close to grazing her head, and she didn’t worry for a second.

She fell in a perfect arc, landing in Chat Noir’s outstretched arm and smoothly falling against his shoulder as his arm secured her waist. He was her ex-partner, the one that betrayed her to run off with his father, the one that left her with all these trust and abandonment issues; and yet her body defied all logic and trusted him in a way it never trusted Volpina.

Gently, he set her down, their faces lingering inches from each other for far too long. His eyes focused on a small wound on her collar, one he hadn’t spotted until now; the downside of having a predominantly red costume is that it covered up damage well. Something shifted in his gaze as he saw the blood, his breath hitching and his fingers softly squeezing her. He rose back up, placing her behind him as he returned to facing down Vopina.

"Stay down, Fraudulent Mrs Fox." Chat's baton whirled into place, held out in front of him, tucked against his hip, a pool cue ready to bust some balls, "You're in the way of us rescuing my dad."

Ladybug tried to shuffle around him, but Chat seemed to naturally get in her way at every turn. She found herself huffing at this sudden burst of protectiveness just because she was bleeding.

"Chat," she groaned, pulling on his shoulder, "your dad will be fine now that we don't have the akuma powering them up. Mayura's taking care of him."

His head ducked forward with an almost animalistic growl rumbling from his chest, "That's why I'm worried!" he cried out, casually extending his baton to bonk Volpina on the head as he turned his head to Ladybug. "W-We can't trust her to do anything! How do we know she won't unhinge her jaw and eat him or something?"

Words failed Ladybug for the moment. Volpina dived in to try and catch Chat unawares, but Ladybug swiftly stepped in to smack her away with the yoyo. It was strange how casually confident and powerful she felt the moment Chat showed up on her side, they almost seemed to empower each other. Still, her focus was on making sense of Chat's hang up.

"Do you think that's something women can just... Do?" she asked.

Chat crossed his arms, pouting, "Only the ugly, no-good dad-stealing ones."

"Chat-"

"She's already a thief, tell me I'm wrong!"

“I hate to interrupt,” Heartbreaker’s stood on the edge of the stage, teeth bared as fangs as she glared down at Chat, “But I don’t believe Ladybug’s boy toy has a ticket to this performance.”

Chat pulled his baton back, slotting it between both his shoulders, pressing the cool metal to the back of his neck, “You as a dumb as you look, Lady? I’m a criminal, I don’t need an invite to come and crash this rotten concert.”

Heartbreaker’s grin soured, whipping her guitar up in front of her, “I’d be careful how you talk to me, Kitty. After all, I could be your new stepmother soon enough.”

There wasn’t an instant retort to that, Ladybug just watched as that dark look returned to Chat’s eye, the same one he bore when he went after Dauntless. If he’d been livid at Marinette and Alya getting hurt, Ladybug could only imagine how much tension was brewing underneath when his own father was on the line.

Briefly, Ladybug tried to imagine if it was one of her parents under Heartbreaker’s sway, being turned into some slave with no choice but to let some vile puppeteer turn them into their unwilling date. Treating them like dolls. Would she have that fury, or would she keep her cool?

The baton came out in full force, shooting out in a sudden sweep and stopping just inches from Heartbreaker’s head. Right in between her wide, alarmed eyes.

“Listen, Lady,” Chat growled, “Ima make it real simple for you; release my dad, and the rest of your fans, right now. Or I have a cataclysm reserved specifically for you.”

Heartbreaker tried not to look too scared of how quickly the weapon had come for her, but even if she had managed to steel her expression, Ladybug knew that, without something to hide behind, Heartbreaker was a wimp. All she could do was glare at Chat, bashing away his baton on her stumble back, and stall for Volpina to intervene.

“J-Jumping to death threats already?” she asked, running her fingers up the side of her instrument, “I thought you costumed freaks liked to have fun. Don’t you want to hear what drives everyone so crazy about my music? I think you’ll like it.”

Ladybug laughed, “Save it, Pepper; Chat already knows what your music can do.”

“Shut your mouth, you little-”

“Go ahead,” Chat shrugged.

Ladybug froze, “W-What!?”

Heartbreaker blinked, “Wait, seriously?”

The baton returned to Chat’s hand, twirling it casually between his hands, like he was distracting himself in a boring waiting room rather than leaving himself wide open to a serial killer.

“I mean, I’m kind of curious now,” he tilted his head up, “And I’m thinking ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’.”

“You could get brainwashed, you idiot!” Ladybug, and even Volpina in a flicker of lucidity, screeched.

“Nah. I won’t.” he had the gall to shoot Ladybug a cheeky grin, “I’m too cool for that.”

“H-He’s right?” Heartbreaker stumbled over her words, still coming to grips that she was actually going to pull this off. She cleared her throat, rushing forward to greet Chat and smile oh-so sweetly at him, “He’s such a cool cat, I’m sure it would take more than some magic melodies to crack a brain so sophisticated and complex.”

“Chat, I swear to God, I will never forgive you-”

Volpina tackled Ladybug to the ground, forcing the heroine to instead focus on pushing away her partner whilst Chat made the dumbest decision in history.

Ladybug struggled under Volpina’s weight, kicking and bucking, her yoyo swinging wildly to try and dislodge the fox-themed menace as she was pinned to the ground. Every fiber of her screamed to get free, to stop what was happening.

Heartbreaker was already raising her guitar.

“This gift is for you, Kitty.”

The strings lit up, pink energy pouring off them like venom, notes shimmering with sickly-sweet harmony as she plucked out a haunting melody. The music didn’t echo like normal -- it carved through the air in thick waves, a hypnotic pulse laced with the power of the Pig Miraculous, an enchantment built to warp the heart and crush resistance.

Ladybug’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Chat Noir stand still at the foot of the stage. His body went stiff. His baton fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a cold clatter.

He stood there. Quiet. Motionless.

Heartbreaker’s fingers moved faster now, plucking notes with renewed glee. “Come on, handsome, don’t hold back,” she cooed, stepping down toward him. “Let that cool little brain of yours melt just a little. Trust me -- it feels amazing.”

Still, Chat didn’t move.

Still, he didn’t blink.

He just looked up at her, head tilted slightly, mouth twitching.

“I can’t hear it.”

Heartbreaker paused. “What?”

She took another step forward. The sound grew louder. The pink waves flared, more visible, more desperate. They surrounded him in a shimmering cloud of glittering manipulation, a siren song meant to make anyone drop to their knees.

Ladybug froze under Volpina, jaw slack. That didn’t make sense -- she could hear it. Everyone could hear it. Everyone did. The entire stadium, the civilians, even Volpina’s twitching smile showed the pull.

A spark. Green. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. It flickered just over his ears, like static from a charged wire.

“Oh, right,” Chat said casually, stepping up the stage, “did I forget to mention that I can passively cataclysm certain sounds now?”

Heartbreaker stumbled back, her grip on the strings faltering. “Wha-”

Chat lunged.

He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, seizing her by the throat with one hand before she could scream. Her guitar clattered to the floor behind her.

“A little trick your buddy Yellowjacket helped me realize,” he growled, his grip tightening as Heartbreaker choked and kicked, “while I was destroying that big machine you had them working on.”

His grin stretched so wide it could rip the seams of his lips, yanking Heartbreaker close enough to see the shadows make his teeth look like fangs, “Now, I believe I said something about releasing all your hostages, or else.”

---

The first time Mayura had fought Hawkmoth, she’d been unprepared for the force of a Gabriel who wasn’t playing around. This time around, she knew what she was fighting against, and she’d had more opportunity to train her efficiency with her miraculous form. No, it didn’t stop him from being a fierce fighter, but it did put them on even ground. At the very least, she wasn’t spending most of the fight on the back foot.

There was an even tempo to their back-and-forth. She’d catch his blade on her fan, twist around it and, with his arm locked in the clash, take the opportunity to strike at his hips with her heel. He’d throw his back into pulling their interlocked weapons up, sending her off kilter for a moment and allowing him to soldier forward, knocking her back with his shoulder. Give and take, no one got too far, nor too close; a perfectly balanced playing board.

The jubilation hypnosis only seemed to add a dizziness to his fighting style, where he’d sway, uncertain yet still agile, through her attacks and opt to grin through hits than trying to dodge them. She had to assume that the joy overrode some of his pain receptors, maybe even made the pain equivalent to a burst of dopamine.

The real problem was DJ Disaster’s ever annoying presence, working to undo any shred of progress Mayura or Ladybug made with his powers. She couldn’t go after him directly, that would just force a 2v1 situation where the bigger numbers could heal and buff themselves, but if she managed to bring Gabriel back to his senses it would kill two birds with one stone as he could just snap the akuma away.

Honestly, though, she figured that this match up was the worst they could have gotten. Heartbreaker’s team had enough advantages already, but this set up inherently put Mayura and Ladybug at a disadvantage because both of them would be pulling their punches against their loved ones. As annoying as Gabriel could be sometimes, and as much as she wanted to give him an earful for ending up in this situation, Nathalie had no desire to ever harm the man; even when he was trying to kill her.

So, even so long into their fight, where his blade had shredded through her costume and drawn blood, she still opted to make pleas during their next clash.

“You don’t want to do this,” she said, peering through the gaps in her fan where Hawkmoth’s blade pushed back against her.

“On the contrary,” he said smoothly, his smile beaming as he inhaled sharply with that relieved twinkle in his eye, “I find fighting you invigorating.”

He pulled back, letting her momentum carry her stumbling past him. He twirled around mid-fall, slamming the head of his cane against the back of her head, leaving her to tumble across the grass.

She managed to land into a kneel position, her leggings torn to shreds and smattered in mud, but the skin not broken yet. He stood over her and, with the joy overpowering all other sense of decorum or shame, he made no effort to hide how his eyes lavished in looking her over.

“All the adrenalin and threat to my person works to distract me from getting lost in your beauty,” Hawkmoth breathed out, his free hand slicking back his hair as his voice rumbled into a light, moaning hum.

Mayura fought a blush and kept telling herself to not get distracted by such a blunt admittance from the master of dancing around the point. It was not helping that, in straightening himself out and pushing his arm up, he was drawing easy attention to the way his new uniform split apart in the torso area, inviting Mayura’s eye to welcome the v shaped strip of exposed chest that plunged down to his stomach.

Stay on target, Mayura! Nathalie admonished her in her head, He’s not in the right state of mind, and he’s trying to kill us.

Mayura bristled. Hey, he already chose the chest cleavage when he made his punk disguise, I’m allowed to notice…

“My darling Heartbreaker has already been unfortunately irritated by it.”

“…By you getting distracted?”

---

Heartbreaker took hold of Gabriel’s chin, pulling his head down to where she sat in his lap, beaming bright.

She spoke with that dreamy, sing-song cadence that became a sweet melody on his ears, “Dearest Hawky, here in my chair, who of all women do you decree most fare?”

Gazing down at this woman who had become his sole obsession, tracing the curves of her face with his thumb, he could not lie.

Without hesitation, he broke through his smile to say, “Nathalie.”

Heartbreaker immediately fell off his lap and face planted on the floor, “W-What?” She yelped.

But Gabriel didn’t really notice at first, her spell only made him more blind as the genuine joy from reminiscing about Nathalie surged through him.

He sighed, “Sometimes I even forget she’s the same age as me, because… Damn.”

Scrambling to her knees, Heartbreaker roughly grabbed him by the shirt, pouting and breathless, “Not her!”

“Oh.” He paused, but only for a second, patting Heartbreaker on the head, “Mayura?”

Her frustrated fists came down on his knees, the woman making a face that suspiciously did not look joyful, “Seriously!?”

Volpina looked up from her nails, squinting, “Am I the only one who noticed he hasn’t mentioned his wife yet?”

“I assumed we weren’t counting the dead, but yes, she’s prettier than all of you too.”

There may or may not have been a drum set that was thrown across the room.

---

“…You could say that.” Hawkmoth leaned over their clash, chin resting on the top of her fan without fear so he could bring himself closer to her face, “The point is that I can imagine no better alternative than this.”

Mayura used her vantage point as leverage, hooking the blade on her fan and shoving both to the side, forcing her to lean in close just to keep on the pressure, her forehead against his, “You could just surrender.”

He laughed, “And disappoint my beloved?”

“She’s not your anything,” Mayura growled, though whether it was out of protective instinct or possessive anger she could not say, “She doesn’t care about you.”

She topped off her scathing observation with a jab, driving her knee into his stomach and, whilst he was still feel, twirling her body into a spin kick and knocking him back a few paces. Hawkmoth cried out in pain, but managed it well enough, falling back on shaky legs and leaving his shoulders shuddering. His head rolled forward, staring at the ground, his expression hidden from her; all she could see was the blood he spat out onto the grass.

“Of course not, nobody does,” his maddening laughter increased, trying to drown out the bitterness still clinging to his heart, “I don’t need her to care about me to care about her.”

More and more, that smile became so much clearer in how forced it was, how magic was the only thing keeping Hawkmoth’s honest scolding scowl from burning through. Gabriel was a unique victim for Heartbreaker, his inner demons fought her push for love and joy every step of the way, the darkness of his heart a piece of work even for the light of a miraculous.

“I care about you, damn it!” Mayura cried out, throwing her arms around herself, “And so does your son.”

He didn’t reply immediately, the only shift in mood she could see was that he stopped shaking. There was a war on two fronts in his heart; the real Gabriel was trying to find some excuse to reject her honest affection, while the pig miraculous’ influence was trying to find a way to still keep her as the enemy.

Finally, his head rose, a bloody lip quivering against his own smile, desperate to frown, “Then why won’t you just let me be happy?”

He whipped his cane out in a forward jab, with it followed small projectiles of ‘Stop’, ‘Lying’ and ‘Please’ in a spiral of glowing literacy. She threw herself forward into a flip, landing on the ‘t’ in ‘stop’, rolling onto the ‘p’ and long jumping right to the ‘se’ in the final word to reach him.

“This isn’t joy.”

She came down on him so hard that even him throwing up his sword to block her did him no good. Her knees caught his blade and forced it back into his chest, knocking him down to the muck with her seated atop his torso. Quickly, she pushed herself up, throwing her legs back to pin his lower body as her hands sprang from to restrain his arms.

Once again, she was face-to-face with him.

”You can’t force someone to be happy, no matter how many good vibes and positive thoughts you put in their head; emotions can’t be manufactured.”

She wondered how she sounded to him, if her shrill, broken low cry communicated how desperate she felt, or if she just sounded like a shrieking banshee to him. “You of all people should know that.”

“Then what is this, hm?” his brow trembled, and the heart symbol in his eyes flickered, offering her some small hope, “This… this fulfilment?”

The quiet quiver in his voice gave her pause, hitting her with a chill like no other that kept her rooted in place. He wasn’t struggling against her, not anymore, he was struggling with himself, with the image he needed to maintain.

“I’m content like this, you know?” he hissed, air escaping his dried bruised lips, “I don’t hear it anymore, that little voice that greets me whenever I wake, that tells me what a failure I am and how nothing I do will ever make things right.”

He heaved, as if preparing for a sob that never came, “She’s not there in every reflection asking why I was allowed to live so much longer than her.”

Miraculous jubilation so desperately fought for its hold over him, but the absence of Emilie was too cold a storm to weather at the best of times.

“I don’t have to worry about it anymore, I can just… live.”

Gabriel Agreste had been a man of direction for as long as Nathalie had known him, and when Emilie had passed this direction had become a fixed point. His brow was often furrowed because, no matter the time of day, there was always something heavy on his mind. He never sat idle, he never allowed himself to linger, he was always in work mode, always moving towards something; living was something he’d save for when the mission was done.

He was a corpse to many, and Nathalie would love nothing more than to see him live again. And she had, when he put on the mask, when he got back from his first outing with Adrien, when he and Adrien shared ever silly little quip. She had seen what it was like for Gabriel Agreste to be alive, and this snivelling puddle of denial wasn’t it.

“You’re not content, that’s a load of bullshit and you know it,” she hissed, shoving him down flat in the mud, “There are many things I don’t understand about you, but I know one thing for certain; the worst and best part of you is that damn pride of yours.”

She yanked on his shirt, if only to bring herself close enough to press her lips against his ear. To force him to listen to every word, no matter how much of the mushy sentiment risked making him feel sincere and ruining his grouchy mask.

“You will never be happy, not in this state, not while that part of you is kicking and screaming in frustration that you allowed this to happen,” every word was spoken through bared teeth, almost growling them out, “Your pride will never let you accept this, not when it requires someone else having power over you, not when it distracts you from you mission; you will never accept being a pawn in someone else’s game.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“It should have been me,” he’d said. How many times had he thought that to himself? How many times was he ready to let it all go under some self-inflicted guilt? How long had she let this go on for?

Why would she do this? Why would she try to save him? Why did his life mean anything to her?

Because she owed her life to this man.

Because Adrien and Emilie would never forgive her if she let him go.

Because she was in love with him.

Because he allowed her to live again.

Because under all that bitterness and snideness there was a better man trying to get out.

“Because you’re worth saving,” she declared, barely keeping back the tears as she desperately clung to him, “And I will never let you forget that, you hear me?”

He was worth saving, he was worth everything to her, and to Adrien to; and if she had to spend the rest of her life telling him just so he’d believe it, then she would gladly do so.

However, she didn’t get the chance to do that today.

The moment DJ Disaster’s crashing craft hit the earth, the world became a blur of fire and force.

A shockwave tore through the clearing, a concussive blast that ripped Mayura and Hawkmoth apart like ragdolls. The wind knocked her flat, and the taste of smoke clawed down her throat before she could fully process what had happened. Flames leapt up around the twisted mass of wreckage, casting wild, chaotic shadows in every direction. The trees groaned and snapped. A speaker tower exploded in a shower of sparks. Somewhere, a fog machine squealed its death rattle.

Coughing violently, Mayura crawled forward, fanning away the dense smog with her trembling hand. Her ears rang. Her limbs ached. Her throat burned.

But through it, she heard her.

“Holy crap, we’re alive!”

That unmistakable, too-posh-to-be-panicked voice.

“Chloe?” Mayura wheezed, dragging herself closer, eyes stinging.

From the smoke and flame, she could just make out two figures wriggling free of the mangled, sparking heap of DJ Disaster’s gear. One was slathered in LED strips and broken headphones -- DJ Disaster himself -- and the other was definitely Chloe Bourgeois, coughing into her sleeve, her hair a wreck, her jacket halfway charred, but very much alive.

“You made me crash!” Nino, or what was left of DJ Disaster, complained, voice cracked but coming back to himself.

Chloe shot him an incredulous glare as she stumbled to her feet, dusting soot off her arms with a dramatic flourish. “How is this my fault? I wasn’t the one flying the giant disco death trap!”

“You were distracting the driver! You know, when you-”

Suddenly, Chloe launched herself at him with a shriek, one hand clamping hard over his mouth, her entire face glowing bright red.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she hissed.

Mayura’s brows shot up even as she staggered closer. For someone trying to be stealthy, Chloe was painfully unsubtle, practically tearing every loose object she could find off Nino’s outfit and smashing them on the ground like she was auditioning for a dramatic soap opera fight scene.

That wasn’t the only problem.

A looming silhouette emerged from the haze behind her; tall, hunched, and dishevelled, but radiating that familiar magical pulse. Hawkmoth. His expression was once again obscured by the twisting smile of enforced bliss, but his voice carried an unmistakable urgency.

“DJ Disaster, quick! Boost my power so that I may win this battle!”

Chloe shrieked and dove behind a charred speaker. Nino blinked at the villain before him, awkward and blinking.

“Uh… are you talking to me?”

“Of course I’m talking to you!” Hawkmoth barked, his tone straining between euphoric serenity and rising irritation. “Perhaps that crash knocked out a few of your brain cells, but we have a battle to win!”

Nino looked around to find no one else there to steal Hawkmoth’s attention, then scratched his neck and forced a half-hearted grin.

“Oh, for sure, totally, I can do that, dude,” he said, then spun away, whispering to Chloe, “How does my akuma power work again…?”

Chloe didn’t answer. She was too busy yanking cords and buttons off Nino’s suit, muttering “Nope, not this one,” and snapping plastic between her hands like she was tearing phone cords in a rage.

“Where’s the akumatized object thing?” Chloe hissed, ducking slightly as a piece of Nino’s LED chestplate burst off and landed in the fire.

“I don’t know! I wasn’t paying attention!” Nino snapped back.

“You are useless!” Chloe cried as she grabbed the nearest circuit board and hurling it like a frisbee into the blaze.

“Well just start smashing everything, then maybe we’ll get lucky-”

“Who is that girl with you?”

Both froze.

Hawkmoth’s voice sliced through the smoke, eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion as he stared directly at Chloe.

Chloe immediately threw her hands in the air and screamed at a pitch only dogs should be able to hear. “AH! No one! Nobody! I mean- uh-”

Nino stepped in fast, holding his hands out, visibly sweating. “T-That’s my groupie, dude. She’s just vibing up close and personal, y’know? For the music. Big fan.”

“That’s right!” Chloe declared loudly, striking a pose and grabbing one of Nino’s wristbands with both hands, yanking hard enough to tear it off and chuck it away behind her. “This music is soooo good- like, transcendent, y’know? Just feelin’ it.”

“I just feel like smashing things,” she added through her teeth as she cracked another bracelet under her boot.

“Like, BOOM, amiright?” she threw in, holding up two thumbs, panic in her eyes.

Hawkmoth stared for a long moment, blinking once. Then, his face broke out into a villainous grin, drawing his hand forth like it was wielding a gun. His thumb drew back against his forefinger, ready to snap. A motion Mayura recognised from when Stormy Weather needed a little forceful convincing when she attempted to attack Adrien.

“It’s starting to look like I will need to use more forceful methods to get results out of you-”

Mayura acted quick, tackling Hawkmoth from behind, one arm securing his hand while the other wrapped around his neck and pulled him against her. “Oh no you don’t!”

“Unhand me!” He cried.

Mayura peeked around his arm, crying out at the two stunned teens, “Hurry up and get to smashing, I can’t hold him forever.”

Chloe blew her hair out of her face, crossing her arms and looking back at Mayura unimpressed and almost offended, “We don’t need a smurf to tell us that.”

Mayur returned a flat look, “Why do people keep calling me that?”

“Because you’re fucking blue!”

DJ Disaster let out a triumphant yell, holding the crumpled remains of his vinal record belt buck in his palm. From the shattered shards, the putrid butterfly escaped and with it the visage of DJ Disaster was ripped away and replaced with a scrawnier boy in a wrinkled sweat shirt.

“Ha, found it!” he cried, breathing out a relieved sigh.

Which lasted all of two seconds before he saw the akuma trying to float away.

“Wait-” he sprung forth, clapping his hand over the fleeing akuma, only to end up just short as it darted in a new direction, “Crap, catch that butterfly!”

Mayura, pinned down trying to keep Hawkmoth from breaking free, was forced to sit and watch the two teenagers stumble over one another trying to grab the slippery little magical insect. At one point, Chloe managed to rip off her jacket and used her hood as a net and snatch the akuma out of the sky.

However, she quickly found that it had only been half the battle because the akuma still continued to struggle within it’s cage, beating so hard against the confines of the hood that it began to literally drag Chloe off in different directions.

“Niiiiiiino! Get a jar or something, this thing’s gonna take me places.”

With a yelp, Nino was hot on her heels, desperately sifting through his pockets and bag for anything to help.

“Ladybug makes this look so easy…” he moaned out.

Eventually, a bottle was produced and, with a little coaxing and a lot of rial and error, Nino was stuck holding the bottle flat whilst Chloe physically pushed the akuma down the thin opening of the neck; literally crushing the butterfly in her hand and repeatedly stuffing the butterfly through.

“Get in the water bottle you little shit!” she cried as she screwed the cap on.

The two teens jumped up together and fist bumped, spiking the bottle like it was a basketball and slamming it against the floor. Nino crouched down beside it, watching the squished akuma struggle to beat its wings.

He pulled his eye lid down, grinning like an idiot, “Not so big and mighty now, are you, butterfly?”

“No!” Hawkmoth screamed, “My precious akuma, he was my perfect gift to Heartbreaker!”

Nino stared up at him, shrugging, “I’m sorry, Moth dude, but that costume was not working out for me.”

Hawkmoth continued to make strangled noises, but Mayura managed to tune them out, pressing his face into the mud to muffle him a little as she addressed Nino.

“Nino, right?” she waited for him to node before continuing, “How did you break free of Heartbreaker’s control?”

Chloe came flying in, knocking him over and practically stuffing her fist inside his mouth, “H-He just had some major shock when we crashed! It jolted him out of it or something, heh heh.”

---

Heartbreaker had been having a good day. She got half of the hero team under her spell, she got this bitching stadium to perform in, Dutchy-boy was setting up some sick speakers for her best performance yet, and she got a supervillain, a walking bank account, and a boyfriend all in one.

Now, Heartbreaker was not having a good day. And quite honestly, she had no idea where it had gone wrong.

Her akuma exploded, Volpina was useless, and Hawkmoth couldn’t take five minutes away from ogling that blue bitch long enough to tell his son to stop throttling her. This was supposed to be her moment, her shining victory ballad, and some two-bit, scruffy cat brat was upstaging her and dissing her music.

“What’s it gonna be, Piglet?” The flea-bitten bastard grinned up at her, the tips of his claws pressing under her chin, just waiting for the command to activate his cataclysm. “Have one last song for us? Preferably an apology song?”

“I… I…” she choked out, grasping at his wrist, her disgusted frown shaking until it resembled a crude grim, “I got one last song… For my two biggest fans…”

With all her might she flexed her throat against his tight grip, just needing a second, a mere second, to scream as loud as she could. One inch, that was all she manged, before belting out, “I think it’s time we lay down our final sendoff, right Piggies!”

Volpina and Hawkmoth, even if Heartbreaker couldn’t see him from here, both stiffened in their respective positions. She could feel their eyes on her, drinking in their adoration and understanding, and of course relishing in Chat Noir’s confusion as Ladybug tentatively called out Volpina’s name.

Chat shook her, hissing, “Wait, what did you just tell them?”

All she could do was grin, choking out the last laugh, “Just a wonderful little tune I taught them, in case I needed to… give them the spotlight.”

It started as a hum, Heartbreaker could barely hear Volpina with her ears, but in her mind, the music built by Volpina and Hawkmoth’s dual performances were crystal clear. Chat’s hearing allowed him to hear the lyrics early on, allowed him to panic and turn feverously towards his father; and thus allowed Heartbreaker the opportunity to pull her dangling legs up and driver her feet into his face.

His grip broke and Heartbreaker hit the ground in an ungraceful tumble of limbs. She scrambled for her guitar as Chat reeled back, wrenching it against her chest, spinning herself around onto her back and letting out a violent chord. Noise exploded from her guitar as a physical force, a wave of pink that punted Chat Noir off the stage.

“I had the best thought,” she huffed, and she struggled to her feet, heaving in all the air Chat had denied her. She casted out her arm, sweeping over the adoring crowd, “What if all my fans were able to pull off my signature trick without me even being there?”

Volpina’s voice came in louder, a sickly-sweet singing voice that surprised even Heartbreaker, "Oh, darling, don’t you know? Love’s a game, just touch and go."

The chanting picked up steam, spreading from person to person, all aimed at the two miraculous holders under her sway, encouraging their final performance.

Hawkmoth came in, a booming, velvety voice made for the stage; "She whispers soft, she holds me tight. A fleeting kiss, then say goodnight."

“She’s a heartbreaker, darling, can’t you tell?”

---

The sound of Volpina dropping to the ground, the soft plop of her body meeting the mud, was somehow louder than all of Heartbreaker’s music. Her body flopped against the floor, a limp marionette being jostled about from the head, and tears rushing down her cheeks. She was in pain, so much pain that Ladybug could hear the fatal thumping of her heart, the same thumping Heartbreaker’s other victims experienced in their last moments.

And yet, Volpina smiled through it all, her face a perfect mask only stained by the tears and continued to sing her funeral song. Sing until the earth became her home.

“Volly, snap out of it!” Ladybug screeched, dropping to her knees beside her partner.

She pushed her fingers over Volpina’s mouth, trying to block the song, but deep down she knew that the verbal words were just for show, that the song was already in Volpina’s head. No, Volpina was singing for Ladybug’s benefit, to make sure she knew exactly what was going on, and that there was nothing she could do about it but watch.

Still, Ladybug tried. She pulled back her hand and delivered a hard smack across Volpina cheek, yelling down at the girl, “You can’t do this to me! You’re supposed to be the emotionally smart one, you can’t die like this, to her!”

“This song…” Chat’s voice was devoid of any warmth, just fresh horror as he stumbled up to her, limping after Heartbreaker’s attack, “This is the one she uses to…”

Ladybug doesn’t answer with words, just a pained cringe. Chat’s eyes widen as he turns towards his father, “Then that mean… No, no, no, that’s not right. I can’t- No!”

As he started to move, Ladybug caught his arm, staring breathlessly up at his ear. The green sparks, the remnants of his special cataclysm, it only struck her tried and true right that moment. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance.

“C-Chat! You can save her,” Ladybug felt her voice hiccup through restrained tears, “You can block out the Pig’s magic with your cataclysm, right?”

“I-I don’t know?” He stared down at her hand, nerves rattling him, but her grip keeping him afloat, “I only did it on myself, I don’t know if I can do that to other people.”

“You can try!”

“But what if I-”

Ladybug yanked him close, teeth bared in a desperate roar, “She’s dead either way, just try it, damn it!” her face dropped to a hopeful smile, tugging him closer and closer, seeing him as the only light in this darkness, “Please, you have to try. She’s going to die.”

“It takes some time,” he bit his lip, trying to avoid her gaze as her stomach dropped, “And I need to save my father-”

“No!” Ladybug wailed, her hand balled up into a fist and striking his arm in a futile gesture of despair, “Y-You can’t! You can’t just abandon her! You have to save her. You have to!”

“Bug…”

“You might not even have time to reach him, he’s so far away. But she’s here, she’s here right now and she needs your help!”

Her arms enveloped him fully, trapping him there in her embrace, forcing his head between her shoulder blades where all he could look was into Volpina’s eyes, the light fading ever quick.

“Please, Kitty, I need you,” she wept, “Please, save her…”

---

Nathalie had never been one to panic, never been one to scream and cry in view of the public eye; that had been one of her rules for years, to retain her grace and professionalism even when staring into the face of death.

But every rule had exceptions, and all of the exceptions for her included Gabriel.

He fell into her arms, his voice fading in and out of the song as a limp hand lazily slapped against his exposed chest. The area around his heart visibly pulsated, a thin line of bruised skin drawn in the outline of a love heart. With every second, the pulsations increased in fervour and they would continue to do so until his heart exploded.

“Heartbreaker… Darling…” he murmured, none of the power of Volpina’s voice, his eyes glazed over and head bobbing back and forth.

Mayura had a gut feeling that it was because of the butterfly miraculous. He was already passively exposed to the emotions of everyone around him, add the pig miraculous into the mix boosting emotional states to a euphoric height while wracking his own body with a fatal song; the man was in full on sensory overload.

“Stay with me,” Mayura croaked, desperately clinging to the man falling to pieces in her arms, “Stay with me, damn it!”

What was she supposed to do? What could she do? Emotions weren’t her field of expertise, before she got a hold of the peacock miraculous, people would insultingly refer to her as a robot for her lack of heart and expression. How was she supposed to deal with a threat of this nature? She could beat an opponent, she could bring equipment, she could get Gabriel to a hospital, but she can’t exactly punch hypnosis in the face.

She’d already tried punching Gabriel anyway, it didn’t work.

“What are we going to do?” she heard Nino whisper to Chloe.

“I dunno, get some popcorn?” Chloe scoffed back, “It’s Hawkmoth.”

“He’s still a person!”

“A person who deserves anything that happens to him,” she peered over Mayura’s shoulder, “It’s not like we can do anything.”

“Chloe,” Nino said with the utmost seriousness, “You have to kiss him.”

“What?!” she blanched, mimicking a vomiting motion, “I’m not kissing an old man.”

“You kissed me.”

She shoved Nino away in a flurry of confused, blushing motions, ending up turned away and hiding behind the debris of DJ Disaster’s station.

“T-That’s different, that was in the heat of the moment, and you were looking very-” she ducked her head behind the jagged, burning metal, “S-S-Shut up! Why don’t you kiss him?”

“I’m not the one with the magic lips.”

Mayura’s head snapped towards them, her eyes puffy and wet with fresh tears, her teeth gritted. The woman looked feral, like she was ready to roar, but all she could let out was a quiet, ice-cold dagger of a voice, “Be quiet. Both of you just… Shut up.”

Nino proceeded to join Chloe in hiding.

“It’s all so… so very bright.” Hawkmoth dragged Mayura’s attention back to him, his body spasming with every wretched beat of his heart, “Nooroo told me that I choose to only see the worst in people. Is this what the best looks like? It’s real peaceful.”

“You can’t leave me like this,” Mayura huffed, dragging her face down to his, “Hawkmoth… Handsome… Please, listen to me.”

But he moved on like he couldn’t really hear her, “You’re the brightest of them all, so radiant, so-”

“Gabriel.”

Something shifted in his eyes, his body slowing down, letting his attention get caught in her net.

She ran her fingers down his face, cupping his cheek, “You can’t give up. Not now, not you. You are the most annoyingly stubborn man I’ve ever known; your eternal afterlife will be hell if Heartbreaker is the one person to finally do you in. You will never hear the end of it.”

Mayura didn’t know why, but she tried to smile, “I didn’t almost get my arm bitten off saving your dumb ass from some gelatinous sludge monster just so a heart attack could get you.”

He tried to look away, his brow furrowing in confusion, but her grip was iron tight, rooting him in place. “They don’t matter,” she told him breathlessly, “No one else matters. You don’t see them, they don’t exist, just see… Just see me.”

She brought his hand up to her face, pressing it into her cheek and, after a moment, his fingers clung to her. “Please, Sir, just see me.”

---

He hadn’t been lying. She was bright, oh so bright. In Hawkmoth’s world, she lit up everything around her. It was like when you get used to your glasses, to the slight dim filter the lens puts over everything you see, and it’s only when you take them off that you see the difference.

Hawkmoth tuned people out on the regular, never got past the surface level unless he was delving for an akuma. When it came to this woman, he had no choice in the matter, his heart so naturally recognised her. It was a survival instinct in a way, much like he naturally found himself searching for every exit in fear of a confrontation, he naturally sought her out whenever he was close enough, terrified of one day not being able to find her.

Gabriel Agreste started every morning in a panic. It had become so routine for him that he never noted it, never really remembered it unless he was thinking about it. He’d wake up sweating, the worst possibilities racing through his head and his body was enflamed with irritation, as if bracing for pain. He wouldn’t rest, he wouldn’t calm down, he wouldn’t be able to focus; not until he reached out and confirmed that her and Adrien were okay.

 “Nathalie…” he found himself murmuring, feeling out the curves of her jaw, trying to bring her into his reality.

Was it Nathalie? Wait, no, it was Mayura? He couldn’t tell. Her light was so blinding, there was no shape to make out, no detail to inform him. There was just a woman there that his heart was inexplicitly entwined with.

“Just see me, Sir.”

He saw her. He couldn’t make her out, he couldn’t define her, but he could see her. He could only see her. The rest of the world was insignificant. And the moment his thumb became slick with her tears, he knew that Heartbreaker’s magic no longer mattered.

It didn’t matter how much forced cheer the song pushed on him, it didn’t matter how earnestly his heart yearned for an excuse to forget all his worries and just be happy. None of it mattered. Not when she was crying. He could never be happy. Not when she was crying.

He gasped, a drowning man breaking the surface and finding air for the first time since his desperate struggled began. The world around him faded into view, his natural mental barrier kicked in and drained the annoying noise that had been clouding his mind since Heartbreaker stole his inhibitions.

She finally came into view, her blue skin flushed a pink indigo, and her eyes wide and staring down at him with a flicker of hope.

“Mayura?” he groaned, bringing his body up only to feel a sharp pain wreak havoc on his bones.

She graciously helped him sit up, her breath strong and struggling to hold it together, “A-Are you really back? I thought you were…”

He only idly listened to her when his head leaned down, squinting at the excess amount of chest cleavage he was currently putting on display, “What the hell am I wearing?”

Mayura cleared her throat, hiding a giggle, “Heartbreaker’s band uniform.”

His face soured, “Now I really want her dead.”

He took offence to how gentle she was being with him as she helped him to his feet, treating him like some frail old man, but every time he tried to push back, she glared him into submission. As she helped pat him down and wipe away the clumps of mud sticking to his suit, she spoke.

“How much do you remember?” she asked hesitantly.

Hawkmoth squinted, the events of the night present in his memory, but kind of scattered and confusing, like he was watching them all on fast-forward, “I remember all of it, and none of it. I need time to process.”

He stretched out his arms, popping his shoulders and gingerly admiring the damage Mayura had managed to inflict upon him. He had his pride, of course, but if he was going to get cut up by anyone, Mayura wasn’t the worst candidate.

“Did I… Say anything weird?” he spoke with a nervous twitch, recalling that he was murmuring incoherently as Gabriel when she broke the spell.

Mayura shrugged, idly hiding her face behind her fan, though Hawkmoth didn’t entirely catch it, “You kept asking about some guy named Nathan or something.”

---

It was the longest minute of Ladybug’s life, just sat there waiting, praying, pleading to whoever would listen for Volpina to wake up. In that moment, there was no sound that mattered enough to be heard. The music was wiped away, the crowd no longer existed, the little comments from Chat didn’t register; all there was left was the fox hero’s shallow breaths.

That is until…

“Please,” Volpina groaned, raspy and horse, “Please tell me that you can’t see this hideous outfit in this lighting.”

“Sorry, Foxy,” Chat Noir tapped just below his eyes, “Nightvision. But don’t worry, I already took a picture to make sure everyone can get in on the fun.”

Volpina’s brow dropped to a disgusted arch, “Oh great. The cat’s back.”

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘Thanks for saving my life’,” Chat grumbled, crossing his arms.

“I save people’s lives every day,” Volpina grunted pushing herself up to her feet, and fighting off the mother of all aches in her chest, “You don’t see me harassing people about it.”

“Would it kill you to be grateful? I could have just left you and-” Chat froze mid-sentence, his breath hitching before her threw himself around and sprung forth into a sprint, “Dad!”

Before either girl could say anything, his baton was already out, stabbed into the ground and launching him across the field. Ladybug was still slightly dazed, incessantly looking Volpina over, waiting for the other shoe to drop and take her with it. Soon enough, she shook herself out of it, moving forward to catch Volpina by her waist and hoisting her up against her.

Volpina made a non-committal groan, “I don’t think I’m ready to be moving yet, Buggy.”

“Too bad, I’m not leaving you here alone.” Ladybug shot back, letting her yoyo hang slack by her side.

“Fine,” the fox grumbled as the yoyo was launched up, wrapping around one of the metal pillars, “but don’t come crying to me when I vomit on you.”

It was a simple thing, with a few restrained yanks, Ladybug released her, and by extension Volpina, into the sky, a makeshift slingshot to propel them across the field to follow Chat Noir’s journey. They landed behind him, just in time to see him thrust his extended baton forward… And just barely miss Mayura’s head.

The two villains broke whatever their embrace was and immediately, Chat threw himself in between them, skidding across the mud with his back to his father and his baton aimed for a befuddled Mayura. Ladybug almost felt bad for the woman, but she was still technically on Hawkmoth’s team, so it was a muffled sympathy.

“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m here now!” Chat announced, his eyes darting back and forth between staring down Mayura and urging his head to glance over at Hawkmoth, “Are you okay? Are you still a Heartbreaker fanboy? What did that blue witch do to you?”

In hindsight, the matter of if Hawkmoth was still under Heartbreaker’s sway should have been the first question asked before Chat turned his back on the man, but considering that Hawkmoth wasn’t singing, nor experiencing a magical heart attack, it was a good chance that he was back to basics.

Mayura recovered from her shock, skimming her fingers over the bruise just over her ear where Chat’s baton grazes her, “I saved his ass, thank you very much.”

She pressed her knuckles to her hips, making a move to step forward before a sharp, aggressive noise cut through the air and gave her pause. Mayura blinked, then her features contorted into complete bafflement as she exclaimed, “Did he just hiss at me!?”

“What are you even doing here, Boy?” Hawkmoth crossed his arms, glowering down at Chat, “You’re grounded.”

Amidst all this chaos and carnage, and all this man could think to do was scold the boy who was partly responsible for saving all their asses. Great, Hawkmoth really was back to grumpy old bastard they all knew and loved.

Chat was all too eager to throw the man’s words back at him, reaching up to shamelessly and disrespectfully poke Hawkmoth’s chin, “What are you doing here, Dad? You’re supposed to be kicking Heartbreaker’s ass instead of kissing it.”

Ladybug couldn’t help but giggle at Hawkmoth freezing in place, an embarrassed flush clear across his exposed mouth. The man fumbled with his cane, awkwardly looking down at his feet like a child being scolded, “…I had the situation under contr-”

Mayura wasted no time smacking him upside the head.

“Yeouch!”

Her finger was already in his face, bouncing off his nose as, with the crisis averted, she was perfectly comfortable tanning his hide.

“Don’t you even try to pull that nonsense after all the havoc you’ve caused tonight,” she sneered, managing the make the man shrink under her glare.

“Hey,” Chat came in with a ‘polite’ shove, urging Mayura out of his way, “you can’t hit my dad!”

Naturally, Chat followed that up with spinning around and popping Hawkmoth on the nose. With love, of course.

“Gah, my nose!” Hawkmoth reeled back, clutching his bruised face, silently asking the universe why.

Chat had found his rhythm, wagging his finger in front of his father’s face, reducing the grown man to the role of little boy in big trouble as he scolded, “Now, we will be discussing your conduct thought when we get home, Young Man.” He pulled back just long enough for Hawkmoth to shoot a sour look and decide not to talk back to his own son, “I’m sure I’m not the only one disappointed in you.”

Volpina leaned in towards Ladybug, “…Is it too late to get another arch nemesis?”

“You know, there’s a site for that.” Chloe interjected, revealing herself to be sitting right next to the scene of the family dispute alongside Nino, “CrooksAndCrusaders or something. It’s like a dating app, but you meet up to kill each other.”

Ladybug hummed in pleasant surprise at that, “Wait, real-”

Only to freeze

“…Chloe?” She asked, incredulously.

Chloe gave a mock salute, “Sup.”

Ladybug doubled over, her disappointment immeasurable and her day ruined, “What are you doing here?”

“Being awesome.” Chloe paused, narrowing her eyes like she was genuinely thinking about her answer, “Like usual.”

“…I don’t care. I don’t care. Just don’t get in our way.”

A sharp double beep-beep rang out from opposite sides of the group -- Hawkmoth’s brooch and Volpina’s necklace pulsing with a faint, urgent light.

“Ah,” Hawkmoth said grimly, glancing at the glow. “Looks like our time’s up.”

Without another word, both he and Volpina locked eyes for a beat -- just long enough to silently agree that dignity was overrated -- and bolted in opposite directions like startled cats, stumbling through debris and ankle-deep sludge in search of cover.

“I swear I saw Volpina vanish behind a hot dog cart,” Chat muttered.

“Pretty sure your dad’s hiding behind a lighting rig,” Ladybug replied, arms crossed as she listened to the sounds of frantic scuffling and hissing cloth.

Mayura sighed. “I’m honestly surprised it took this long for your transformations to break.”

“DJ Disaster’s power was keeping our energy reserves filled,” Hawkmoth’s voice called from behind a rusted metal pillar, followed by a loud poof and an undignified yelp. “Which is definitely cheating. Ow. My ankle.”

“NO PEEKING, BUG!” came his mortified cry a moment later.

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Pfft, relax. It’s not like I’d recognize you anyway. You’re probably some big nobody under that mask.”

“I take personal offense to that,” muttered a distinctly older male voice.

“Ah-hah!” Volpina groaned from somewhere under a toppled advertising banner. “Why did I think transforming on a slope was a good idea-?”

Another loud poof, followed by the sound of her smacking her head on the ground and groaning, “Owww, my pride.”

An awkward silence flooded the stadium once the noises subsided. Just the four of them left now: Ladybug, Chat Noir, Mayura, and Volpina’s feet sticking out from under a tarp.

Chat scratched the back of his neck, tail flicking absently. “…You know, I can’t help but feel like we’re forgetting something.”

A sudden, ear-shattering scream tore through the stadium.

It wasn’t just loud, it was wrong. Layered with static, distorted audio feedback, and a whining pitch that stabbed into the back of everyone’s skulls like broken glass. Volpina’s feet spasmed. Chat dropped his baton. Ladybug nearly keeled over from the sheer sonic force of it. Even Mayura winced, covering her ears with a strangled curse.

And then, as suddenly as it had attacked them, the sound ceased. High above the stage, backlit by sparking stage lights and still framed in front of a cracked LED screen, Heartbreaker stood with running makeup and hair in utter disarray.

She twitched. She was smiling, but it was the kind of strained smile that screamed everything is not okay.

“Sorry,” she said sweetly, plucking her guitar with a casual strum that sent another small shockwave through the speakers. “I just needed to scream for a moment.”

The microphone picked up the slight unhinged edge in her voice. She didn’t even bother hiding it anymore.

“You see… you’ve kind of pissed me off something fierce.”

Her tongue clicked.

“Like, I think I hate you,” she said, strumming again. “Like really, really hate you.”

The group carefully collected their weapons, staring up the smiling fury glaring back at them, the only joy on the stage was going to be the mental image of their corpses strewn across the field before Heartbreaker’s eye.

“I just wanted to have fun,” Heartbreaker ranted, pacing the stage like a woman possessed, the fake smile on her face twitching like it had been glued on too tight. “I just wanted to spread joy, but you- you negative-nancy, sour-faced, no-fun, joy-sucking COWARDS can’t accept that!”

“I didn’t really do anything when you think about it,” Volpina muttered from the tarp, still horizontal.

“You do not kindle joy,” Heartbreaker continued, her voice rising to a frenzied pitch. “You douse me in misery!”

She stabbed her finger at the remaining heroes like she was conducting a symphony of fury.

“So. I’m done.”

The lights in the stadium flickered.

“You hear that? Done! Done with the grand plans! Done with the theatrics! Done with giving a damn!”

And then her voice changed.

She turned to the audience, glazed eyes and bewildered expressions dotting the stands, people still reeling from the feedback, and spread her arms like a preacher welcoming her congregation.

“Attention, piggies,” she cooed into the mic. “This stadium is now being converted… into a mosh pit.”

Her eyes blazed. Her guitar screamed with static.

“Everyone pile on in…”

Her voice dropped an octave.

“…and stomp these worthless little fucks into paste.”

There was a beat of silence, then came the low, reverberating pulse of bass as the crowd began to stir. All at once, the murmurs passed over them in a wave of fierce hisses. They started to charge down the stands, blindly clambering over each other. Hundreds of brainwashed band zombies, all swarming the group with only one goal in mind; complete slaughter.

Ladybug found herself pull back against Chat Noir, talking over her shoulder, “…Chat, how’s your energy?”

The cat’s strangled grunt did not inspire confidence, but he stood firm, back-to-back with her. “Well, I’ve just finished with a bunch of mini-cataclysms and I’m all out of cheese, so…” he glanced down at his ring, shrugging his shoulders, “Pretty low.”

Ladybug nodded along, absent minded, “And I’m all out of macaroons.”

Mayura finished off their little formation, standing in the middle, gazing up at the approaching horde, “And Hawkmoth and Volpina have detransformed.”

Truly, they were in the world’s lamest zombie flick, and none of them had so much as a shotgun. Chloe and Nino were also there, but Ladbug doubted they could do much more than hide between the three super powered, low-energy, beings.

Still, Chat had to ask, “Hey, neither of you would happen to secret be a superhero right?”

Chloe’s voice was so squeaky Ladybug could barely understand the simple one-word response, “Nope.”

“We’re boned.” Nino concluded, sounding too tired to even care about his impending doom.

“Shit.”

“It’s game over, man.”

Chat looked over to Ladybug, heaving one last sigh, “Lucky charm?”

“Worth a shot.” Ladybug shrugged, whipping her yoyo into the air, crying out the magical words and in a burst of pink, mesmerizing light, the answer to her problems landed in her hands.

“A toy rat?” Ladybug barely withheld screaming into the pokadotted stuffed animal, “Tikki, I want you to know that there are times where I do not appreciate your sass.”

Nino spoke up, “Maybe Heartbreaker has a rat phobia?”

However, it was Volpina who found it in herself to cling to hope at this sign, calling out from behind the tarp, “Wait, Buggy, I got it!” she cried, what was visible of her feet showing her bouncing up and down as she spoke, “Mayura hasn’t made a sentimonster yet.”

“And?”

A forehead slap followed, “Remember the book, Buggy. How did they beat the Pied Piper?”

Pied Piper? How’d she get that from- Oh, right, the Piper’s whole deal was leading away rats. Okay, so the lucky charm was trying to remind her of the tale Fu told them. Right. The Pied Piper was beaten by… Shit, she forgot. It was the townsfolk, right? They ran him out of town? No, no, they don’t need more people here, they already have an angry mob. It was a hero, a lone hero came to stop him. She was a-

Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“Gha, that’s right!” she whirled around on Mayura, and, considering both Hawkmoth and Chat’s colder reactions to the woman, this was probably the happiest anyone has been looking at the beautiful blue saviour, “The Pig miraculous’ effect was beaten by the Peacock user’s sentimonster!”

“Oh great,” Chat’s shoulders sunk as he grumbled, “all our hope is resting on her.”

Mayura almost looked abashed when Ladybug grabbed her by the shoulders, beaming up at the near-total stranger with unearned pride.

“You can turn this all around, you just need to make a perfect counter monster. Otherwise, we’re all about to get crushed to death by an angry mob.” Ladybug paused, clearing her throat before continuing lowly, “No pressure, or anything.”

Mayura blinked.

Several times.

Then very calmly said, “I have never in my life felt more pressured.”

She turned her eyes toward the writhing chaos of the crowd - people stumbling down bleachers, their faces caught somewhere between dazed and furious, the heavy thud of dozens of boots marching indiscernable from a war drum. Above it all stood Heartbreaker, idly plucking her guitar tentetivly, her eyes flickering down with detached delight.

Volpina’s feet gave an encouraging little wiggle from beneath the tarp. “Go, blue bird, go!”

“We’re all behind you, Smurfette,” Ladybug said, eyes darting toward the collapsing railings. “Because if this situation gets any worse, I will spontaneously combust and take you all with me.”

“I always wanted to go out dramatically,” Chat offered, one hand raised as if to toast. “Let the record show I went out wearing leather and sass.”

“No one’s writing that down,” Nino deadpanned.

Chloe whimpered. “I’m not ready to die in a stadium full of randos.”

“I think…” Mayura made a sharp inhale, slowly nodding along before she plucked a feather from her fan, “I think I know just the sentimonster for the job.”

“But?”

“But I have one question,” she pressed the feather gently to her lips, “Who’s up for a battle of the bands?”

Notes:

So, over on my Tumblr I put together some crude silhouette's in Photoshop for the character designs - https://www.tumblr.com/drtwit/784100140852150272/miraculous-menaces-au-redesigns

 

Chapter 49: Heartbreaker: Heart Broken

Summary:

Mayura challenges Heartbreaker to a miraculous battle of the bands.

 

 

Just when Heartbreaker was thinking that she still, at the very least, had her nice pink lighting that infected the sky itself, Mayura waves around her little feathers and suddenly drowns the stadium in a blinding blue flash. What a colossal bitch.

The flash was dowsed, but the ugly blue infestation remained, this time at the hands of giant spotlights that materialized behind the clustered group. The only one Heartbreaker could make out from the stage was Mayura, now with some sort of spherical helmet floating above her, sinking over her head and allowing tendrils to drop from it and stab into the ground.

At first, Heartbreaker thought that Mayura was legitimately drilling into the earth. From the points injected into by the tendrils, liquid, a glowing, sparkling silver that broke through the night with its glare, pooled. It spread outwards around the mud, drowning out any other colour until it formed a perfect giant square around that section of the field.

Suddenly, the silver solidified as blue and the ground started to crack, letting loose the cry of rocks and mud being squeezed by the new alloy. The world seemed to shake, forcing Heartbreaker to hold onto some of the stage equipment just to keep herself stable, watching as her mob rushed in towards the group only to turn into bowling balls against their own team from being knocked over.

Mayura’s stage shook vigorously, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, until finally, with the might roar of the earth battling metal, the stage ripped itself from the ground, revealing that the substance had dug deep enough to convert one giant cube of the landmass into blue steel. It rose up into the sky, leaving just a deep crater in its wake.

The spotlights rose with the stage, flashing between different shades of blue and moving around the stage, highlighting the group of unsteady people taken with it. Mayura stood at the foot of the stage, undeterred by her creation swaying side-to-side over a fatal drop.

Fog covered the entire stage in an instant, flooding it and leaving only Mayura to be seen, where an extra tendril shot out from the stage and seemingly impaled her heart. Mayura had no reaction to this, she just waited, waited until a blue orb appeared over her heart and then, in another flash, spat out a microphone with a stand into her arms.

Mayura swept up the microphone with flair and purpose, hunching over it in a sharp arc and crying into the microphone, “Heartstopper!” She stabbed her heel into the stage, “This is Amplifier.”

One hand broke free, flying back to run over Mayura’s chest, “I am Mayura.”

Then, snap, click and her hand shot forward like a whip lashing out at the air, “And, in front of Paris, I challenge you… To a rock off!”

---

Mayura looked over the fruits of her labour with mixed results.

It was hard to see at first, the sentimonster apparently having an inbuilt fog machine that rolled over the team with thick smog, making it all the more unsettling when Amplifier took them higher above the ground, floating over the opposing stage. It didn’t help that the sentimonster had taken form of a helmet that went right over Mayura’s eyes.

The purpose of the station wasn’t clear, not until, from the fog, tendrils shot out and, without warning, clamped down on each member of the group; specifically digging into the spot over their hearts.

Ladybug jumped back, crying out, “What’s the big idea!?”

“I knew it,” Chat Noir hissed, desperately yanking on the new tube digging into his chest, “she’s working with Heartbreaker!”

The rest of the group followed suit, a wave of garbled noise and panic passing over the stage as they scrambled to release themselves. Nino was doubled over his foot on Chloe’s stomach as he pulled tightly on hers. Volpina could be heard running back and forth behind her hiding spot preserved on the stage as a massive banner showing off chibi versions of their faces. Chat Noir was clearly contemplating whether or not to waste a castaclysm.

Oddly enough, Gabriel seemed to have just accepted it, sitting slumped against the pillar that hid him, waiting for the day to end.

The panic only lasted a couple of seconds before the truth revealed itself, so Mayura had just sat back and watched them run around like headless chickens whilst she could. It happened with Ladybug first, the girl coming to a sudden stop, feeling up her chest and bulging out her throat as if getting ready to vomit. And, well, vomit was a fitting term as her mouth opened wide and a bright red orb popped out.

The orb floated down into her hands, leaving her to stare down at it bewildered until it lit up, red fading to white in a flash. It expanded in an instant, shaping into the large, round shape and, before Ladybug could ask a question, a crimson guitar was left in her hands.

She held it up to her nose, turning it over whilst the others crowded around her to gasp, “Did I just vomit out an electric guitar?”

Mayura cleared her throat to gain their attention, sweeping her arm over the floating stage.

“Amplifier coverts your emotional output into weaponized soundwaves,” she explained softly, holding up the microphone created for her when the stage originally rose up, whose chord sunk into her chest, “Thus, it needs to connect to your heart.”

Volpina peered from behind the banner, “Wait, so we’re literally going to rock her into submission?”

Another pop sounded, Chat Noir this time receiving an orb that cracked open to gift him a green keytar, slung around his shoulders. Mayura held back a fond grin at witnessing Adrien come through Chat’s mask in that moment, grinning like a child over a Christmas present.

“Hey, sweet, a keytar!” he whooped.

Ladybug leaned over him, finger to her chin as she spoke, in an unconvinced mocking tone, “Do you even know how to play?”

He pursed his lips, hugging the instrument close to his chest as if Ladybug was going to snatch it, “Can’t be much different from a piano…”

Next up, Nino, an orange orb giving life to his usual record set plopped out before him.

“Yeah!” he slid the headphones over his ears, pumping his fists into the sky, “Now this is my jam. Magic DJ station, wahoo!”

Chloe’s yellow orb sat her down in a stool at the foot of her-

“A drum set?” she asked, curiously fiddling with the drum sticks left in her hands.

Nino snorted, turning his gaze to the sentimonster settled on Mayura’s head, “Missed opportunity to make it a trumpet, Sentidude.”

Chloe straightened up in her seat, glaring daggers at the laughing boy, “Can it, Lahiffe.”

He took not offence to her tone, in fact, it seemed only to enflame him further. He leaned against his spin table, shooting Chloe a teasing, toothy grin and pointing her out physically.

“What do you say, Chlo,” he asked, “You got the soul of a drummer in yah?”

Mayura was shocked to catch Chloe of all people breaking out into a surprised red flush, though the girl quickly buried it by bowing her head to the drums before anyone else could see. She spun the drumsticks between her fingers, getting a feel for them while shadow banging the air.

Fortunately, even if she had little experience with the drums, Amplifier made it, so their skills were mostly buffed by what was in their heart. And Chloe had a whole lot of fire to spit no matter the time of day.

“It’s an instrument about hitting things and making a lot of noise,” she scoffed, showing off her confidence by banging out a quick drum solo that was smooth on the ears and shot golden sparks out into the fog. “I was born to play it.”

Chat Noir gave her a whistle of approval as he rushed passed her, sliding to a stop in front of Gabriel’s hiding spot.

“Dad, what did you get?” he asked.

There was a palpable silence. Mayura hid her face behind her fan to giggle at Gabriel’s situation, just imagining the adorable pout he’d get that made him look like a dog that had just been drenched in the rain.

He murmured, “…I want a re-do.”

“Oh, now I really wanna know,” Ladybug clapped her hands together, giggling openly, “Come on, tell us.”

A loud, childish, days-long sigh followed.

“A tambourine.”

Volpina erupted into snorts, the banner developing a bugle where she fell against it, doubling over and heaving. “Pffffft, really?”

“Stop laughing!”

“No way, that’s so lame. The only thing worse than getting stuck with the tambourine is-”

Volpina froze. And suddenly, the temperature in the room seemed to heat up.

She punched the banner, and whatever was in her hand let out a light ‘ting’ noise.

 “Did this thing just give me the fucking triangle!?”

It was Gabriel’s turn to crack up, “It suits you so well, Volpina.”

Volpina’s hand was visible scrunching up the edge of the banner, holding herself back from jumping out to vent her frustrations and reveal her identity.

She hissed, “I don’t know what you’re laughing about, Tambourine Boy.”

“Tambourine is better than the triangle,” Gabriel shot back, and Mayura could practically hear him shrugging.

Volpina’s shape sunk to her knees, her voice waning from her lip wobbling so much, “…Switch with me.”

“Never.”

She slapped the floor, another ting that served only to piss her off more, “Don’t be such a dick for one second, Hakwmoth!”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe snapped, eyebrows knit with disbelief, “is no one going to address the fact that we are using the power of feelings to fight a rock demon with stage lights and the world’s most emotionally-attuned triangle?”

“You say that like it’s not awesome,” Nino said, spinning one of his vinyls on his finger. “Admit it. Deep down, you always wanted to be in a garage band.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. A garage band. Not a death arena suspended in the sky band.”

“I think we’ve got a better view than most garages,” Ladybug pointed out, peeking over the edge at the lights of Paris glinting below. Her voice dropped as she murmured to herself, “I am not thinking about how high we are. I am not thinking about the wind. I am not thinking about how this stage is clearly a death trap built by a glorified magical anxiety bird—”

“I can hear you,” Mayura said flatly.

“This is it,” Volpina said grimly. “This is the lowest point of my life.”

“It’s okay,” Chat Noir said, arm slung around her shoulder with fake solemnity. “We’ll all remember your brave sacrifice.”

“I will murder you with my triangle.”

“See?” Chat grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Behind them, the spotlights surged again, casting a harsh light down on Heartbreaker’s stage. She was standing tall now, chin up, guitar slung low, backlit by a red flare that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

“I’m sorry, did I hear that right?” she asked, squinting up at them through the lights, “You tone-deaf losers want to take me on in my game?”

Mayura clicked her fingers, striking a pose she’d seen on television; one foot forward, one foot bent back to let the rest of her body arch and her head dip back, with the microphone hanging over her. She assumed it projected power and confidence.

She spoke sultry into the microphone, dramatically pointing at Heartbreaker, “No, we’re going to beat you at your own game.”

All Heartbreaker could do in response was laugh, shaking her head at the very notion. She slung her guitar over her shoulder, gesturing vaguely to the crowded fans, bringing in their reaction of encouraging cheers.

“Right, right, fine. I’ll play along, just my kind of climax,” she called, one hand pushing her hair back, pushing her wolfish grin to the forefront, “Just one thing: what’s your band name?”

There was a beat.

Everyone turned to look at Ladybug, who blinked. “Our what now?”

“You do have a band name, right?” Heartbreaker said, mockingly squinting. “Or were you gonna just scribble something on your little mixtape after I’m done wiping the stage with you?”

“…Give us a minute,” Mayura muttered into her hand, already turning away.

The group huddled up in a chaotic knot of glitter, feathers, capes, and sheer panic.

“What are we calling ourselves?” she hissed.

“Miracle Machine,” Chat Noir said immediately. “It’s sleek. Mysterious. Mechanical.”

Nino squinted, “Revolution France.”

“Miraculous Rock,” Mayura suggested.

“The Miraculers?”

“The Butterfly Effect!”

Nino scoffed, rolling his eyes as everyone glanced over towards Gabriel’s spot, “Dude, you’re not even transformed, where would the butterfly aesthetic even come in?”

“Yeah, this is Mayura’s sentimonster,” Ladybug said, elbowing Mayura’s side, “Should probably be something like ‘Mayura and the Blue Birds’.”

Mayura clasped her hands together, closing her eyes as she nodded and hummed, “Mhm, I like that one.”

“No way!” Chloe spat out, leering at the suggestion as one would a gross disease, “Miraculous 7. Now that has pizzazz.”

The shadow of Volpina’s hands counted up the group, “But only five of us are miraculous.”

“You’re right,” Chloe heaved a sigh, letting her elbows bend into her side, throwing her forearms up, “but we’ll be generous and include you, Dog Breath.”

“Watch it, Barbie.” Volpina snarled, “Powers or no powers, I will whoop your ass.”

Chloe’s eye twitched, only stopped from stomping around the banner by Ladybug and Chat Noir lunging forward to grab her.

“Barbie!?” she exclaimed.

No one could see Volpina, but their minds all made up the same mental image of that wide, shit-eating grin she was wearing.

“Well, I assume at least 90% of you is plas-”

“Ladies,” Gabriel cried out, already reliving the hundreds of similar feuds on the set of his many modelling shoots, “can we please direct our anger at the person trying to kill us?”

Chloe puffed up her cheeks, glaring down at Gabriel’s spot with enough heat that Mayura briefly worried about the pillar melting away, “I can hate multiple people at the same time!”

“I’m just saying,” Volpina continued, “I always wondered where all our tax euros go to when nothing seems to get fixed in this city.”

Mayura pushed off back to the front of the stage, clearing her throat as she leaned into the microphone, “Miraculous 7, we’re going with Miraculous 7.”

Chat whined, booing her from behind, “Aw, come on, you didn’t even let us vote.”

“Too late, already said it.”

“Miraculous 7?” Heartbreaker repeated, grinning as she let the words roll around in her mouth like wine. “Cute. Delusional. But cute. Now, I think it’s only fair that I get my own back-up dancers.”

She blew a kiss into the crowd, throwing her ahdns up, “Who wants a chance to be a real live heartstopper?”

The newly christened band watched as Heartbreaker plucked various people from the crowd to join her up on stage. Nino peered over the edge, quinting.

“Hey, Chlo,” he started, “Aren’t those the dudes from the club?”

Chloe looked away with a disgusted scoff, “Urg, how do you even remember people so insignificant?”

Nino shrugged, “I liked that one guy’s jacket.”

Chat Noir cupped his hand over his mouth, despite having a microphone, to yell, “Looking really d-tier from up here, Pepper Pig.”

Heartbreaker gave a low whistle. “I hope you back that up with something more than sass and sequins, darling.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ladybug stepped forward, pulling out her yoyo with a showy spin, “We’ve got rhythm, heart, and—”

“A triangle,” Volpina added, wiggling the mighty instrument around the banner for all to squint at.

“And a triangle,” Ladybug added a little less enthusiastically.

Chat Noir leaned into his mic and grinned, winking at the crowd. “Let’s just say… we’re about to rock your miraculous world.”

A slow, rising hum spread through the speakers—Mayura’s sentimonster syncing with the equipment to begin the musical showdown. Stage lights shifted. Thunder rumbled. The first few notes of their battle track flickered through the air.

Heartbreaker tapped her foot and cracked her neck.

“Alright then, Miraculous 7,” she said, setting her fingers over her guitar strings. “Let’s see if you’re worth the encore.”

And with a blinding flash of pink and silver, the first chord screamed across the rooftop, the first note of a war ballad declared across the battlefield. Her fingers danced across her strings, waves of emotion rippled out—spectral illusions of dancers swirling around her in glowing pinks and purples, eyes dazed, entranced.

I’m the moment, I’m the movement,

Champion of Paris amusement.

I’m the pillar, I’m the killer,

Sensational thriller making headlines with every dither.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er, and you’re under my spell.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er, and I’m gonna give you hell!

Pink dominated the skies, drenching the audience in it’s influence and baring down on Mayura as a physical force. The wind itself seemed to bend to Heartbreaker’s will, carried by her music to swipe at Mayura’s shoulder, trying to push her off balance and rip the microphone out of her hand.

Every line, the dealiest kisses,

Get the doc, ‘cus there ain’t no misses.

I’ll leave you heart broken, and your insides fried,

On the coroner’s notes I’ll be lionized.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er, and you’re under my spell.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er, and I’m gonna give you hell!

Another blow of pink energy, the phantom dancers kicking the wind to smack across Mayura’s face, leaving her to stumble back. It didn’t only strike her on the outside, but attack sent a surge of distracting emotional sensations straight to her heart, offering Mayura the mental image of Heartbreaker’s fingers digging into her heart.

It was only Ladybug catching her that saved her from falling before their come back even began. Heartbreaker was all too pleased to see this, falling back to idly strumming her guitar, her hypnotized bandmates robotically continuing her backing track.

She grinned up at Mayura, just daring her to try hitting her back.

Now, Nathalie was never anyone’s poet, but Emilie forced her to take an absurd amount of choir classes with her, and she was not about to take this nonsense lying down. So, she breathed in deep, gave Ladybug a firm nod, and resumed her place at the helm of the band.

Chloe started them off with a strong, booming riff that beat back Heartbreaker’s tone, a spark of golden energy shooting out of Chloe’s drums as a bolt of lightning, racing across the stadium and clashing with the other stage. The explosion was more force than anything else, pushing all of Heartbreaker’s band to the side and ripping them from their set, letting Chloe’s aggressive beat drown out the music before Ladybug and Chat joined in to add to the high energy, quick step tempo.

For her confidence, and extra flair, Mayura tossed her microphone in the air, spinning around to a dramatic kick before spinning back, dropping to her knees and catching the mic. Low to the ground, with the rest of the band wrapping her in the breakneck pace of their rhythm, she pulled the mic close.

We can wing it, we can bring it, you don't know what you found.

Squeal all you want, but we're comming at the speed of sound.

I may be light on my feet, but my lines hit hard.

You don't wanna mess with this songbird's squad.

We're cataclysmic, we're lucky charms; we're miraculous.

Heartbreaker tried to hit back, gesturing wildly for her drummer to pick up the pace, pounding out more energy blasts. They exploded over the audience in wide, fluctuating waves. However, Chat and Ladybug came together, linking themselves back-to-back as they played their respective instruments, slamming their hands until the bottom ends of their instruments opened up to blast out beams of light.

These beams unified with ease, Ladybug and Chat Noir’s natural ying-yang dynamic coming in full force to make one concentrated beam that twisted around the battlefield and clashed with Heartbreaker’s attack.

The two forces of emotion competed, testing whose heart was strong. As the battle raged on, the impact of the blasts stirred up the stadium, ripping out the ground around the audience, stray blasts causing walls to crumble, and the wild whip of the wind attacking everyone in sight.

We've got claws, and teeth, and all that sass,

We're the match lighting fires under your ass.

We float like a butterfly, like a bee we sting,

You little curds lose your nerves when this blue bird sings.

Don’t need a mask to steal the scene,

Just six backup dancers and a fog machine!

We're tough as steel and smooth as silk; we're miraculous.

We're dressed to impress and we'll never rest; we're miraculous.

“Who are you calling backup dancers?” Volpina hissed.

Mayura rolled her eyes, “You’re playing the triangle; your argument is invalid.”

Extra support came from Gabriel, his wild playing of the tambourine, which included smacking it against every part of his body, rapidly added quick little speeding missiles that, small in stature, stung when they snuck past the clash and collided with the base player.

Heartbreaker crouched down, gritting her teeth as the forces came upon her again and again, but she refused to be downed. She managed to stand tall again crying out gift, using her miraculous power directly for the first time instead of through her music alone, to strengthen the blessing on her guitar.

I reckon, for a second, you thought you were quite the weapon.

Slinging tears, for your peers, but I fear you don't clear.

'cus Heartbreaker's the disease, do as she please,

Make me wheeze? Bitch please.

You think I'll be sweaten, when you threaten,

With a selection of my sloppy seconds?

The tide turned, more and more pink joining the fray against the blue. Heartbreaker fanboys bore their hearts into the air, forming a wall of bustling excitement and oo’s that slammed into Amplifier, causing the entire stage to shake. Chat Noir was thrown back into Ladybug, sending both of them skidding across the stage.

Mayura bit back a hiss, steadying herself as she put her hand over the mic to growl at them, “Alright, which one of you isn’t believing hard enough? I’m looking at you, Fox!”

“Hey,” Volpina yelped, “Your booty call is the cynic.”

“And I’m killing it, thank you very much!” Gabriel called back, whiping his tambourine forward for extra enphesis.

Chat helped Ladybug to her feet, stumbling over himself to pull her back to their original position, “Guys, look out, she’s not done!”

I’m a Heart-Break-Er,

You’re under my spell.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er,

Gonna give you hell!

I’m a Heart-Break-Er,

Here to end your streak.

I’m a Heart-Break-Er,

This old hag can't handle this beat!

The beat rained down upon them like gunfire, throwing the miraculous group into disarray as they danced around the shots. Chat found his shoulder knocked about, Ladybug received a whip-like spark lashing out across her cheek, Chloe was thrown to the floor, Mayura was dragged to her knees; only Nino managed to stand tall, bracing himself against his record.

He didn’t skip his beat, incorporating the hammering blasts into his rhythm, changing their song to bounce back-and-forth between pitches, bringing the mind the music bobbing along with Nino’s head.

“Come on, guys,” Nino hollard, “I’m not in a band of losers, so you better get up and give it your all.”

The pink fog recoiled just slightly, the ripples of resistance starting to form. Nino’s eyes flashed under the stage lights, and with one arm raised, he spun his record, launching a fresh wave of music that disrupted the hypnotic rhythm.

Heartbreaker stumbled half a step back.

Ladybug popped up first, blood running from her cheek but her grip steady on the mic stand. “We’re not losing to Pepper Pig’s mid-life crisis!”

Chat sprang after her, flipping into a slide beside Nino and twisting his keytar around to face Heartbreaker’s stage again. “I’m not gonna let my first night back end with me getting beat.”

Chloe dragged herself back into her seat, fuming, “Nobody gets to call me a loser!”

Gabriel sighs, “Bah, you’re all so dramatic.”

They all collectivly shouted him down, “Shut up, Glitter Moth!”

“Channel the rage!” Mayura yelled, springing to her feet and thrusting her hand into the air, blue energy curling around her. “Let’s send this little piggy all the way back to the oven!”

We’re not cooked, we’re not cracked—

We’re the pressure, breaks you back.

Strut and flirt, that’s all your game,

But our spark’ll leave you up in flames.

It was a wild pulse, the energy around her hand thumming to life and exploding outward, smashing through the wall between them. One-by-one, hypnotized fans were knocked on their ass, the hearts fading from their eyes. Lost, confused and a little concussed, the newly freed audience members began to clap along with Mayura.

We're miraculous!

We feel no shame.

We're miraculous!

You know our name.

The waves kept coming. Blast after blast slapped aside the pink, shattering the sky and peeling back the horrid pink filter over the stadium. The winds had completely changed course, advancing upon Heartbreaker’s stage in swift, hard lashingings. First, the banne was ripped apart, then the base player dropped to his knees, then the drummer and his drum set were thrown off stage.

In only a few lines, Heartbreaker was left standing alone on the stage, facinging down the unrelently current of Mayura’s voice.

We're miraculous!

Heartbreaker tried to continue her ballad, but the window pushed back agianst every stroke of of her guitar.

We swim, you drown.

Slowly, even as she dug her heels in, she was pushed back.

We're miraculous!

Her hood was yanked from her shoulders, exposing only her panicking, stretched out face drenched in ruined make-up.

And we're taking you down,

It was like a punch the gut.

Down

Then the jaw.

Down

Then the heart.

DOWN!

One last bust of energy exploded, slamming into her with the power of a freight train. Her guitar exploded into a hail of scrap metal and painted wood, her transformation was shattered and her stage destroyed, leaving only the weak, broken body of Pepper Piper to be flung across the field and become a smouldering wreck by the exit.

---

All Ladybug could think as Heartbreaker was launched into the wall, and as the blue wave swept over the stadium and wiped away the pink corruption from both the environment and the people, was that she really needed thank Luka for those guitar lessons.

Her brain was still playing catch up, her body stuck shaking as the stage landed back on the ground to the roaring cheers of their new adoring fans. They did it. They really bloody did it. They won by singing a song about how kick ass they were; how did that work? All Ladybug had been expecting from Mayura was a magic box that spat out bad vibes.

Ladybug had come into this stadium with all the cards stacked against her. All she held was a tenuous alliance with a supervillain she knew nothing about, whilst facing her partner, her nemesis, Heartbreaker and an army of hypnotized slave. Somehow, she’d crawled through a sewer pipe of foulness and came out clean on the other side.

She’d like to think that, on a sub-conscious level, her ladybug senses had the foresight to remember that the Peacock was useful against the Pig. But really, she was just winging it and got lucky. All thanks to Mayura, she supposed; and, well-

The thought stopped the moment she noticed Chat Noir giving her that goofy, pleading grin that had her snapping her head away just to hide her blue.

“It’s… Uh…” she cleared her throat, “It’s good to have you back.”

He rocked back on his heels, hummin, “Careful, Bug. If you get too warm, you’re gonna melt.”

“Can’t you just take the compliment?” she groaned.

“Nope,” he popped his lips, “Otherwise, we’d start getting along.”

She found herself biting back a grin, shooting her look down at her feet before allowing a sour thought to bubble over the joviality, “I’m… Listen, I’m sorry about making you choose Volpina back there. I know that must have been a hard call to make, and I might have just made yo-”

“Dad’s taken care of,” he said simply, his voice wound a little too tight, “Which means if I went for him, Volpina would have died for nothing. So, I guess you made the right call to keep me there.”

A sigh, she couldn’t argue with the logic, but she couldn’t support it either. It wasn’t like she knew Hawkmoth would be okay; she had just been scrounging for excuses for Volpina to be saved instead.

“At the very least, I owe you one. Okay?”

“Send me the photo of our resident Heartbreaker simps’ gawdy outfits,” he said quickly, his grin breaking through the dreary haze.

Ladybug sniggered, “You got it.”

“Also, also,” he paused for a moment, cringing on the thought before awkwardly putting it to words. “You know Alya, right? Could you make sure she gets down for her next blog post that I pulled your butts out of the fire?”

“Fine, fine; I’ll help you brag,” Ladybug rolled her eyes, but despite her pride she didn’t have much problem with Paris knowing that Chat helped.

“Hey, I’m not just show boating, okay?” Chat crossed his arms, pouting, “I’m just having some trouble winning over a certain princess and could use all the help I could get.”

Ladybug opened her mouth to laugh, but before the teasing remarks could leave her lips, her brain caught up with the truth of the matter. Immediately, her response was traded for a fierce blush that she buried deep within her sudden frantic interest in the floor.

“O-Oh, a princess, huh?” she spluttered out, “Is she real royalty?”

Chat let out a dreamy sigh, “She is to me.”

“Aww, Kitty’s got a girlfriend?” Ladybug tried to fight off the internal war the Marinette parts of her were waging inside her heart, focusing on staying in-character.

“Not yet,” Chat murmured, “But I’m sure when I show her how cool I can be, she’ll see that I’m the cat for her.”

“H-Honestly, Chat. If she’s as good as you say, she probably already knows that.”

Ladybug said like she didn’t know this girl at all.

Ladybug said as if this girl wasn’t her.

Ladybug said as if Marinette was ready to admit that sort of thing.

Why did she say that? Why? Why?

Change topic. Now. Before you make things weird!

“Cheese!” Ladybug’s brain spat out in a brilliant moment of critical thinking.

Chat blinked, “Huh?”

“I mean-” Ladybug cleared her throat, “Isn’t it time you ate some cheese? Plagg’s probably hungry even if you didn’t use the full cataclysm.”

“I guess I should find somewhere to detransform, now that Heartbreaker is down, powerless and-”

Both of them froze.

Then, in unison, they both muttered, “The pig miraculous!”

Chat was the first to react, slamming his shoulder into Ladybug’s side just as she drew her leg back to try and kick him. As she was shoved to the ground, he called out ‘Truce over!’ as he leaped off the sentimonster stage and pushed himself into the air on the end of his extended baton.

Ladybug recovered quickly, pushing herself into a kneeling pose and quickly reaching for her yoyo. It lashed out, a poka-dotted lasso that snagged Chat by the foot before she yanked him down. He slammed into the muck of the battlefield, sinking a few inches into the mud, stared at by dazed and confused onlookers.

She took the lead as she pulled the yoyo back into her grasp, somersaulting over Chat’s prone form and taking just a second to send a smug salute down at him.

Chat clawed his way up from the muddy crater Ladybug had slammed him into, sputtering and soaked. “Dirty trick!”

Ladybug glanced back over her shoulder and grinned. “All’s fair in love and miraculous retrieval.”

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing it?” Chat leapt forward, sliding under a half-collapsed lighting rig and springing off a speaker like a trampoline. “Then say hello to Mr. Not-Nice Guy!”

“Hi, Mr. Not-Nice Guy,” Ladybug called sweetly, flipping mid-run to vault off a broken stand. “Let me introduce you to Major Outta-Your-League!”

They sprinted through the chaos like deranged toddlers in a candy store, bouncing off debris, stage fragments, and dazed ex-hypnotized fans who ducked in confusion as the two super-powered teens hurled themselves through what remained of Heartbreaker’s battlefield.

They ended up sprinting shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands flailing about in wild slaps trying to push one another off course.

“Give up, Bug!”

“Bite me, Fleabag.”

“I practically saved the day; I deserve the miraculous.”

“I’ve been holding up this entire case since the start, you came in at the last minute to steal credit.”

“Gah! Get your mitts off my face.”

“Don’t think I’m above kicking you in the dick!”

“Not before I knock you on your fat ass!”

Ladybug threw her yoyo forward again, aiming to snag the Pig Miraculous - which had clattered behind a pile of overturned speakers - but Chat somersaulted through the air and smacked it off-course with his baton. “Nope! Try again!”

“Seriously?” she groaned.

“Deadly serious,” he chirped, twisting to land in a crouch, only to slip in a puddle of paint-slick stage flooring. “Whoa- WHOA-!”

He crashed face-first into the mud again with an impressive splat.

Ladybug paused, doubled over laughing. “Oh no, you okay-” Then gasped, “Wait, no! You’re stalling me!”

She broke into a sprint.

Chat, flailing, tried to grab her ankle but missed by inches. “This isn’t over!”

“Oh, but it is!” Ladybug called back, twirling as she flipped to the centre of the mess. She landed in a cloud of pink dust, the anklet now only a few feet away.

Then she did what any reasonable, mature superhero would do in that moment of triumph.

She stuck out her tongue at Chat and yelled, “Nyah!”

That was the final straw.

Chat pushed up to his feet, muck dripping from his bangs, and pointed dramatically. “You started this war. But you forgot something important—I’m annoyingly persistent!”

“Oh really?” she said, lifting her yoyo high.

“Really!”

She smirked.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

A blinding wave light burst outward from her lucky charm as she casted it skyward, cascading over the stadium like a blanket of shimmering magic. All at once, chaos reversed itself. Shattered equipment floated back together. Speakers reassembled. Wires snaked back into sockets. The craters in the ground lifted and sealed, including the mud-pit crater Chat was standing in—

“Wait- WAIT!”

WHOOMPF!

The hole beneath Chat vanished in an instant, and he found himself suddenly thigh-deep in solid turf. “I WASN’T DONE STRUGGLING!”

Ladybug cackled, gleefully skipping over the newly repaired grass toward the stage where the pink-stained Pig Miraculous sat glittering in the sunlight. “You snooze, you lose!”

Chat twisted, struggling to pull his leg free. “You cheated! You used magic! I’m filing a complaint with the Miraculous Ethics Board!”

“Feel free! I’m the president.” Ladybug scooped the miraculous up with a smug little twirl, turning to flash him a blinding grin. “And your request has been denied.”

Chat opened his mouth to retort but suddenly stopped himself. He peered around Ladybug, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Hey, Bug?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“…Where’s Pepper?”

---

This was wrong. This was oh so wrong. Pepper couldn’t wrap her brain around it, the universe had been on her side, she deserved to win, she deserved to live her dream, she literally had all the winning cards; how could she lose? She had been so close to everything she could ever wanted, and now she wasn’t just back at the bottom, she was in the mud.

The police would be after her soon, and she had no pig miraculous to protect her, no miraculous to keep herself together, no career, no more music, no more nothing. All because, not only did she get the shit undeservedly kicked out of her, but she didn’t notice that the pig miraculous slipped off her ankle as she escaped.

She was going to be thrown in a dark dingy cell for the rest of her life if she was lucky.

“It can’t end here, not like this,” she cried out to herself as she stumbled down whatever alley way she’d ended up in.

Fresh tears couldn’t be stopped from racing down her cheeks, she could barely stop her knees from buckling long enough to reach the wall, she was falling apart. Her body collided with the brickwork, her hip flying out to knock over the rubbish bin as she collapsed, letting the bin fall and unload its contents all over her shoes.

“It’s that damn bug’s fault,” she exclaimed, fruitlessly punching the wall until the skin of her knuckles was torn red, “And that fox, and that peacock, and that cat, and that butterfly!”

Her strangled scream echoed throughout the alley. What was the point in trying to be subtle? She was fucked. Everything was fucked.

“I had Hawkmoth and Volpina completely under my control, and even they weren’t enough,” Pepper raked her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair, “Two miraculous freaks under my thumb, and what did I get from it? Some music, some kisses, some heatshields and their-”

From the depths of despair, a ray of hope surged to the forefront, cracking through her mad rage as her gaze flew to the ring on her finger. She clamped her other hand over that finger, desperation pleading for this to be her good fortune.

“H-How do I work this stupid thing?” she muttered incessantly to herself, fiddling about with the tiny buttons on the ring’s side.

Eventually, her fears were alleviated by the delightful, echoing ping of the ring. Just like Dutch had told her. Then, she was greeted by a holographic image. However, it wasn’t Dutch, it was just some weird eye symbol.

“Hey, you’re not-”

“Yellowjacket is indisposed at the moment,” a plethora of conflicting voices silenced her, the Mastermind’s scowl felt through it all, “I take it that everything has gone wrong.”

“Oh, right, y-you’re the big boss, right?” Pepper cleared her throat, “Those miraculous rat bastards ruined my concert!”

“And this is supposed to concern me?”

“Y-You gotta help me!” Pepper pleaded, “I was told when I accepted your ring that I’d get certain protection.”

“Are Hawkmoth and Volpina under your control?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Do you still have the pig miraculous?”

“No- Look, you have to listen to me!”

Pepper was stopped short of her next comment when the ring tightened it’s grip on her finger, sending volts of electricity shooting down her arm, shocking her until she fell limp against the wall.

“The fact that I am entertaining even a moment of your presence is a privilege, but do not let that nicety allow you to think you are in any position to make demands of your superior in any way.”

“I-I didn’t mean nothing…” she blubbered, barely hanging onto the wall now, “I just meant… I have things you wanna hear… I’m just trying to… Arg… Help you…”

“Continue.”

“I don’t have Hawkmoth and Volpina,” she paused, breathing in deep and leaning closer, “But I have their identities.”

She allowed herself to smile for a second, “I can give them to you, but, you know, I need to be alive and not in jail to do it.”

There was a pause. A long pause. A long stretch of silence that hung heavy on Pepper’s shoulder, dragging her deep into confusion. Did Mastermind not hear her right? Did they not realize how important this was? Hawkmoth, Volpina, and by extension Chat Noir would all be ruined! The Mastermind could do so much with their names, so why weren't they responding?

It seemed like an eternity until the ring responded.

With a sigh.

“No, I don’t believe you can.”

Pepper didn’t have time to ask what that meant before the Mastermind hung up.

Pepper didn’t have time to feel angry before the ring exploded in her finger.

Pepper didn’t have time to howl in pain before she stumbled back; and felt herself collide with a solid body.

“It seems to me,” Mayura said, “That you just got fired.”

Pepper whirled around just in time to have her world rocked by Mayura’s backhand, sending the woman spiralling into the trash pile nursing a bleeding jaw and broken teeth.

“To be fair, I don’t think your job status is going to mean much in the long run.”

“Dat ‘urt! Dat wucking ‘urt!” Pepper screamed out through her gushing mouth, the rage losing the fight to the pain, “Wut wong if u? Vuck, fwak… FFFFFFF-FUCK!”

“You really like that word,” Mayura rolled her shoulders back with a slight mocking grin, “Or is that only swear word you know?”

“Yew ‘uined my life,” Pepper cried, snatching the first thing she could find, a mouldy can of beans, and throwing it at Mayura. The can didn’t even reach the halfway point before hitting the floor and rolling past the target. “Wat yew want?”

“Oh, not much,” Mayura shrugged, “Just tying up a loose end.”

In an instant, the grin fell into a frown, the daggers in Mayura’s eyes becoming plain as day.

“You see, you hurt someone I love very much today,” a pause as Mayura crouched down in front of Pepper, catching the woman’s broken jaw and yanking it forward, “No, no, hurt isn’t the right word, is it? You violated him. You drugged him with magic and put your hands all over him.”

“I-I dudn’t no-oh he aweady had a-”

She cried out when Mayura squeezed. Hard.

“He could have been a lonely, annoying old bastard with no woman to his name or love to spend; and that still wouldn’t make what you did any less disgusting.”

Pepper could barely speak, but managed to spit out the blood welling up in her mouth, “Wha you wunt then? Um aweady cwacked.”

“There’s a lot of things I want from you right now,” Mayura mused, running her finger fown Pepper’s jaw, idly propping at the swelling flesh, “But I won’t indulge. Instead, I’ll simply ask for what I need. Namely, your silence.”

She pulled back, leaving Pepper to collapse.

“Your eternal silence.”

From behind her, the sentimonster helmet came into view, descending past Mayura’s shoulder. Pepper tried to run, she really did, but the floating creature was too quick, darting forward at lightning speed. Before Pepper could take her first step the helmet was already secured over her head, the tendrils from before now acting as restraints, all converging on her flesh and digging into her body.

Her jaw was rendered too useless to allow her to scream.

“Amplifier takes CDs, you know,” Mayura patted the sentimonster, and Pepper heard it purr inside her mind, her heart linking up with the creature, “And I have one I really want to hear your opinion on.”

There was a click, a whirl, and something was physically forced in the back end.

“I took it from your apartment, I hope you don’t mind.”

Pepper whimpered, trying to jerk her head away, but the sentimonster clamped tighter. A cold, whirring sound played directly into her skull. The melody rose, sharp and discordant, and Pepper screamed - not out loud, but inside, where no one could hear.

It didn’t take her long to recognise her own music, but of course, it was different now. It was different being played to her, being played without her transformation to protect her.

The music was soft at first.

A gentle coo, a lullaby whispered between the folds of Pepper’s broken thoughts. The vocals were layered with that same intoxicating tone she once used to drive her little hitlist to obsession, to breakdowns, to ecstasy so potent it killed.

The melody swelled, synthetic strings slicing through her like wires, bass reverberating deep inside her bones. The rhythm of her heartbeat began syncing with it, competing with it. It was a race, and her heart was already losing.

Her body convulsed as joy bloomed like wildfire across her nervous system.

Joy. Pure, awful joy.

Forced happiness tore through her chest. A high so bright it felt like she was being blinded from the inside out. Pepper clenched her teeth against it, tried to pull back into herself, tried to remember the pain, the betrayal, the fear-

But the music was louder.

It wanted her to smile. It demanded she be elated.

The tendrils on the helmet pulsed with the beat, as if congratulating her, and her face twisted into a sick, glassy grin. Her knees buckled. She fell forward, landing with a splash in a shallow puddle reflecting the distorted city lights.

In the puddle, she didn’t see herself.

She saw Heartbreaker.

The sequins. The lashes. The smug, sultry smirk. The echo of her stage voice that once melted crowds and ruptured souls. The monster she’d made herself into to take back her life, to thrive, to win. Here she was. Backlit in dirty water, weeping joy that wasn't real.

Her chest locked up.

She gasped. The smile didn’t falter.

A high, crystalline note in the song rang out like a knife. Pepper’s heart slammed once, twice.

And exploded.

The joy vanished. The light behind her eyes went out. Her smile stayed frozen, her body sagging forward. The helmet hissed and retracted its tendrils. With a final shudder, Pepper’s corpse faceplanted into the puddle. Ripples danced across the water’s surface, distorting Heartbreaker’s reflection as it fractured into broken pieces.

Behind her, Mayura finally stood up, her arms relaxed at her sides.

“To be fair, there was nothing else you could have done,” she chided, recalling the sentimonster to its feather, “You were dead the moment you peaked under their masks.”

---

It was stupid to wait up, to even hope; the very idea made Marinette feel like such a love-struck schoolgirl. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself, sitting at the end of her bed, waiting into the late hours of the night since returning home, wondering, or maybe hoping, she’d hear the familiar tapping of feet hitting her balcony.

“He won’t come tonight,” Tikki told her gently, scarfing down a macaroon. “You should be resting; it’s been a long day.”

Marinette sighed, falling back into her pillows, gripping the pig miraculous between her fingers, “I know, but…”

“I’m sure your boyfriend will visit you after he’s finished dealing with his father,” Tikki teased, “I doubt he gets many opportunities to scold Hawkmoth.”

Marinette flushed bright red, “I-It’s not like that! I just wanted to make sure he- Uh, well…” She spluttered, turning her body away from Tikki’s mischievous gaze, “M-Make sure he got away fine. I mean, we left him submerged in the ground and all.”

Tikki rolled her eyes, even if Marinette couldn’t see it, “Just go to sleep, Marinette. We still need to get up early to deliver the pig miraculous to Master Fu, and check on Volpina.”

A cold feeling erupted in Marinette’s chest, pushing back the warmth and mischief of their previous conversation, “D-Do you think she’ll be alright? Master Fu didn’t sound very confident.”

After securing the pig miraculous, and getting Volpina something to feed Trix, the two had been quick to phone up Master Fu and appraise him of the situation. Including Ladybug’s worries about Volpina being forced to use her miraculous power multiple times.

As it turned out, Master Fu didn’t know that Volpina had broken the protective lock on her miraculous power; it was the first time they’d ever heard Fu genuinely snap at someone.

“Those measures are in place for your safety,” Fu had hissed through the phone with uncharacteristic aggression, “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you, Volpina. Do you know what miraculous wounds could do to your body?”

Volpina scratched the back of her neck, chuckling nervously, “Hey, it can’t be that bad.”

“Volpina.” Fu said her name so firm it sounded like he was hitting her with it, “I have half a mind to take away your miraculous.”

The two girls physically recoiled at the idea, Volpina’s face breaking into a mix between anger and utter despair. Fury won out, Volpina leaping forward to snatch up the phone, “Y-You can’t do that! Ladybug needs me.”

“Ladybug needs a partner who won’t endanger her, and I need you to be as safe as you can be whilst going about your responsibilities,” He continued, unaffected by her rage, “If you cannot commit to either, then you are not ready to be a miraculous holder. My mistakes have already endangered both of you enough.”

“M-Master, we don’t need to be drastic, she was just trying to help us be better,” Ladybug leapt to Volpina’s defence, offering a reassuring squeeze on Volpina’s arm that made the girl relinquish the phone.

“I know,” he sighed, “But here we see exactly how such a thing can be easily abused to your two’s deficit.”

“L-Look, Master, I-” Volpina silently gagged for a moment, holding back the bile before spluttering out, against all internal protest, “I’m sorry, okay? I really didn’t think it would be so bad if I just used my powers responsibility.”

A long silence, and then a sigh, “I won’t be taking away your miraculous for now, Volpina, but you need to think these things through more.”

“You mentioned miraculous wounds, Master,” Ladybug asked, “Volpina’s going to be fine, right?”

“…I can’t say for sure,” he admitted, much to Ladybug and Volpina’s horror, “I need to prepare some things. When I’ve had a chance to look Volpina over, I’ll be able to give you a better answer.”

Volpina squawked, “W-What kind of answer is that?!”

“The only one I can offer you,” Fu said softly, “The extent of the damage can vary, but… Don’t worry, if it was fatal, you’d already feel it.”

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is!”

“Volpina will be fine,” Tikki assured her as she came back to the present, “She might be under the weather for a few weeks at worst.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Marinette said more to herself than Tikki, “I’m just being a worrywart.”

Tikki finished off her late-night snack, flying back towards the earrings on the desk.

“I’m going to sleep,” she told Marinette, “I suggest you do the same if you don’t want to be late again.”

“Hey, trust the process. I’ll be on time one of these days.”

A blur of red disappeared into the earrings and Marinette was left in the room alone, nothing but her, the night air, and her thoughts. Her dower, exhausted, untrustworthy thoughts. They’d been harassing her the moment she stripped herself of the Ladybug transformation, hushed whispers in her ear only muffled by distractions, by talking to Tikki, by thinking of Chat; but in the end they all came back in full.

She was worried about Volpina, she was exhausted from the fight, and she couldn’t help but feel her inner critic stir at the truth that, at the end of the day, Chat and Mayora carried them in that last fight. Her partner had gotten captured on her watch, she’d been so slow on figuring out the mystery that Heartbreaker had enough time to amass an army, and then Ladybug walked straight into a trap.

If Mayura hadn’t revealed Volpina’s trick, Ladybug would have been a slave. If Chat hadn’t stepped in when he did, Ladybug would be dead. If Mayura hadn’t been there, if Chat hadn’t been there, Hawkmoth would still be under Heartbreaker’s influence and they might have never had Amplifier to use against Heartbreaker.

They won the battle, Ladybug got the pig miraculous back, but Chat’s childish mockery had been right; she didn’t earn it. It fell into her lap, coasting off of other people’s competence, not hers.

Those thoughts waited until she was sure that Tikki was sound asleep inside her miraculous before leading Marinette into the bathroom. She closed the door, pressed herself against it, keeping her ear to the wall and taking her time listening to every distant creek and slumbering sighs that shook up the house.

Soon, she felt that the coast was clear, that she was safe… to indulge.

She slumped down against the door, bracing herself as the door stop in case anyone tried to enter. Her heel kicked at her bathtub, revealing a loose panel in the base, one that she pushed aside. Reaching in, she recovered a hidden item and pulled it back to cradle in her lap.

It was a bad idea. She knew this, she knew that any other day, if there was anyone there to judge, to ask her about it, she would espouse every platitude and line she’d heard from her parents. It was wrong, it would do nothing to help her, it would only make things worse.

She knew all the right things, and believed them to be factual, yet her instincts pushed her to defy everything she knew and indulge in the dream, in the delusion for this moment.

With a sigh, Marinette realized that there was no point to fighting it anymore. She’d always find the excuse she needed. She only hoped that this one time, just this one time, she’d be satisfied for the rest of her life.

“I’m sorry, Tikki…”

Marinette brought the ambrosia up to her lips and inhaled.

Notes:

Goodnight, Sweet Princesss; and flights of sick guitar solos sing thee to thy rest.

Anyone wanna hear about changing plans?

So, when I originally thought about this arc, there was a different ending here. Heartbreaker still died, of course, but a few things changed. Firstly, there was no DJ Disaster, in fact Hawkmoth's team weren't going to be involved at all other than Chat comming in for the save when he hears about Ladybug being in danger; instead they would have been looking into Yellowjacket. This means, in that version, I didn't give any set-up with the Pied Piper and the peacock miraculous, or Hawkmoth having any plans to get involved. Hawkmoth's side of the plot would just be about introducing some more funky shit Tomoe is doing with the miraculous she has, and forcing Hawkmoth into a corner where he willingly calls Adrien back into action. I didn't really want Hawkmoth and Ladybug working together directly to become a regular thing so that future team-ups would feel rare.

Heartbreaker's private concert would be at some old abandoned meat proccessing plant, and the threat would soley be hypnotized Volpina (who, in this version, got ambushed whilst investigating Pepper) and an army of hypnotized civilians, against Ladybug, Chloe and Roger. Chloe would still save Nino by kissing him and Chat Noir would help Ladybug knock some sense into Volpina. But Chloe, Roger and Nino would save the rest of the civillians by finding where Heartbreaker kept all their hearts and freeing them.

The three miraculous holders kicks Heartbreaker's ass, Ladybug scores the pig miraculous and then Pepper runs off deeper into the plant. She ends up taking Nino hostage, only for Chloe, who is dizzy from inhaling some chemicals by accident during the rescue, comes stumbling in, blindly bumps into Pepper and knocking her... Into a meat grinder. Chloe,, completely out of it and unaware asks what happened to Heartbreaker, to which Ladybug, Roger and Nino collectivly agree to gently shield Chloe from the fact that she just killed someone and say "Uh... She fell down some stairs? Yes, she's real... knocked out, that one. Good job, Chloe."

Another version where the Hawk team were directly involved from the start of the climax had Heartbreaker try to hypnotize Gabe, only for her using his emotional connection to his wife to end up just pissing him off and sending him into a murderous rage.

I'm happy with how it ended up though, and think Heartbreaker's death is much more ironic in this version.

In the next chapter, we end the Heartbreaker arc with some more scolding from Adrien, a new development with Hawkmoth and Mayura, Adrien finally confronting Gabriel about the picture he found; and some Miraculous Group Chat shit posting.

Next Time - Yearning:

This time, Hawkmoth was aware of Mayura landing before she got the drop on him, but he still let her creep closer, slightly curious how she’d approach him. He didn’t expect her to just settle down beside him, leaning over the railing, barely brushing her arm against his, sighing to herself without a quip to dispense.

The silence between them stretched on until Hawkmoth broke the ice.

“My mother was an alcoholic.”

“Huh?”

“My wife was too.” He fiddled with his fingers, face contorting into a flinch with every word, “I never liked who they were when they were drunk, even if my wife tried to protect me by taking her episodes outside. She thought I never noticed, but I did, I always did.”

Neither Gabriel nor Hawkmoth were good at saying thank you. He supposed this was a manner of compromise, offering her those crumbs of history that she valued for reasons he couldn’t understand, answering those incessant questions that felt so pointless to ask.

“That’s… that’s why I’m stingy about alcohol.”

Chapter 50: Heartbreaker: Yearning

Summary:

The Agreste Family cooldown after Heartbreaker's... Or heat up, depending on who you ask.

 

 

Adrien immediately collapsed against the nearest chair as soon as the transformation fell, sliding undignified into the sofa, his face pressed in-between the cushions. He had not started this night thinking he’d be rocking out until the villain collapsed, he didn’t even know he could play the keytar.

It had been a mad rush to get his father to safety, right after ripping himself out of the earthly prison Ladybug had buried him in. He’d ripped his father’s shirt off and wrapped it around the man’s head to conceal his identity before pole vaulting them both to safety.

Fortunately, Mayura had seemingly bounced as soon as the fighting was over, so he didn’t have to make any awkward attempts at being pleasant with her, nor endure her predictable disgusting comments about swooning over a now shirtless Hawkmoth.

Gabriel had insisted that he could walk the rest of the way just fine, but Chat was insistent on carrying the man through the night. He refused to put his father down, to let anything slip from his grip, from his control, until they were safe and sound back at the mansion. In his mind, Chat found the time to take great pleasure in Gabriel being carried bridal style, sitting slumped in Chat Noir’s arms, pouting like a child at his predicament.

“What a night…” Adrien grumbled into the cushions.

“You’re telling me,” Plagg hissed, “A whole night worth of fighting and you barely fed me.”

“You’ll find your usual spot fully stocked, Plagg,” Gabriel hummed, settling down opposite Adrien.

Plagg looked like he could cry, “Best employer ever,” he sniffled before dashing off through the wall and into the kitchen.

Adrien turned onto his side, now facing his father. Gabriel sat down in his usual chair, but with none of the grace or purpose, the man was slumped over, one hand retrieving his glasses whilst the other rubbed his temples.

Gently, Gabriel reached out to brush his thumb over Nooroo’s head, the kwami looking utterly drained. “You should go with him,” Gabriel suggested, “You’ve had a terrible night.”

The kwami looked down with a shameful gaze, “Are you sure you’re not mad at me, Master?”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, letting out a sharp scoff, “I’d have a hard time thinking of what you could have done to save us from that situation. No, Nooroo, I’m not mad at you, I am only relieved that I did not damn you any further.”

“I could have realised that Heartless’ song was infecting you and put a stop to this,” Nooroo hung over Gabriel’s nose, leaning into his touch.

“Nooroo, if it were so easy to make me change my mind, I wouldn’t be a supervillain.” Gabriel assured him softly, “Now, go and get something to eat. You look starved. I insist. Don’t make me turn it into an order.”

After a time, Nooroo decided to show a weak smile and follow in Plagg’s footsteps towards the kitchen.

Adrien watched after him, waiting until Nooroo left the room before shaking his head, “You know, it’s one thing to endanger yourself, but you put Nooroo at risk as well.”

“I know,” Gabriel stated plainly, leaning back in his seat and sighing. “I made a miscalculation.”

A miscalculation. It was so casual a description, like he’d just misjudged a throw and missed his target. The man wouldn’t even look at Adrien as he said it, just staring down to the open window, lost into the dwindling night. Was he waiting for the sun to rise, hoping the dawn of a new day would wipe away the mistakes of the one before?

No, Adrien couldn’t rest yet, wouldn’t let the moment be lost to time; not until he’d made himself clear. He balled up his hands into fists, pushing himself up onto the sofa’s arm rest, leaning back to make himself look taller than his hunched, awkwardly angled father.

“I was worried sick about you, you know?” he hissed, sharp, low, but still powerful enough to leap across the room and graze Gabriel’s frown, “About where you were, what you were doing, what Heartbreaker was doing to you. What if I hadn’t gotten there in time? What if she popped your heart right then and there?”

The moonlight framed his fear perfectly, shadows cast from the window cutting across the rest of his body, leaving only those trembling eyes to be illuminated. As he said to Ladybug, Chat Noir’s surface of calm style may have been loud tonight, but underneath there was something simmering. A fury at the villainess who turned his father, Volpina and even his best friend into her toys. A terror of all the bad ending scenarios that played out in his mind. A betrayal that his father would ever put them in such a position.

Chat Noir wanted to rib on Hawkmoth for being an idiot, wanted to be light-hearted, smug and teasing towards the grouchy older man. But with Chat Noir stripped away, Adrien was left with the raw emotions he didn’t try to contend with often, especially not towards the man he respected more than any other.

“What if I lost you?” Adrien’s voice fought to stay together, to not crack, under the pressure of his heart. Anger, fear and despair; all waging their personal war for which won out in the end.

Shadows masked Gabriel’s reaction, leaving only the memory of the man’s stone-faced careless expression for Adrien to project on. There was no immediate reply, no denial or excuse just yet, which only further incited the anger in the equation.

“Why did you do it?” Adrien never dared raise his voice to his father, not like this, not until today, “I know you have an ego that could eclipse the sun, but even you should have the sense not to walk right into her trap.”

Gabriel looked away. He loosened his shoulders, let a sigh roll over him, and looked away. Naturally, when his son was fighting off a desire to fall apart, all Gabriel could focus on was protecting his worthless pride. Why, how would he ever recover if he actually looked emotional in front of his pleading loved ones?

“I wasn’t thinking straight, I thought I was… stronger than I was,” he explained with only a slight waver to break the monotony of his normal, strict monotone. “I didn’t think her fake joy would appeal to me; I didn’t realize how much she had to offer.”

Couldn’t imagine it, more like it. He spent so much time playing the part of the ice prince that he couldn’t fathom that even a heart of ice was still a heart to someone like Heartbreaker. Guess Adrien couldn’t blame him for that delusion. After all, what did Gabriel Agreste know about heart? Emilie clearly did all the heavy lifting in that area of the relationship.

He stepped off the sofa, bare feet soft against the floor as he stalked across the room, eyes locked on Gabriel like a predator backed into a corner. “You weren’t thinking straight?” he echoed, voice pinched with incredulity. “That’s your explanation? Really?”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to meet the challenge. He simply adjusted his glasses and kept staring out the window, the corners of his mouth tightening like he was biting down on words he’d rather leave unsaid.

“You are so frustrating sometimes, you know?” Adrien snapped, gesturing with both hands, “You act like you’re this perfect, always pragmatic, never emotional thinker; but no, you’re just as emotional and stupid as the rest of us.”

That one hit. Gabriel flinched - not visibly, but enough for Adrien to feel it in the air between them. He watched his father finally turn toward him, just slightly, eyes faintly glassy behind the lenses.

But with no rebuttal to offer, Adrien kept on powering through, pacing back and forth as he ranted, “I mean, what were you thinking? No, really, what were you thinking? You walked into the lion’s den and decided to dress yourself up like a pig with an apple in its mouth!”

He was over his father now, flexing his fingers like they were preparing to wretch the man off the chair by his collar, glowering down at him. Adrien just wanted an honest reaction, something to show that his father can understand even a fraction of the worry clutching Adrien’s heart. Doesn’t he know that Adrien cares about him? That Adrien’s life would fall apart without him? Does he not care about how Adrien or Nathalie would be affected if his reckless stunt caused another tragedy in the family?

Or was it just about reputation, about optics? Nothing real mattered so long as Hawkmoth, as Gabriel, still felt like they looked strong.

“What if Nathalie hadn’t broken into Heartbreaker’s apartment and found those texts? No one would have known where you were, no one would have been there to save you, you would have- You would have-”

Adrien found his head falling into his hands, heavy breathing drowning out the end of that sentence. He couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t materialize that reality into his world. He knew this was all dangerous, but he was ready to consider a world without his father, he could barely process the one that lacked his mother.

“God, when Nathalie gets home,” he smoothed his hair back, hissing, grumbling, looking so damn ready to claw something out, “she’s probably gonna have even more words for you, because I am drawing so many blanks here.”

It was so quiet, even when his father eventually spoke.

“Adrien…”

He sat there, still hunched and silent in the soft dark, like some broken monument to the arrogance that used to hold him upright.

“I endangered the mission. I acted… foolishly. I rejected valuable input. I hurt the people I care quite a lot about.”

It wasn’t an apology, not directly, and it never would be. It was the only way Gabriel could meet him half-way, and Adrien supposed there was some appreciation of the effort, even if it wasn’t what Adrien wanted, or needed.

After a long moment, Adrien finally sat back down, slow and tired. He rubbed his face with both hands, then let them fall to his lap.

“You’re supposed to be better than this,” he said firmly, not looking at his father.  “You’re, like, the guy. My dad, the one who always knows what to do.”

Optimistically, you grow up under the impression that your parents are superheroes, or supervillains in his father’s case. They’ll get on your nerves, make you mad, do things that your child brain can’t understand, but you trust them. Because they’re your world, they defined and hold up your world. They know all the things you don’t know, do all the things you can’t, and are there for you when no one else could be.

They’re supposed to be invincible, supposed to always know what was best even when you don’t… they weren’t supposed to be people. Or have names. Or have lives. That’s why disappointing them as a kid was a worse fate than dying.

To Adrien, his father was everything, and most of all was reliable. He was the man who never lost his cool when the chips were down, the one column that would hold him up when the ceiling was crumbling. He wasn’t supposed to be a man, someone who could get hurt like this, who could be tricked like this, who could screw up like this.

Gabriel didn’t respond right away. He seemed to absorb Adrien’s words like they were an impact, a slow-motion punch to the gut. He inhaled deeply through his nose, quiet, thoughtful, older somehow.

“I have been ever resistant to the notion of your growing up, Adrien,” Gabriel finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching with a vague, tired grimace. “And I bet I will continue to be so. But one vital aspect of maturity is realizing that even the adults in your life, whose sole purpose is to take care of you, can fail in their duties.”

Adrien looked at him, brow furrowed. “When did you learn that about your parents?”

Gabriel’s eyes went distant, off somewhere far and grey, where the colour had bled out a long time ago. “Much younger than I should have.”

Adrien leaned forward, his voice low and steady now, the flickers of anger still present, but not the focus. “That’s… that’s why we’re a team, right? We know we’re not perfect on our own, so we lean on each other to iron out the faults.”

Gabriel’s gaze slid to him again, skeptical. “I shouldn’t have to lean on a teenager.”

“Yeah?” Adrien snapped back, folding his arms. “Well, until you sort yourself out, you’re gonna be. Because I will turn you in if you keep being… being…”

He spluttered for a moment, at a loss for a better word before settling on a forceful, “Being stupid!”

Adrien watched his father’s face sour, but unable to offer any counter. “You think Mom would be happy if she woke up to find you’re not there with us?”

His father didn’t answer.

“You started all this,” Adrien pressed, voice trembling again. “You have a duty to be there to finish it. To see it through. Not let Mom die of a heart attack the second she wakes up and sees your face isn’t the first one she sees.”

Still nothing. Gabriel’s eyes dropped to his hands.

And then, softly, brokenly: “What if there was no other way?”

Adrien’s jaw clenched. “I’ll never accept that.”

He stood again, fire in his veins now; clean, focused, not the kind that burned him up from the inside. “Dad, you have the power to create miracles. You can make anything a reality, that’s why you can never settle for nothing.”

Gabriel’s lips parted slightly, his brow tightening. “Are you talking about Gabriel or Hawkmoth?”

Adrien stared him down. “Both of their jobs are about making people’s dreams come true, aren’t they?”

That’s how Marinette had explained fashion to him, how she found her passion in it. You use a needle and thread to turn people into the fairy tale they’d always dreamed about, to make them fit into the world the way they want to. Despite his father’s cynicism, Adrien was sure that, on some level, Gabriel came from that same passion.

Hawkmoth carried the dreams of Adrien’s mother, maybe even the dreams of Adrien and Gabriel too; and in some ways, the dreams, or nightmares, of those who agree to be akumatized. He might not use them for the best reason, nor in a remotely responsible manner, but he held them all the same.

Gabriel’s eyes took on a distant colour, admitted with a regrettable grimace, “…Maybe once.”

“Once, smonce; just do it again,” Adrien scoffed, affecting the very tone his father used towards him when he stumbled in his studies or ran from his responsibilities, “It only stops if you give up, and if you give up, then I really lose respect for you.”

He found himself shooting forward to dig his finger into Gabriel’s chest, pushing the man down, albeit gently, and forcing their eyes to lock. If Gabriel wasn’t the man Adrien thought him to be, if he was the guy who was eager to give up and just hadn’t found their weakness yet, then what was this crusade that Adrien convinced himself to back built on? Cowardice? A mid-life crisis?

If Gabriel gave up, then Adrien was wrong. And if Adrien was wrong, he betrayed Ladybug, turned his back on an innocent girl who just wanted to help people, for nothing. No, this, all of this had to mean something more.

“Okay?” he breathed out, unable to hide how he shook.

“Okay.”

They let silence pass between them, Adrien watching his father diligently for any deception, any ‘but’s to nullify any understanding. Nothing came, just Gabriel’s haggard breath fading into a gentle rhythm. The anger, the fear, the fire; it all flickered for a moment and allowed Adrien to sink back into something normal.

However, under it all, there was still lingering guilt that chewed at him.

“I have a confession, Father.”

Gabriel tilted his head at the shift in Adrien’s tone; smaller, rougher around the edges. Not theatrical rage. Just raw, exposed nerves.

“When Heartbreaker almost-… when she-” Adrien swallowed, pacing again before blurting it out, “When we almost lost you and Volpina, I figured out a way to heal you by using a mini-cataclysm on the music itself.”

“You did?”

“And, and, and- I had to make a choice of who to save, and I didn’t trust Mayura for a second,” Adrien said, voice rushing forward. “I chose to save Volpina.”

Gabriel blinked once.

“You figured out a new use for your Cataclysm?” he asked, and Adrien couldn’t miss Hawkmoth’s excitement entering Gabriel’s voice.

Wait, excitement?

“What? Yeah, but- that’s not the important part.” Adrien gestured sharply.

Gabriel nodded slowly; lips pressed tight.

“And you’ve managed to control your powers enough to use less intense bursts of them that don’t immediately drain your miraculous,” he hummed. Calculating. Almost impressed.

“Father, did you not hear me?” Adrien snapped. “I chose Volpina over you.”

“I mean, I know she’s our enemy, but I don’t hate the fox,” Gabriel said mildly, lightly shrugging off the rising emotion in Adrien’s voice.

Adrien stared at him, slack jawed. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“…Should I be?”

“Yes?!” Adrien barked. “You got on my case for protecting Marinette and Alya. Shouldn’t you be pissed that I put someone else over my family?”

Gabriel’s mouth quirked with something unreadable. Wry, maybe even a little sad. He folded his hands.

“I took issue with the fact that you threw yourself into a situation that almost killed you for them,” he said, slowly, calmly. “You’re my son. You are my priority. And, as much as I hate to admit it… you’re your own man.”

Adrien blinked, stunned silent.

“I wouldn’t have made the same call,” Gabriel continued, eyes tired, voice subdued. “But… you were the only one in position to make a choice. You assessed the situation, you made a judgment, and you acted with control and clarity. That’s more than I can say for myself that day.”

“…But I didn’t choose you.”

Gabriel looked at him, and for a second, it almost looked like a smile before being swallowed by that pride again.

“You’re growing too fast for comfort, someday you’re going to leave the house and I won’t be able to do anything to stop you,” he pulled himself up to face Adrien on even footing, adjusting his wrinkled suit, “Save people? Fine, that’s your choice. Sacrifice yourself? No, when you’re in danger, or doing something profoundly stupid, I will step in.”

“So… you’re not mad?”

“Adrien,” he spoke the name with such weight, the same weight he then pushed onto Adrien’s shoulders when he took hold of them, “You did well tonight. Nathalie was right to call on you.”

Adrien was unable to respond, his mind had gone completely blank. His father had just complimented him, directly, and it wasn’t even the Hawkmoth side hiding his scowl, there was no mask in sight. Was this real? Did Heartbreaker actually get a good hit in, and this was Chat Noir’s death bed hallucination?

He only had enough time to take this treasured second and lock it away somewhere deep in his memory banks before Gabriel slipped one hand down to Adrien’s back and started guiding both of them towards the kitchen.

“Now, I want to know more about this ‘noise cataclysm’. You mentioned you could tune out specific sounds? And you can use it on other people, not just yourself?”

“T-That’s not all I can do, you know,” Adrien spluttered, scratching his cheek as a sudden wave of bashfulness hit him, “When I was fighting Dauntless, I taught myself how to make my cataclysm ranged.”

No, no, Adrien’s eyes weren’t deceiving him. That was a smile, and Gabriel ‘Could be a corpse’ Agreste looked like a damn child.

“Show me. Now.”

---

Afterwards, in early hours of the morning, the father of Adrien was nestled under his blankets, working through the multiple bowls of soup his son forced on him. The warmth of the surprisingly positive ending to the earful he received from his son lingered, though Adrien had warned him that, starting tomorrow, all bets were off on holding this event over his head for future taunts and jabs.

Nathalie still needed to get in on scolding him, after all.

However, the thought that kept him up was one that split him down the middle. Gabriel was pinned under the blankets, under all the symbols of the endeavours Adrien had to go through because his father had failed him. All while Hawkmoth lounged in the chair beside the bed, tucking his cane under his chin, his expression thoughtful.

“I can’t believe how fast these kids are figuring out their miraculous,” Hawkmoth mused, “They’re accomplishing in under a year what took us a decade of experimenting to get right.”

The masked personality let out a laugh, “Imagine it. Soon, our boy might outpace us.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” Gabriel replied sharply.

Hawkmoth rolled his eyes, “Can’t you just focus on the positives for once?”

“There is no positive here,” Gabriel’s glare turned on Hawkmoth, on the masked clown playing villain, “At best, he survived a problem that you caused.”

“I’m getting the sole blame here?”

“It was your foolishness that brought him into all this,” he spat full of venom and emotion he could show no one but himself, “Your recklessness with Mayura that allowed Heartbreaker to get into our heads, and your continued tolerance that stays my hand from keeping Adrien on the path to success.”

The cane came down along with Hawkmoth’s smirk, the man’s eyes narrowing, “What are you saying?”

A bitter, sneering smile came to Gabriel’s lips, leaning closer to poke Hawkmoth with the end of his spoon, “I wonder if perhaps it’s time that I forge a new identity, cut you out like the tumour you are.”

“You think me a parasite?” Hawkmoth broke out into a howling laugh, casually drumming his knuckles against Gabriel’s chest, “I’m the only thing left alive in the rot that is Gabriel Agreste.”

“You’re what’s holding me back from victory,” Gabriel hissed, “Without you, Emilie would be back with us by now, and Adrien wouldn’t be throwing himself into dangerous situations.”

He could feel Hawkmoth’s anger burn down the world around them, the ignorant jester pissy that Gabriel could take away the short-term pleasure of getting good boy points from Adrian whilst neglecting the long-term threat to Adrien’s health. Gabriel was thinking about what was best for Adrien, what would keep the boy safe, what would save this family; all Hawkmoth could think about was himself, indulging in these childish fantasies and chasing thrills like some deadbeat loser. Hawkmoth would only hurt Adrien in the end.

“Without me,” Hawkmoth leered ever close, his sneer couldn’t match Gabriel’s in intensity, but could outplay his other half in madness. He spoke low, “you’d probably end up akumatized Adrien.”

Gabriel didn’t bite back against the claim, though he was unsure whether it was because of how ridiculous it was, or because it was closer to the mark than he cared to admit. Instead, he scoffed, “You’d probably akumatized a toddler. Oh, how about another round with Mr. Pidgeon.”

“Face it, Hawkmoth,” he said the name with that mocking babying tone, reflecting how childish he saw the whole persona, “You’re nothing but a clown. Everything that makes you competent, makes you a threat, makes you worth a damn; it comes from me.”

That struck low for Hawkmoth, the man’s teeth grinding away as he head turned downward. It took a moment for him to regain his composure, whispering darkly, “Adrien doesn’t seem to think so, does his opinion not matter to you?”

“Adrien doesn’t know what’s best for him.”

“You’re starting to sound like Tomoe,” Hawkmoth muttered bitterly, the name spat like a thorn caught in his throat.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Gabriel snapped, “Her and I have always been similar.”

“Not anymore, not since Adrien changed everything,” Hawkmoth countered, sitting up straighter in his chair. “You’ve changed, both of us have, for the better.”

Gabriel gave a bitter laugh, the kind that sounded more like a scoff choked on regret. Regret was one thing both sides of the man could unify on.

“I know we’ve been hurt so much that pain is the only thing we trust in this world, and we fight like hell against any sort of relief on instinct,” Hawkmoth said, voice quieter now, but firmer, with a note of earnestness rarely heard from his mouth. “But we have to be honest and open our eyes when things are going better.”

He leaned forward, tapping his cane lightly on the ground. “If we can’t see the finish line, how are we ever going to know when to stop?”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. His fingers twisted tightly into the blanket like they were trying to strangle the warmth out of it.

“My pain!” he spat, “You’re just a passing creation of my mind, you are not me, you know nothing of my past.”

“Oh hoho, you’re so sure that it’s not the other way around?” Hawkmoth barked out a laugh, drawing his fingers over his mask, gesturing to himself with a shake of his hands, “I’m the man, you’re the defence mechanism Gabi Grassette created to protect himself.”

“You,” Gabriel shot back, wielding his finger like a stick and breathing it against Hawkmoth’s nose, “are the childishness that clung to Gabi’s feeble mind. The embarrassing little manchild Emilie hated being associated with. I’m the one she fell in love with.”

“Say whatever you want, Gabe,” Hawkmoth said with a lazy shrug, letting his cane fall against his shoulder. “I’m here to stay. And so is Chat Noir.”

“…Why?” Gabriel’s voice cracked with something fragile and furious and aching all at once. “Why?”

Hawkmoth smiled. It was soft, unexpectedly so.

“Because Mayura already told us what we needed to hear,” he explained, leaning closer, “We’re worth saving.”

---

The next day had been long and awkward. Both halves of the man, Gabriel and Hawkmoth, were in a state of awkward flux, one side trying to find everything wrong in their situation, and the other trying to savour everything right. Hawkmoth had to imagine that it made for a confusing experience for Adrien and Nathalie when they stopped to check in on him.

Both halves at least agreed about how much they hated being cared for, being treated like something fragile, like he couldn’t handle basic tasks on his own. He was in bed because he was an idiot, not because he was an invalid or sick.

As Adrien had predicted, Nathalie was another run through of every way he failed his family this week. Naturally, however, she didn’t approach it with the same plan of attack. No, Nathalie decided to settle with passive aggression over verbal sparring.

She’d make a show of sitting down by his bed, snatching the bowl and spoon from Gabriel’s hands and then aeroplane the food into his mouth like he was a baby. And he knew she was doing it on purpose because she only barely stopped herself from making plane noises and laughing at his face.

It was her subtle way of telling him ‘Act like a baby and you’ll be treated like one’.

Her more direct jab came in the form of her asking how much he’s learned today, and coaxing out a list of disgruntled admittances that killed him on the inside to say. He learned that he should never face a brainwashing villain alone, that he shouldn’t ignore everyone around him when they say he’s sick, that he underestimated Adrien, and that something something Nathalie is always right.

To himself, he’d find himself grumbling about how lucky she is that she’s too beautiful for Gabriel to get mad at, otherwise he’d be giving her a serious talking to. No, it didn’t matter that she was right!

At the very least, she seemed happy, with that adorable little crinkle in her brow when she was struggling to hide a smile, when he made it clear that he wasn’t planning to take away Adrien’s miraculous again, and that Adrien performed excellent out there. Happy enough to let him eat his own food again.

He was surprised that, when he suggested transforming so he could go and meet with Mayura again and thank her in person, that Nathalie agreed with it. Yes, the logic made sense in his head, but she didn’t even give him a chance to explain it. She just agreed.

And so, that night, he found himself on the Eiffel Tower once more, awaiting her arrival.

This time, Hawkmoth was aware of Mayura landing before she got the drop on him, but he still let her creep closer, slightly curious how she’d approach him. He didn’t expect her to just settle down beside him, leaning over the railing, barely brushing her arm against his, sighing to herself without a quip to dispense.

The silence between them stretched on until Hawkmoth broke the ice.

“My mother was an alcoholic.”

“Huh?”

“My wife was too.” He fiddled with his fingers, face contorting into a flinch with every word, “I never liked who they were when they were drunk, even if my wife tried to protect me by taking her episodes outside. She thought I never noticed, but I did, I always did.”

Neither Gabriel nor Hawkmoth were good at saying thank you. He supposed this was a manner of compromise, offering her those crumbs of history that she valued for reasons he couldn’t understand, answering those incessant questions that felt so pointless to ask.

“That’s… that’s why I’m stingy about alcohol.”

He heard Mayura take a few steps back, a light gasp slipping from her lips, “I never knew-” she caught herself on something and cleared her throat, “I never thought about it like that. Forgive me, I was being insensitive the other night.”

He waved his hand, dismissing her apology, “I doubt I have any room to complain about another being ‘insensitive’ about information they don’t even have.”

The casual confession seemed to give her pause, pulling herself together before she slipped by his side once more, slotting in so perfectly, like she belonged there. “Heartbreaker must have really rattled you if you’re in a forgiving mood.”

His response was a non-committal grunt.

The calm in her voice wavered, her fingers dropping to his arm. Her touch wasn’t the hungry, favoured, yet graceful endeavour it usually was. Instead, it was gentle, fingers looking to probe with a fear of breaking something fragile.

“Did she…” a sharp breath was sucked in, Mayura’s fingertips slightly flexing with her tension, “Did Heartbreaker do anything to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he surprised even himself with how quick the response came to him, something he hadn’t even been aware that his subconscious had written in response to a question he hadn’t thought about.

Immediately, Mayura’s hand came up to grasp his cheek, and shamefully he didn’t find himself flinching away from it. Gently, she pulled him down to look at her, but that he refused, immediately scrunching his eyes shut. Show him darkness, show him horrors, show him mediocrity; whatever he saw, he couldn’t see her face, not now.

“Please,” she pleaded, and he felt her forehead meet his own, “Let me help you.”

He didn’t need help. He shouldn’t need help. He should shove her away and treat her as the stranger with a suspicious amount of investment in him. He couldn’t spare trust for his own family, for the very son he claimed to do all this for, so how could he ever be tempted to trust this woman? What, just because Nooroo and Duusuu vouched for her? Nooroo trusted him, obviously that kwami was a bad judge of character.

But maybe that was why he could trust her, because she didn’t matter, because she wasn’t family. She was just some woman, some thief; if she judged him or thought less of him, it would mean nothing to him. If he lost the respect of Adrien or Nathalie, it would be a knife plunging deep and ripping out a part of him. Mayura? What did it matter if Mayura stopped caring? If she was appalled by his weakness? She didn’t matter.

“She just put her lips all over me and made me do some stupid dances with the other brainwashed fans, that’s it,” he murmured.

He hated how he unconsciously gripped his arm. It was humiliating to know that, while the lip stick stains had faded, he could still see them in his mind’s eye, marking his skin like bruises.

“She strung me up like a puppet and showed me off like her prized, expensive accessory,” gritted teeth gave way to bitter spitting, “she turned me into a prisoner in my own body and violated all the mental barriers I relied on all these years.”

At first, he wanted to liken it to the models he sent down the runway, turned into mannequins that his designs were displayed upon. But he liked to think it was different, that the models were there by choice and, optimistically, because they liked their role and knew they were a vital part of making his designs work.

The second thought was to imagine it akin to becoming the model’s dress, the wrap of expensive materials designed by another’s hand. No wants, no choice, they mattered in what they illustrated about the one who created them, the status, the worth, the money. He hadn’t been Heartbreaker’s model, just her status symbol, a trophy that told everyone else she’d made it.

“And worst of all, she humiliated me, turned me into a glorified henchman.”

Of course, above all, his pride had been hurt, his flaws had been exposed. He could endure the violation; he could not endure the loss of respect.

“She’s dead, you know.”

There was a hardened edge to her voice, and a desperate struggle to her grip. Instinctively, he moved closer, letting her hand slacken without letting go. She spoke with such indignance, he could feel the rest of her body shaking against him as the bile dripped from her lips. She was angry, disgusted by Heartbreaker, and self-assured in what she’d done as punishment.

“They’ll find her body in an alley way, head in a puddle and heart all over the floor.”

Even in the darkness, the light of her bubbling fury, of her desire for retribution on his part, shone through. He had no choice but to accept it no matter how tightly he kept his eyes shut. It wrapped around him, warmer and softer than any blanket his money could buy or his hands could sow.

He opened his mouth, asking in a breathless gasp, “Why?”

“Because she hurt you.”

He made the mistake of opening his eyes. He’d avoided looking at her this entire encounter for good reason, because he knew, every part of him, even the parts in denial, knew. As soon as he saw her, he had to cut his breath short, everything had to freeze, and there was no going back from the realization of how beautiful this woman was to him.

Her face bore a pale blue lit up by purple flush of passion that flowed so freely from her. Dark hair swept over her cheeks, clinging to the curve of her face like it was embracing her. Lips pushed out, polished with dark gloss, the corners upturned in a perpetual, sultry smile, flawlessly alluring even in her anger.

In the little details, the bridge of her nose, the teasing of cheek bones, the curve of her eyes; there was sharpness. She was a weapon, flexible, but precise and strong. Even when pressed against him, where he could feel the softness of her generous proportions, he knew they were a deceptive surface to the strength hidden within, strength of both the physical kind that knocked some sense into him, and the emotional kind that left him weak under her spell.

She’d gotten under his skin, wormed her way into glowing under his emotional senses, and he was forced to admit that there was a spark there.

His body betrayed any nobility or dignity, it was painfully honest at how much the teases of skin, the shroud of her dress, and the softness of her touch lit a shameful fire within.

His mind, however more bleak and stubborn, succumbed to a fire all the same, one that saw his heart melting as he gazed down at those elegant features brimming with devotion, with yearning for something he simply couldn’t understand.

The scarf around her neck, a bright snowy blue that contrasted the darkness the rest of her outfit put on display, it made him feel lost in a snowstorm, desperate to take it and wrap it around himself, to wrap her around himself.

“Am I supposed to applaud you for that?” he grunted, allowing only his anger, his own indignation to flare up and drown out the shameful thoughts that betrayed his very soul.

“I never asked you to do that for me.”

Mayura broke away, her gaze lost as she looked out over Paris, though a smalls mile remained.

“I didn’t do it for your gratitude,” she admitted softly, “I’d do it even if you hated me.”

“I do hate you,” he growled, though to his distain the aggression did nothing to dampen her expression.

“You and all your presumptions, all your manipulative little acts,” he continued with a sneer, finding himself playing with the end of her scarf, lips pulled back pity to poor, pitiable piece of material, “I despise it all. It’s so desperate and pathetic of someone who holds themselves up as in control.”

He really did. This audacious woman gave him so much trouble that even saving his life couldn’t be proper penance. His wife, the woman he promised himself to, the woman whose life he ruined, the woman who trusted him to save her; his heart betrayed her for this nonsense. Emilie was sleeping below, waiting to be awakened by her loyal husband, all whilst said husband was finding himself with confusing feelings for his assistant, and lusting after some worthless thief.

What kind of a man did that make him? To have such traitorous thoughts.

What kind of a woman was she? To do all this to him, to expose his worthlessness as a husband, and continue to stand there all casual, unaffected, as if his inner turmoil meant nothing to her.

His anger carried him forward, taking the woman by surprise and slamming her into one of the pillars holding up the roof of the observation deck. It was most ungentlemanly, the rough way in which he caught her hands and yanked them upwards, but there was no room for remorse on his end, not tonight. Gabriel needed to assert control. Hawkmoth needed to put her in her place. A patience, a power, that the two had been losing for a while, but didn’t realize it until Heartbreaker showed them how low they’d truly sunk, until they had to be saved by Mayura.

Her scarf was so delicate, so pretty, so innocent; but it also made for a good restraint. He tied her arms together, pinned high up above her, and strung them to the pillar. Looming over his bound companion, Hawkmoth relished in the moment where her façade was shattered. Sure, calm, collected eyes gave way to shock and awe, gazing up at her captor with her breath hitched and back arched.

There was no fear in her eye, just the hunger reflected in Hawkmoth’s, the hunger she pretended she had any control over. She fell limp in his care, though self-consciousness did enter in flickers now that she was exposed, now that Hawkmoth was done trying to keep it subtle.

A bead of sweat dropped from her brow, and Hawkmoth was unabashed in following its journey. From the head, past the sharp slope of her eyes staring back at him with an unspoken challenge, past the ridges of her cheekbones that only further hollowed out with her breathing, past the chin that descended to keep her lips hung open, down the slender curve of her neckline, before finally disappearing into the rolling hills of her chest.

He leered at her openly, because that was all this was, all he was after, the lust, the perversion. This was nothing more than a shameful bodily function, the yearnings of a man deprived of his wife’s affection for years.

He gave her a chance to resist, he gave her a chance to push him away, gave her a chance to tell him what was on her mind. Her scarf was nothing but a prop, a symbol, it had no chance of actually restraining her, it was there to be an unspoken honesty; that she wasn’t interested in escaping.

Rough fingers caressed her cheek, taking hold of her chin and using it as leverage to pull his head down closer. His thumb rested on the edge of her throat, feeling every laboured breath beat under his fingertips, feeling the slow swell and the sudden drop.

He let her see his teeth come out in full force, every letter on his lips bitten down upon, ripped apart by a grimace, by pain, as he growled, “You mean nothing to me.”

She didn’t matter.

She wouldn’t matter.

She could never matter.

That’s how Gabriel reasoned it, what he kept to his chest like his own personal bible, as he crashed his lips against hers and cradled her in her arms like he cared. This would be one time, one meaningless little kiss just to sate his curiosity.

It would never happen again, he told himself.

It would never be anything more, he told himself.

Of course, it would take Nathalie days of thinking about this kiss for her to start considering the excuses she’d make in her head about it.

---

Miraculous Group Chat

GlitterMoth: TIKKI.

GlitterMoth: We will have words.

QueenBug: What is it now?

Chester: Give it a minute…

QueenBug: Oh shit.

QueenBug: I just noticed. I’m wheezing.

FreakiTikki: Hey, it was Chat Noir’s idea.

KittyPun: Tikki!

KittyPun: I gave you sweets, I thought what we had was special.

GlitterMoth: My own son, a traitor!?

QueenBug: Yeah, Tikki, not cool.

GlitterMoth: Thank you.

QueenBug: You can’t just snitch on Chat Noir like that.

KittyPun: The betrayal.

FreakiTikki: I’m just looking out for my holder.

FreakiTikki: It’s gonna be her that he takes out his anger on.

QueenBug: …

QueenBug: You go, Tikki. Get his ass.

KittyPun: I am truly alone in this world.

FoxyLady: Wait a minute.

FoxyLady: Chat’s been meeting with Tikki?

QueenBug: WAIT. HOLD UP.

QueenBug: WTF Tikki?

FreakiTikki: I’ve been meeting with Plagg and Nooroo.

FreakiTikki: Chat Noir just happened to be there.

GlitterMoth: You know where we live!?

Chester: Duh?

KittyPun: I thought you already knew.

KittyPun: Why else did you start making little outfits for the kwamis?

GlitterMoth: Great. Thanks for spoiling the surprise.

GlitterMoth: I was going to hand them out at our one-year anniversary.

FoxyLady: Damn, that’s coming up soon, huh?

FoxyLady: How long have we been at this?

KittyPun: Uh, it’s kind of hard to tell? It’s been about seven months, I think?

QueenBug: Wait, what? No way.

QueenBug: I don’t remember going through Halloween or Christmas, it can’t have been seven months since September.

FoxyLady: I bet it’s because of those time fuckery akumas.

FoxyLady: One week you had one that accelerated time, and the next one that slowed everything down.

FoxyLady: I told you something like this would happen! Now the progression of time is out of whack and we’re living two months in a day.

KittyPun: Oh god, what year is it?

QueenBug: I don’t know!

GlitterMoth: How old am I? How old are you?

GlitterMoth: Are you going to be teenagers forever?

QueenBug: The timeline is fucked. The timeline is fucked!

---

DM: QueenBug and FoxyLady

FoxyLady: What did you do?

QueenBug: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

FoxyLady: What the fuck did you do?

FoxyLady: Why is Alya calling me Cottontail and sniggering?

QueenBug: Oh, you haven’t seen the blog post then?

FoxyLady: No, I was too busy recovering from being brainwashed.

QueenBug:

QueenBug: I mean, I don’t know about you, but that tail kind of looks like cotton candy.

FoxyLady: You backstabbing bitch!

FoxyLady: You told me you didn’t take any pictures.

QueenBug: I didn’t. Chat Noir did, I just gave them to Alya.

FoxyLady: We are done. We are so done.

FoxyLady: What happened to partners having each other’s backs?!

QueenBug: Hey, I don’t know what the deal is. You wanted me to be a wingwoman.

FoxyLady: You’re supposed to talk me up to Alya, not embarrass me!

QueenBug: For your information, she thought you were adorable.

FoxyLady: I am not adorable! I am sexy, deadly, mysterious. Anything but fucking adorable!

QueenBug: I think it makes you more relatable and approachable.

QueenBug: We don’t want Alya to be intimidated by your flawless image now, do we?

FoxyLady: I’ll get you for this, Bug. I swear to God.

QueenBug: Oh, right, I almost forgot.

FoxyLady’s nickname has been changed to ‘CottonTail’

---

Miraculous Group Chat

CottonTail: Hawkmoth, does you team still have some positions open?

GlitterMoth: Always.

KittyPun: Welcome aboard, Foxy!

KittyPun: We have a great welcome package, and a whole lot of cookies.

QueenBug: Wait, what!?

QueenBug: Volly, you can’t!

CottonTail: Sorry, Buggy, they have cookies.

QueenBug: I have all the cookies you’ll ever need!

CottonTail: My villain arc has begun, you can’t stop me now.

KittyPun: Hey, why is Dusuu muted?

FreakiTikki: Nooroo assured me that she needed a pre-emptive time out.

ButterBoy; Trust me, it’s for the best.

TrixxOrTreat: Wait, what happened?

TrixxOrTreat: Which ship sailed?!

---

DM: QueenBug and FeatherFatal

FeatherFatal: It is done.

QueenBug: So, the sentimonster?

FeatherFatal: Sentiquil is on his way to the meeting spot.

FeatherFatal: He will help you with your philosophy homework.

QueenBug: And?

FeatherFatal: And I’ve ‘borrowed’ all the fabric you needed.

QueenBug: Good.

FeatherFatal: I don’t know how to feel about being extorted by a hero to commit criminal acts and aid in educational cheating.

QueenBug: Hey, it’s not extortion. It’s a deal, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.

FeatherFatal: Then…

FeatherFatal: You have it?

QueenBug: Use it responsibly.

QueenBug:

FeatherFatal: I always do.

QueenBug: So…

QueenBug: Did Duusuu’s ship sail?

FeatherFatal: It was only a kiss!

FeatherFatal: And I can’t stop thinking about it.

QueenBug: Please, don’t give me details.

---

It felt weird to knock on his father’s door. Adrien was so used to only entering his father’s room when summoned to it, actually announcing his presence and entering without an invitation was just so casual, yet so strange to him. He glanced down at the photo trapped in his grip, the very thing that led him to his father’s door, and took a deep breath.

He knocked.

“Enter,” came his father’s voice, tinged with a yawn.

His father was looking better than the night he was returned home from Heartbreaker, almost eerily so. Nathalie mentioned him going to some important meeting the other night that she didn’t have the details on, and his father returned surprisingly energized and, dare Adrein even suggest, giddy. For a moment, Adrien had worried that Heartbreaker’s magic was still in play, but Nathalie and Nooroo assured him that nothing nefarious was involved.

Come to think of it, Nathalie was acting weirdly chipper too. Adrien made, like, seven puns through the morning and she didn’t even flinch, just made little sighing noises. She must have really liked scolding his father.

Now, Gabriel stood at his drawing station, pen zipping over the tablet with a favour. It seemed Adrien had caught his father in the midst of some inspiration, and for a moment he was afraid that he interrupted something.

“Are you busy, Father?” Adrien asked, lingering in the doorway, unsure, “My thing can wait.”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel waved his hand, “My fingers were cramping up anyway.”

He saved his work and slid the stylus back into it’s holder, before casually folding away the tablet. Gabriel hopped off the platform, smoothing out the creases in his sleave and rolling his wrist back-and-forth.

“What is it, Son?” Gabriel asked.

Adrien had to take a moment to mull over his question. He didn’t think he did anything wrong, the picture was just something he found in the attic after all, but he knew that when it came to his father’s past, Gabriel locked up tighter than Fort Knox. And Adrien did not need to end this afternoon on a lecture.

“Remember how you had me clean the attic?”

“We have an attic?” Gabriel’s face turned thoughtful as he passed, guiding Adrien towards his guest.

For a moment, Adrien internally cheered that Gabriel too probably had no idea where the attic was. Take that Nathalie.

“Oh, right,” he hummed as he settled into his seat, Adrien standing across from him, “yes, we do.”

Alright, here came the big moment. The photograph felt like it was burning through Adrien’s fingers the longer he drew this out, but he still kept it hidden behind his back, leaning over his father with a curious smile.

“Yeah, well, while I was cleaning it, I found some old things of yours.” His one free hand made idle gestures, sweeping back and forth through the air.

Gabriel groaned lightly, stretching out his leg as he leaned back. Seriously, the man had suddenly become limber in the span of a night. When Nathalie whips someone into shape, she must have cracked that whip hard.

“Hm, it’s been so long,” he sighed, “I don’t think I remember anything I left up there.”

Adrien cleared his throat, trying to keep his stance stiff and respectful as he spoke, “I wanted to ask you about some of them, if that’s okay?”

His father’s eyes narrowed, “I’ll tentatively say yes.”

“Sweet!” Adrien broke his ‘professional’ façade to squeal, only to freeze, pull back and cough into his fist. “I mean, thank you, Father.”

“So, what I really wanted to know about was this photo,” he began.

The moment of truth came as he slipped the picture out from behind his back, bearing Gabriel’s punk past and dated hairdo, and the tiny ballerina girl who clung to him. He expected his father to clam up, or cringe away into second-hand embarrassment.

“Is this really what you used to-”

He didn’t expect the rage and pain that broke from Gabriel’s eyes as the man lunged forward and made a move to snatch the picture from Adrien’s hand, which Adrien only narrowly avoided in stumbling backwards. This wasn’t the stern disappointment his father usually wielded when Adrien did something he wasn’t supposed to, it was a scared animal lashing out, desperate to rip that picture from sight and mind.

“Father?” Adrien gasped, holding the picture out of reach as he offered Gabriel a bizarre stare.

Gabriel huffed and puffed, his face beet red and a whine undercutting his tone, “W-Where did you get this?!”

“From the attic, like I said?”

“Give it back, give it back now!”

Gabriel surged forward again, but Adrien side-stepped him with a startled yelp, clutching the photo to his chest. "Okay—okay! Geez, calm down!"

“I didn’t think it was anything bad,” Adrien said gently, heart still thumping. “I just… I thought it was kinda cool. And you looked happy. Well, happy for you.”

Gabriel sat back down slowly, the fire in his expression dampened into smouldering embers. He rubbed his face with both hands, as though trying to physically push back the wave of emotion that had overtaken him.

“I—” he began, voice raw, “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I didn’t mean to… frighten you.”

Adrien, still standing stiff near the chair, offered a gentle nod. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

Gabriel looked down at the photo again. “Yes… this picture is very important,” he admitted. “It’s a part of me I left behind. A part I thought I could forget.”

Adrien hesitated, then asked the question that had been tugging at him since he first found the photo. “Who’s the girl in the picture?”

Gabriel’s hand curled tighter around the frame. He turned slightly, his shoulders drawing inward.

“I can’t talk about it, Adrien,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “I don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that, but… please. Respect my privacy.”

Adrien nodded, though there was a tightness in his chest that hadn’t gone away. “I understand, Father. It’s just…”

He let the words hang for a moment, then continued, more softly.

“You’re part of me. Just like Mom is. I know all about her side of the family, I know how she fits into the picture; my picture. But I don’t know anything about where the ‘you’ part of me comes from.”

Gabriel’s eyes didn’t lift, but he was listening. Adrien could tell.

“I just want to understand more about where I fit into everything,” Adrien finished.

Silence again. A long one.

Then Gabriel nodded slowly. “I know, Son,” he said, voice quieter. “I know. I’m just… not ready to speak about it yet.”

Adrien gave a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but held no resentment. “I’d love to hear about it one day.”

“And you will,” Gabriel said. “I promise. Just… not today.”

It took some time before Adrien left the room, before Gabriel could breathe again. It stretched on for an eternity, Gabriel’s ears fell in tune with every little creak and tick throughout the house that told him that time was still passing. When he was alone, and he was sure that Nooroo was still slumbering in Gabriel’s bedroom, Gabriel allowed himself to get up.

He approached under Emilie’s curious gaze, running his fingers down the painting, over her arm and stuffing away his guilt before punching in the combination. The safe swung open and Gabriel found himself staring grimly into it. A lot of history, a lot of secrets, were stored within this safe. And all of them surrounded the miraculous, Emilie’s illness, Adrien’s memories; all the pillars of Gabriel Agreste’s life.

It felt almost wrong to put a piece of Gabi Grassette in there with them.

Gabriel looked down at the picture one last time, his thumb grazing the cheek of the little girl. He could feel that moment echo within him, his skin shivering as if her dainty little frame was still hanging from him, desperately trying to reach his shoulders as he pouted and complained about not being her personal booster seat.

“You’d love him, you know,” he whispered to himself, allowing the tears to fall freely for the first time in years.

They splashed down over her face, covering up her smile, of all the joy she brought to the world. He turned the picture over, noting that Adrien obviously hadn’t done the same, otherwise the significance of the picture would have been clear.

It was a little note she left. She wrote them on every single picture in that damn photo album she made for him.

I don’t care how old I get, I’ll never be embarrassed by my Big Brother.

- Adrian Grassette, future super star.

Gabriel found himself unable to put in the safe, not before his knees gave way and he fell to his knees. His shoulders shook, and he could do nothing but wrap his arms around himself and feel the wound open as fresh as the day it was made. He could do nothing but hope no one else could hear his sobs.

“You’d have made for such a wonderful aunt.”

Notes:

On our 50th chapter, I'm pleased to tell you that Papoochu on Tumblr has drawn some amazing fanart. I fucking love how Ladybug and Volpina are drawn so much: https://www.tumblr.com/papoochu/784990144247758848/college-is-killing-me-but-im-holding-onto-various

I was gonna finish editing the next World On Fire chapter, but I feel like the Heartbreaker arc had one chapter left, so might as well close out that arc.

In the next chapter we head into the Tortle Shelamity Arc... Which, naturally, starts with the mouse miraculous.

Next Time: You Gotta Be Pidgeon'ing me

Don’t you say that Larry Fudge ever talked any trash.

He knew that many would say he wasn’t the most masculine of men, some would even say that he screamed like a little girl and had a woman’s legs; but having a five-foot nothing teenager in pigtails hoisting him up into her arms like it was nothing? It was a little emasculating.

“Sorry about the bumpy ride, Sir,” she hummed, placing him gingerly back on his feet. “I’ve never had to carry someone with such…”

She paused, suddenly tight lipped and speechless.

Larry loving patted the giant missile shaped anomaly that was his pompadour, beaming with pride that it’s stature could impress even a superhero.

“Uh, distracting hair? Couldn’t really see where I was going.”

“No problem, little dudette,” his comb was already in hand, poised for glamour as straightened out the majestic point of his pampered peak. “Not everyone can handle so much power in their face; you should have seen my mom’s face when I popped out in the hospital.”

“You mean to tell me you were born-” Ladybug stopped herself, biting back the usual flood of questions everyone had for the Fudgster, “Anyway, you’re safe now. Oh, and I snagged your bag.”

She dropped a thick duffle bag at his feet with a loud thump, whistling to herself as she did so, “Geez, what do you have in here? It’s heavy.”

Now, it was Larry’s turn to feel overwhelmed. Lucky Liver Larry was no guilty Glynda or nothing, he was a hardcore, ride-or-die hard ass, with nerves of steel. It’s just that, if the kid opened that duffle bag, she might get the wrong idea. She’ll look at all that green and wonder ‘Hey, why would someone as cool and obviously rich as Larry have all his money in cash? Shouldn’t he store some of this in the bank?’.

And when you lived as full a life as old Larry, you knew that, when little girls start asking questions, everything’s gonna come out. Because they’re devious little gremlins. Besides, this was one of those super saint dudes, he wouldn’t want to corrupt Paris’ sweetheart by showing her all that moolah. She might start getting the itch to steal!

“It’s dirt,” he said with the profund confidence of a man who didn’t just say those exact words. “For holes and stuff.”

“Right…” she seemed to buy it just fine, but then again she was also talking into her yoyo, “Volly, tell me you have eyes on the mouse miraculous?”

A pause as her eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean Chat’s trying to eat it?”

Chapter 51: Turtle Calamity: Ya Gotta Be Pigeon'ing Me!

Summary:

Marinette has a good day. Lila has a bad one. A bank robbery goes wrong, and the fight for the mouse miraculous goes even worse.

Today was going to be a good day. It was just the sort of feeling when you wake up and, instead of stressing about the day ahead, you can’t help but breathe in and think that things can’t get that bad. Marinette can’t remember the last time she felt like that, but today that was how it was.

She kicked open the hatch to her bedroom and slid down the ladder with far more energy than she had any right to feel so early in the day. Even the aches from the Heartbreaker fight hadn’t stuck around for today, the only pain in her bones being distant pangs that a few deep breaths quickly numbed.

Was it weird for her? Yes. Was she going to jinx it with paranoid questions? Hell no. Marinette slung her bag over her shoulder, brushed aside her instinct to doubt and more or less danced her way into the kitchen, sliding into a seat beside her father and snatching up a cereal box.

“Marinette?” the man had to do a double-take when he noticed her filling up a bowl, “You’re here?”

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, topping off her breakfast with an absurd amount of milk that threatened to overflow. Narrowing her eyes, she turned her head towards the clock on the wall, “Did I oversleep or something?”

“No,” Sabine shuffled over with toast in hand, squinting at Marinette like she was still doubting that the girl was real, “You’re up early.”

Suddenly, Tom’s massive hand was over Marinette’s forehead and his wide, worried eyes were peering down at her, “Are you oaky, sweetie? You haven’t caught anything, have you?”

Marinette pouted, “I feel great, thank you very much. Sometimes I can wake up on time.”

Sabine leaned over Tom’s ear, loudly whispering, “Do you think it could be an akuma?”

“Guys! Come on, I’m not that bad.”

They were shameless in how they silently stared back at her, judging her. She huffed, and puffed, and crossed her arms; but couldn’t offer any counter except blowing a raspberry.

Tikki carried the same tune on the way to school, though she was at least positive about it than bombarding Marinette with questions to make sure there was nothing wrong with her.

“You’re positively beaming today,” she commented from Marinette’s purse.

Marinette shrugged, “I just feel really good today, and I’d rather ride it out than squander it asking why, that’s all.”

“It must be having all that horribleness with Heartbreaker wrapped up,” Tikki hummed, “And you’ve got to admit, ending the night jamming away with the rest of the holders takes a lot of weight off your shoulders.”

“It does feel good to absolutely slay on the guitar,” Marinette admitted with a fond sigh.

“Oooo, and you’re not even trying to be modest about it; you are in a good mood.”

“Hush you.”

Reaching the front steps of the school, the onslaught of amazed onlookers only continued as Alya bounded into view, practically lunging forward to yank Marinette’s head into her arms and examine the girl.

“What happened? Who died?” Alya dropped to a harsh whisper, pressing her forehead against Marinette’s, “Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

With all due respect, Marinette threw Alya off of her with no regrets.

“I’m allowed to be punctual and in a good mood without it being suspicious!”

“Scientific experts would disagree, Mari,” Alya giggled, leaning out of the way of Marinette’s follow-up swipe. “The forces of the cosmos all count on dropping their excess stress, misfortune and anti-grace on your shoulders. You not being clumsy and disorganised could very well be a sign of the apocalypse.”

Before Marinette could start spitting venom, Nino slid into view between them, throwing an arm around Marinette’s shoulder and disarming her with his smooth voice.

“Don’t be such a Debbie downer, Alya,” he chuckled, wrapping his knuckles against Marinette’s arm with his free hand. “I think our resident dependable dudette deserves to enjoy some good vibes as long as she can.”

“Nino!” Marinette squealed, turning her attention away to throw the rest of her body against him in a tight hug, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Nino yelped at the sudden pressure breaking through his ribs and lungs, his gasps coming out squeaky and choking, “Hey now, I ain’t dying or nothing. I just had a misadventure.”

Alya had to pry Marinette off Nino before her bearhug killed the poor boy, leaving Marinette muttering under her breath that they were overacting and pouting. Honestly, just because she could hear his lungs squealing like a squeaky toy didn’t mean that she was holding him too tightly. And besides, she was worried! Yeah, he may have seemed alright after they kicked Heartless to the curb, but she never had a chance to check on him before dipping out.

“What are you even doing here?” Alya asked, “You should be at home recovering.”

Getting brainwashed and akumatized at the same time to do the bidding of some deranged killer who had it out for your dad had to be a harrowing experience, especially for the ordinary person who didn’t face supervillains on the regular. And yet, Nino didn’t look disturbed at all, despite the fact that he was so very close to killing himself as DJ Disaster before he mysteriously broke free of Heartbreaker’s hypnosis.

Nino scoffed, shrugging off their concerns with a wicked grin, “I got akumatized as an epic DJ and got to rock a supervillain until she cried; what do I got to recover from? I feel great!”

Marinette scrutinized him for a moment, as the resident repressor, she knew how to spot someone putting up a tough front. Her eyes raked over his body language, looking for anything that betrayed an anxiety or fear he was keeping under wraps, but all she found was his confidence. In fact, he seemed more confident that usual.

Then again, as he said, it probably felt good to have helped a superhero and rocked so hard it kicked a supervillain’s ass. Though, if it were Marinette in his place, she’d find her mood soured at having to share the lime light, and the police car ride home, with Chloe. The fact she didn’t suck away all his mirth that night was nothing short of a miracle.

“Oh great,” Alya groaned, “we’re gonna be dealing with this ego boost for weeks.”

Nino clicked his tongue, shooting them both finger guns, “You better believe it, babes.”

Marinette accepted Nino’s words with a roll of her eyes, before switching into a teasing jab, poking his hip with her elbow, “Honestly though, I’d at least think you’d revel in the opportunity to milk this for time off school.”

Nino took a moment to respond. Just an extra beat, but long enough to make Marinette suspicious, to make it look like Nino had been caught off guard by something.

“What can I say? I… uh… wanna be here,” he averted his gaze with a light stutter, and, under the burn of the sunlight, it almost looked like Nino’s cheeks were a little bit pinker, “You know, to see you guys. My buddies. My pals. T-There’s a lot of perks to coming here.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, and Alya’s reporter instincts were coming in clear. There was something Nino wasn’t telling them, and as his friends, they obviously had every right to pry it out of him. He was so desperate not to let them in on it that he’d turned his gaze to follow Chloe as she passed them into the school. That had to count as self-harm.

“Nino,” both girls said in unison, Marinette curious and Alya accusing, “is something wrong?”

“Well…”

His eyes returned to them, brow pulled into a tight line, but only for a second. The next seconds, his eyes flickered to over their shoulders and then suddenly he was pushing them aside, excitedly pointing down the street where a familiar limousine was approaching them.

“Oh, look, here comes Adrien!” he cried.

The car was soon pulling up beside them, the golden boy of the hour bursting out of the door to jump down before them, Nathalie’s eyes rolling behind him. He opened his mouth to greet them, his arms spread out wide and dramatic, only for Nathalie’s sharp utterance of his name to make everything deflate. He turned around just in time to catch his forgotten bag, which Nathalie so helpfully chucked at him.

Adrien shot her a sheepish look, to which she shook her head at, hiding a- Wait, was that a smile? Nathalie could smile? Huh, turns out that Marinette wasn’t the only one in a weirdly good mood today. Now she just needed Adrien’s dad to start tap dancing down the street and Chloe donating to charity and Alya’s prediction about the apocalypse would be complete.

Clearing his throat, Adrien awkwardly turned back to his friends whilst Nathalie drove away. He tried to rekindle the energy he exploded onto the scene with, but the moment had passed. Well, for everyone else, Marinette was quite content to stare at the boy.

“The king has returned,” he said simply, bowing his head.

Alya snorted, “Sup Sunshine, how was hell?”

Adrien pretended to take off a flat cap, dramatically whipping imaginary sweat from his brow to gaze as Alya in astonishment. “Why, Alya Cesair, as I live and breathe. Is that you? It’s been a dog’s age.”

Alya rolled her eyes, trading an snarky smile with Marinette before crossing her arms, “Cool it down, Sunshine.”

Nino broke through the two girls, pushing them aside gently, beaming, “Don’t listen to her, Bro, she’s just too proud to admit how much she missed you,” he said.

Alya squinted, “Rich coming from you,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no shame here,” Nino shook his head ruefully before jumping Adrien with a hug.

Both men proceeded to wail in each other’s arms, wiping away fake tears as they clambered against one another, shooting the unamused girls sniffling, weary looks.

“I missed you, Bro!”

“I missed you too, Bro,” Adrien cried back, pulling away a little to pat Nino on the shoulder, “They been treating you right?”

Nino’s voice cracked, waving his hand over Marinette and Alya dismissively, “It’s been horrible, man, just horrible without yah.”

“Don’t worry, Bro. I’m here to stay.”

“Don’t you ever leave me again.”

It got to the point that Adrien was holding Nino up in their embrace, a real scooby and shaggy moment that had both girls shaking their heads. Good thing Marinette and Alya were never embarrassing like this when showing their friendship, they just hugged like normal people… and performed a minute long girlfriends’ handshake synched to the pop song in their heads, but they didn’t do anything weird!

“Sorry to interrupt the bromance,” Alya leaned in, snatching Adrien’s chin and turning him towards Marinette, “but you guys are leaving Marinette out of the group hug.”

Whoa. Suddenly, Marinette felt her cheeks flair up at Adrien’s gaze. Something about it was intense, wide, awed eyes combined with that toothy smile growing to full stretch on his cheeks. His knees buckled, as if tempted to break into a sprint, but quickly reminded of the boy he was holding up.

Usually, she’d break under such a gaze from her crush, maybe look away or try to use her bag as a shield as she crumbled into a spluttering mess. Instead, she slinked closer, her eyes drooping to a half-lidded stare as she matched his smile. It was probably the first time she’d ever batted her eyelashes at someone intentionally.

“This is a tender moment of male bonding,” Nino began, waving Marinette away. “I’m sure Marinette can wait her-”

“I baked macaroons.”

Nino was promptly dropped on the floor and Adrien thrusted before her, panting like a dog.

“Nino who?”

Nino wriggled on the ground on his back, one hand clasping his heart while the other reached out to the sky.

“I’ve been abandoned. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been used.” He moaned, “Is there any other ways you’d like to torment my heart, witch-ette?!”

With an unsympathetic grin, Marinette stabbed the toe of her shoe into Nino’s shoulder, “Don’t be a baby, Nino, there’s enough for everyone.”

Instantly, Nino was on his feet, bowing his head with his hands clasped together, “Like I was saying, best girl.”

As the bell rang overhead, the group made their way inside swiping their baked goodies from Marinette’s bag as they passed. Marinette couldn’t help but notice that Adrien seemed to be clinging to her side throughout the journey to class, never walking too far before being magnetized back to her. Alya walked behind them, eyebrows steadily rising toward her hairline the longer Adrien lingered near Marinette’s personal space.

Marinette looked back at her and shrugged.

Alya leaned in to whisper, “I think he missed you.”

“Shhh,” Marinette tapped her lips, pouting, “Don’t jinx me!”

Adrien, when he wasn’t staring down at Marinette with that fond look that would forever be burned into her mind, was back to talking to Nino.

“So, Nino, is it true?” he asked, letting the worry hang on the edge of his voice, “You got snatched by Heartbreaker?”

“100% dude.” Nino whistled, more incredulous and amazed than bothered by the experience he was recounting, “One second I was at home kicking it back with some music, next thing I know some weird song is coming through my window and I’m getting into a pink van.”

Alya leaned over Marinette’s shoulder, “You seem way too calm about this.”

“Hey, it’s bad and all, but it all worked out in the end and I wasn’t harmed,” Nino shrugged. “Hell, in some ways, more good came from it than bad.”

Everyone’s brow knitted together in a curious, suspicious, united stare at the back of Nino’s head. Once again, there was some new energy to him today, a little pep in his step that was making him giddy, like a pot reaching boiling point but blocked off from boiling over. Marinette hadn’t seen Nino like this since he got his first instrument for his birthday. She was happy for him, obviously, but she was also immensely suspicious; and a little worried that he taking the ‘glass half full’ approach to an incident where his father’s old classmate tried to make him kill himself live on stage.

It was Adrien who voiced the question, “What does that mean?”

Nino almost blurted it out for them all to hear, but he managed to just stop himself and keep his mouth shut. His eyes raked over Marinette and Alya, searching for something, and shaking his head at what he found.

“I’ll tell you later,” he told Adrien, shooting the other two a cheeky grin, “when we’re alone.”

“Wait,” Marinette yelped, “why are we getting left out of this?”

Nino turned fully, walking backwards through the hall and completely counting on Adrien to steer him clear. He wagged his finger at the two girls, speaking with a teasing edge, “Because this is a secret between men, and you two will be all nasty and annoying about it if I tell you.”

“How dare you-”

Marinette couldn’t even voice her protest before Alya pushed her aside, throwing out an aggressive, accusatory finger at Nino’s nose.

“Aha! So, it’s something embarrassing,” she squealed. Marinette shot her a dirty look, but Alya offered only an indignant shrug. “Hey, if it happened at the Heartbreaker fight, then it technically counts as Ladyblog material. Spill!”

“Speaking of breaking news; what’s Marinette doing here so early?”

Adrien slipped in there, smooth as silk in swatting away Alya’s insistence, and strategically distracting her focus with something to possibly tease Marinette about again. Marinette narrowed her eyes. Well played, Agreste.

He continued with an impressed whistle, “She might actually be on time to class today,”

She tilted her head, leaning closer to him and, with absolutely no thought, flicking some locks of hair out of his eyes. Her voice practically purred, “Maybe I just couldn’t wait to see my favourite model again?”

Marinette had no idea what possessed her to suddenly feel bold enough to be so direct with Adrien, but the blush that coloured his stunned face was more than worth the risk.

“I… uh… missed you too, M-Mari,” He scratched the back of his neck. “Nino told me you guys had a wild night at the club.”

It was nice to hear someone else stumbling over their words for once. And it was practically music when it was Adrien doing it. Maybe that was what gave her the courage to lean back, pressing her face into her palm in a way that allowed her to squeeze her lips through two fingers and flutter her eyes at him like she was giving off fan signals.

“It was fun, but it would have been better if you were there,” she hummed, feeling her heartrate pick up and her inner voice ask where the hell this confidence has been every other time she tried to flirt with Adrien. “We should go again some time, I’m dying to show off my dress; Alya tells me it’ll knock you out.”

“I mean, I… uh…” Adrien tugged on his shirt collar, looking to Nino for support, “I s-s-saw your posts online, looks real… good… on you…”

“Yeah, but cameras don’t do the real thing justice, do they?”

There wasn’t really a reply, just an audible gulp that tickled Marinette’s ears as she passed. Alya, picking her jaw off the floor, rushed to join Marinette’s side.

“Whoa, girl,” she gasped in a hushed whisper, “since when do you flirt with golden boy back there? You sure Heartbreaker didn’t get to you or something back during the fight?”

With the moment fading, Marinette felt her cheeks burn and her shyness return. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was direct attention away from her before Alya’s teasing could hit critical mass.

“I’m not the only one in a weird mood,” she forced out a very loud laugh, looking over her shoulder back at Adrien. “Is it just me, or did I almost see Nathalie crack a smile?”

Adrien cleared his throat, recovering from his nerves, and now actually wiping sweat off his brow. “I know, right?” He exclaimed, “I don’t know why, but she’s been really giddy the past few days. I wonder what happened.”

“Maybe she got laid,” Alya stated flatly.

Adrien gasped, “Alya!”

Marinette pulled a face, “Don’t be gross.”

“What? I’m just saying; that woman’s as stiff as a board, and now she’s unwinding?” Alya pulled her arms up defensively, “Someone has to be loosening her up.”

The bell shrieked again, louder this time, like a teacher slamming a ruler on the metaphorical desk of the universe. Marinette winced. Alya groaned. Nino flinched and muttered, “Okay, okay, we’re going,” under his breath like the school itself had ears.

They filtered into class, Adrien’s shoulder bumping softly into Marinette’s as they headed to their seats. He didn't pull away. However, the two parted when Lila bumped her way between them. Surprisingly, it didn’t look like she did it intentionally, she had a lost, dazed look in her eye as she stumbled into the desk.

Alya looked upon her with worried eyes, “Whoa, Lila, you okay?”

“Of course I’m fine, Alya; don’t I look fine?” Her voice came out as a growl, her eyes narrowing into aggressive slits.

“Geez, I didn’t mean to tick you off, girl.”

Lila tipped her head back with a low, bitter chuckle as she moved away, “Then maybe you should try minding your own business for once, girl.”

“Huh,” Nino whistled, “Wonder what’s eating at her.”

“I’ve never heard Lila sound so aggressive,” Alya frowned, looking between the others for support.

“So sad…” Marinette said at least almost convincingly.

“Couldn’t happen to a sweeter girl,” Adrien nodded along, sounding distracted.

Alya crossed her arms, “Guys.”

Both Marinette and Adrien jumped to attention, sharing nervous glances.

“Sorry, I’m just still tired and all.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sure Lila will get over it. She’s always had such a strong… personality.”

Maybe it was a natural universal balance sort of thing. If Marinette was having a good day, then Lila must be having a shitty one.

And hey, that was just fine with Marinette.

---

Ladybug had to admit, this was not how she was expecting the day to end. She didn’t even expect to be Ladybug today; it wasn’t like Hawkmoth was going to have the energy to go another round after being nearly killed by Heartbreaker. The mad bastard had to take at least one week off.

And yet, here she was, transforming in an alleyway, whilst giving her yoyo phone the most disappointed of looks.

Ladybug took a deep breath.

“…Alya, I left you alone for thirty minutes.”

“I know.”

She swept her hand over her face, pressing all the new bubbling knots of tension, squeezing every little nook and cranny like it would make the irritation fade away. But no, she was still here, called into action because Alya had decided that she was missing a few things for her Lois Lane cosplay.

“How did you manage to get kidnapped the minute I turned the corner?!”

Alya clicked her tongue, which was like a rock being dropped in Ladybug’s stomach for how nauseas it made her feel. Alya was going to be little miss smart ass and Ladybug was going to hate it.

“Well,” she could hear Alya shrugging, “technically, I wasn’t kidnapped.”

Ladybug withheld a groan, leaning against a ladder descending down from a fire escape above. She sighed, “What do you mean?”

Very casually, Alya hummed out a groan, “Chat Noir didn’t so much force me into the car more than trick me into it.”

Ladybug had the sudden desire to hit her head on the wall. Paris’ #1 reporter and Ladybug’s top confidant everybody, couldn’t figure her way out of a stranger danger PSA.

“What did he use, candy?” she spat into the phone, exasperated.

Alya had the gall to sound offended. “No! I’m not a little kid, Mari.” She snapped, “he said Hawkmoth wanted to give an interview.”

People passing by on the street could see Ladybug baring her teeth as she hissed into her phone, “So you decided to get into a car with a supervillain!?”

Sometimes Alya could be the smartest, most sensible person Ladybug knew. Then a story comes up that grabs her attention, and suddenly all her braincells are dedicated to the surge of adrenaline. Honestly, sometimes Ladybug feared that, if she never told Alya who she was, that girl would end up throwing herself off a building just to force an interview when Ladybug saved her.

The voice on the other end quickly shot up into frantic ‘hear me out-’ pitch. “Think of the headlines! I could be the first person to get a direct interview from the moth man himself,” Alya sighed, content. “The Akuma Corner would crown me their queen.”

It was only by the grace of Ladybug’s position as a superhero, and her really liking her yoyo, that stopped her from smashing her phone on the ground in frustration.

“Alya,” she heaved into the phone, “being loved by the fanbase for a terrorist is not an achievement!”

There was a pause, and somehow Ladybug could feel Alya staring down at her in disappointment, “They’re a really nice and supportive community, I think you’re just judgemental.”

“Alya!”

“Okay, so, anyway, I got my interview.” She continued, the sound of her heels kicking off against the floor overpowering the receiver, “Buuuuut Hawky wasn’t giving me the goods I wanted, and we sort of got into an argument, and he started accusing me of slander because I get a little too invested in some of my theories-”

“Breathe.” Ladybug groaned, “God damn it, breathe.”

Alya took a deep breath, practically wheezing before she calmly, and with a little bit of guilt that was nowhere near enough, continued, “Long story short, I’m tied to a chair and I think this has officially become a kidnapping.”

“He tied you up?”

“Yeah, he wants me to do some live streamed apology denouncing some of my more enlightened theories.”

Ladybug rubbed her temples, “I told you not to post that article about his non-existent wife sleeping with the Butterfly.”

“It was a joke!”

Fruitless, Ladybug shook the phone, believing for a moment that it was Alya herself and it would shake some sense into her. “A joke that got you kidnapped!” she hissed.

At least some of the venom had to have landed, because Alya continued a smidge quieter, “You’d think he’d be less sensitive about this stuff now that he has that Mayura chick to chase after.”

“Where is Hawkmoth now?” Ladybug groaned, “And how are you calling me if you’re tied up?”

Shuffling was heard on the other end, Alya drawing out the first letter as she, presumably, checked on something. When she was in the clear, she murmured, “He’s in the back, on the phone arguing with a contractor; apparently I was supposed to be hanging over a pit of sharks with laser beams on their heads but he got scammed.”

There was the very distinct sound of Alya closing a door.

“And I said I was tied up. I freed myself, obviously.”

Ladybug was ready to scream internally, “If you’re free, why do you need me?”

“Right, right, so we’re hold up in a big baking factory, right? I think it’s Betty Butter’s Sweethouse or something-”

“Long story short, Alya, I swear to God.”

She pushed through the street, not caring about the bizarre looks she was getting from passers-by. In her head, she had a rough idea of where that big factory was, they’d sent enough insulting letters to her father for her to vaguely remember the address. She just needed to get into the air, and she’d find her way.

It wasn’t like there was any need to rush; it was like Hawkmoth told her himself, he has a specific reason for the methods he employs. As bad as he can be, he wasn’t going to endanger Alya’s life over some insulting blog posts. Probably just try to scare her a bit.

“I think I saw the mouse miraculous get baked into a cookie.”

Ladybug actually stopped mid-swing, her yoyo slack in her hand as her brain stuttered through that sentence.

She groaned, “…I’ll get Volpina…”

Ladybug inhaled through her nose, charging forward in an effort to find a better vantage point to cast out her yoyo. She had a feeling this was going to be a long day. And it only got longer when she slammed into a man during her blind charge.

She stumbled forward as the man’s body crumbled below her, throwing her into full on panic mode, “Ooof- SORRY! Uh, Sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

---

Today was a good day to be Larry Fudge. Then again, what day wasn’t? Well, the day his ex-girlfriend set him on fire, but that day was for the lawyers to sort out.

Today was the type of day when you feel like getting up bright and early, the sun hits you just right like you sprouted outta the ground, you still have some of last night’s pizza in the fridge, and you just know that you’re gonna ace your job today. He was so giddy he went and got himself a little extra slushy, just a little cold treat to cool down this spitfire.

He hoped the rest of the guys appreciated the effort he put into his outfit when he rocked up to the bank. This wasn’t no slob-day-in beaten grey rag with mustard stains on it, he made sure to put on his blue racing jacket over his favourite white shirt with the Mr. Banana art on it. The kind of threads he usually saved for the ladies. And, obviously, he had his comb at the ready every step of the way, making sure his glorious black pompadour was absolutely pristine.

Momma Fudge always said that you gotta dress your wrappings to take on the world.

Getting smacked to the ground by a ballistic missile when he was crossing the street over to the bank was, what many would call, a bit of a bummer.

At least, he assumed it was a missile, he could practically hear an explosion upon impact. Yet, when he looked up, groaning, from his new place on the ground, there was some little squirt staring back down at him.

“Ooof- SORRY! Uh, Sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she squealed, rushing to yank him back to his feet.

As soon as he was able, his hands immediately went to his due, desperately grabbing at it to stop the wild bouncing it was performing against both ends of his head. Once his wild hair was secured, he shot the crimson squirt a cheesy smirk, patting her on the cheek for good measure.

“It’s all good squirt,” he chuckled before ruffling her hair, oblivious to how her eye twitched at the contact, “I’m built like… like uh…”

A groan got stuck in the back of his throat, “Aw, what’s that fancy joint that’s real tough and secure? With all the gold in a vault?”

“Fort Knox?”

“No silly, I said a vault, not a fort,” he shook his head. Kids these days, so adorable, but so easily confused.

“Look, you seem good here, so I’m gonna go,” the kid told him wearily, giving a lazy wave as she slinked off. “I’ve got a kidnapping to stop and a miraculous to snatch, so… bye!”

Larry scratched the back of his neck, “Damn, such an imaginative kid. Must be a Ladybug fan or something.”

Her timely exit did serve to remind him that he did have somewhere to be, and he was about to be late for it. Quickly, he took off across the street, patting away at the dust clinging to his clothes just as he rushed into an alleyway that led just around the bank, to a little back courtyard that used to be a basketball court.

At the edge of the abandoned court, pulled up on some old benches, there was a small group of men, all in dark coats and biting down on cigars. Larry never was a smoker, didn’t see the appeal; all that smoke was gonna do was ruin his angelic voice and distract people from his lovable face. He preferred to stick a toothpick between his lips and play around with that, like a real cool dude.

“Hey, Fellas!” he called out, wildly waving over to them as he bounded forward.

The moment he got close enough, the lead one, a surly looking, practically skeletal man called Graves, smacked him across the nose. “You wanna call in the whole neighbourhood, Dummy?” he hissed.

Larry yelped, massing the new bruise on his nose, “Geeze, I just said hello, man. It’s not like I’m yelling that we’re crooks.”

“That don’t matter, Pudge,” the fatter one with the spindly hair strands, Brick, flicked his cigar at Larry’s feet. “The last thing we want is attention.”

“Really?” Larry dodged back with a yelp to avoid the smoking stick, hopping back and forth on the balls of his feet as he puffed out, “‘cus I gotta tell you I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get lots of attention if we go into a building waving guns around.”

Brick groaned, exasperated and throwing his hands up at the sky, pleading, “We don’t want attention from outside the bank, you moron!”

Graves brought his arm out between them, jabbing his thumb back. “Cool it, guys, we ain’t got no time to squabble. I already got word that those costumed freaks are already making a public spectacle, and we don’t know how long they’ll have all the cops’ attention.”

“Bugsy, hand out our negotiation tools,” he added, nodding his head towards the next member of the group, some guy with buck teeth and long blond hair.

Bugs snatched a duffle bag off the ground, dropping it on the bench and pulling out various rifles from the inside and passing them off to each member. Larry had to admit, the gun sure as hell felt heavy in his arms, like an achor, and he could have sworn it smelled funny; holding it made him feel ever so slightly nauseas. He’d never held a gun before, his momma hated the things, said they were for idiots who wanna feel big.

He didn’t want to be an idiot, but he held the rifle close to his chest and just reminded himself of all the sweet cash he was gonna get out of this. Enough to buy a yacht even! Then who’d be the loser, huh?

“You all know the plan,” Graves continued, “get you masks on, and we’ll head out.”

The rifle was fitted into a sling that wrapped around Larry’s torso, allowing him to just let it hang there as he fished his mask out of his jacket. He didn’t really know why they had to cover themselves up like this, but he always liked playing dress-up; made this whole thing feel more like a boys night out on the town.

It was difficult to get a mask that would fit him, but, at the end of the day, that was nothing a pair of scissors couldn’t solve. Immediately as he pulled it over his eyes, and felt his hair squeeze through the hole in the forehead, it felt claustrophobic. The rubber itched his skin and the tight layer did no favours for the small slit that barely let his lips through.

“…Larry, what the fuck?”

The rest of the group stared at him in irritation and exasperation, making Larry purse his lips. Okay, the mask didn’t fit exactly, but he knew he still rocked it well. Was it the hole? It had to be the hole. Gently, he swept his fingers over his forehead, tapping them around the edge of the hole his missile-shaped hair extension poked through.

He explained, “What? I need the hole for my hair.”

Graves smacked his hand over his face, “Why are you wearing an Elvis mask?!”

Larry blinked, speaking in a low, nervous squeal, “You said we were going in as the king!”

It was only then that Larry’s brain took note that the other men’s masks were a bit different from his. A pale visage of painted on smiles and a crown, made to vaguely look like the king on a playing card.

“I said ‘King’,” Graves bellowed, “King! As in the Las Vegas hero!”

With that, Larry was starting to worry about Brick. He was pretty sure that the guy was twitching away too much, maybe he was about to have a stroke.

“Why did we invite this shithead?” Brick growled, “He’s gonna get us creamed out there.”

Larry held his hands up defensively, both his voice and body language deflating, “Hey, that sounds really hurtful, man.”

Graves couldn’t clearly roll his eyes, so instead he rolled his entire head as he moved towards Larry. He urged Larry to turn around, getting Larry moving and pushing him to lead. “Trust me, we’ll need him in the vault,” he explained. “He’s a complete mental dropout, but he’s good with security systems.”

The insult flew over Larry’s head, the man perking up as he was pushed, gesturing back at the team, “You could even say I’m good at ‘fudging’ the security.”

Out of earshot, Graves turned his head back to the rest of the gang and, lowly, hissed; “Besides, he’ll make a great meat shield if everything goes south.”

Larry went on his merry way and, in his personal opinion, the operation was going off without a hitch. Sure, he tripped on the first step into the bank and dropped his gun on the floor, but the rest of the boy easily recovered for him when they charged in and started pushing people around. It was just like the movies!

He found himself up front by the divider between the tellers and the people, though no one seemed to be there. Weird. Larry leaned forward, wrapping his knuckles against the glass. “Hello?” he called out, “We’re here for your cash, can you come out and serve us please?”

A whimper brought his eyes down lower, finding himself glimpsing the outline of a shoulder shuddering past the edge of the desk on the other side.

“Hey, can you come out?” he tapped again, and again, until the woman hiding under her desk poked her head out. “Yeah, hi, I sorta need to get over there; could you unlock the door?”

He waved the gun around for emphasis. In the tellers mind, he was the psycho threatening to blow her brains out if she didn’t capitulate to his demands. In Larry’s mind, he was already charming enough, but the gun just made him look cooler, like a guy from a movie.

Tepidly, the teller crept over to the door and pulled it open, letting Larry and Graves push on through whilst the other two kept everybody distracted. Graves pointed his rifle at the woman, making a thrusting motion with his shoulder, “You, you’re with us.”

“P-Please, I don’t want to die,” she cried.

“Whoa, whoa, talk about a bummer,” Larry let his gun drop down and hang loose, letting his fingers tend to his hair again, “Don’t be like that lady, no one’s gonna get whacked. I mean, it’s just a gun, it’s only dangerous if he pulls the trigger, right? It ain’t gonna hurt you, we’re all cool here.”

The fear fell to confusion as the woman looked up at him, searching for whatever punchline he was trying to hit.

Graves shook his head, “Don’t listen to him, he was dropped on his head as a kid. Now, move!”

Larry, completely missing the insult again, simply sighed in nostalgia, I was such an adventurous little kid, wasn’t I? He then moved on to wondering if he should fire his gun in the air like they do on tv, just to make himself more badass.

The woman led them into the next room—a security checkpoint packed with cameras, badge readers, motion detectors, and a metal-plated door sealed tighter than Larry’s childhood piggy bank. It was one of those fancy new vaults from Tsuguri Industries.

As she keyed in her access code, her fingers trembling over the console, she glanced sideways at the two goons flanking her. “Do you even know who you’re robbing?”

Graves snorted. “Yeah. A bank.”

“No, this bank,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea who owns this place—?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Larry cut in, leaning casually against the wall like a sitcom gremlin, “I don’t need a résumé. You’re doing great, though. You got, like, a strong vibe goin’ on—powerful, but delicate. Like a flower that could also bench press a bus.”

She blinked. “Are you hitting on me during a robbery?”

“Maybe,” Larry shrugged, giving her a wink that he probably thought was suave, but looked more like an allergic reaction. “I mean, once this is all done, maybe we get slushies? I got the hookup.”

He reached out to slide an arm around her shoulder-

And immediately crumpled to the floor as she decked him with a mean right hook.

“Oof!” Larry gasped from the ground, both hands on his face, “I think you broke my moustache...”

Graves didn’t even flinch. He just stepped over him, casually nodding.

“Why didn’t you stop her from doing that, dude?”

“‘cause it was funny.”

Once the vault door came into view, Graves gave the woman a look sharp enough to slice steel. “Now stand back. Fudge, do your thing.”

Larry popped back up from the floor, spring-locked and locked-in, clutching his face with one hand and whipping out a toolkit with the other. “Alrighty then, let’s bust this coconut open!”

He knelt in front of the terminal, immediately pulling out wires, popping open panels, and mumbling as he worked. “Let’s see, if I just twirl the banana noodle here, stretch out the spaghetti socket into the giggle switch, and tickle the fritz knocker—boom, baby!”

The keypad sparked.

Graves furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t look right.”

“That’s just the foreplay, boss man. I haven’t even whacked the jellybean turbine yet.”

He pulled out what looked like a children’s toy hammer and gave the vault terminal a hard bonk. There was a beep. A green light flicked on.

Click.

The massive vault slowly hissed open.

“I told you,” Larry grinned, brushing off his hands like he just finished solving world hunger. “All it takes is a little finesse, some spit, and the ability to ignore basic safety protocols.”

Inside, piles of cash sat neatly stacked in rows, practically begging to be stolen.

The rest of the crew filed in with duffel bags, shouting and hollering as they started shoving wads of money inside. Graves moved with sharp precision, Brick with twitchy glee, Bugs humming something weird under his breath that might’ve been the Golden Girls theme.

Larry, meanwhile, stood in the centre of the room, spinning slowly as he took it all in. “This is beautiful. It’s like a swamp made of dreams. A cash swamp. A cashwamp.”

“Stop talking,” Graves snapped, stuffing fat stacks of bills into his bag.

“But, like… what if we bought a hot tub for the cash?”

“Stop. Talking.”

“We could totally Scrooge Mcduck this.”

Brick dropped his duffle with a growl, “I swear to God, one more word out of-”

Brick didn’t finish that sentence. He couldn’t. Neither could he start any other sentence. That tended to happen when your head is blown off.

There was a wet noise, a pop like a champagne cork wrapped in meat, and then the thump of his body hitting the cash-strewn floor like a sack of dropped cement.

For half a second, nobody moved. The money fluttered gently in the air like confetti at a funeral.

Then Larry screamed.

It was a long, high-pitched, cartoon goat kind of scream. The kind that went up an octave halfway through and ended in a sharp gag. He staggered back, both hands over his mouth, eyes locked on Brick’s corpse with the pure, dawning horror of a man realizing that blood is not, in fact, cherry Kool-Aid.

“I—I’m allergic to this!” Larry gasped, wheezing like a squeaky toy left in a hot car. “I’m literally allergic to blood! I break out in vomit!”

Graves was already spinning toward the doorway, gun drawn. Bugs was beside him in a flash, his own weapon half-raised. The duffel bags were forgotten.

In the doorway stood the woman.

Only now she wasn’t just a scared bank employee. Now, she was crouched low behind the busted security console holding a sleek, compact pistol in both hands like she’d trained with it. Her eyes were wide, but steady. Calculating. Furious.

“No one,” she snarled, “tries to rob the Veleci and gets away with it!”

Sparks flew from the vault’s steel frame. Bugs dropped behind a stack of money, cursing. Graves ducked behind the doorway, firing off a burst in return, bullets chewing through drywall like termites on Red Bull.

Larry, meanwhile, shrieked and collapsed beside Graves like a tranquilized jellyfish. He pressed himself against the cold floor, his face pale, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think I peed.”

“Shut up and return fire!” Graves barked, squeezing off another round through the doorframe.

“I can’t!” Larry wailed. “I’ve never used a gun before!”

Graves froze mid-reload. “What?”

“I lied on my resume, okay?! I thought it was like paintball but with more yelling!”

Graves stared at him. “You built the EMP grenade from a smoke alarm and a karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, that’s engineering! Not murder!” Larry groaned and clutched his stomach. “Also, I think I swallowed my tongue.”

“You can’t swallow your tongue—”

“Then what’s in my throat, genius?!”

Another bullet pinged off the vault doorframe, making them both duck.

“I told you idiots,” the woman shouted from behind cover. “This place is owned by the Veleci!”

Larry whimpered, “That’s not a pasta brand is it?”

Graves’s eye twitched.

“Alright,” he growled, “new plan. Bugs, flank her. Larry... Distract her.”

“I knew this would happen!” Larry whispered, shaking as he tried to wedge himself under a money pallet. “I knew I should’ve listened to my horoscope! It said: ‘avoid confrontation and seafood. And I had fish on the toppings of my pizza!’”

“Shut up, Larry! Get out there.”

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted me to get shot.”

“…It would be a bonus.”

Unfortunately for Grave, Larry then proceeded to do the worst possible thing. He made a decision for himself.

With a shriek that split the chaos, a siren made of raw panic, Larry grabbed the nearest duffle bag and ran. There was no plan, no direction, no concept of cover, stealth, or survival. Just the primal, dumb, animal instinct of a man who saw death, money, and an open hallway, and chose yes.

“LARRY, GET BACK—!” Graves shouted.

But it was too late.

Larry was already off, putting roombas to shame with how he was zigzagging across the lobby with his arms flailing and the duffle flapping behind him like a badly packed parachute. “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He smashed shoulder-first into a stunned thug rounding the corner and kept going, the poor guy spiralling to the floor in a dazed heap. Another tried to raise his weapon, but Larry didn’t so much dodge the incoming fire as trip into it, ducking down just as the bullet went screaming overhead and slamming into the guy’s kneecap.

“I’M SOOOOOOOORRY!”

By some unholy twist of fate—or possibly divine punishment for everyone else—Larry barreled through a side hallway marked EMERGENCY EXIT and blasted the door open with a kick that was mostly momentum and terror. The duffle bag slapped the frame on the way out and launched a few bills skyward like a green confetti cannon.

Outside, the street was empty. Akuma alert. Every smart civilian was already gone, their absence marked by the eerie silence and the occasional flickering of a Metro billboard warning about a hero battle taking place. Larry didn’t notice any of that, he just kept screaming.

Behind him, the exit door slammed open again.

“HEY!” shouted the thug he hadn’t knocked unconscious. The man was massive, bleeding from one shoulder and carrying a gun like it was a toy. “You’re dead, you little freak!”

“Why is this happening?!” Larry wailed, pelting down the street with the duffle bouncing wildly against his side. “What did I do to deserve this? All I did was try to rob people, is that so wrong?”

The loud, metallic click of the gun echoed through Larry’s mind like church bells, bringing him to a sudden, whimpering halt. He slowly turned his head over his shoulder, gulping as he stared down the barrel of the weapon that could easily turn his head to mush.

“W-We can split the cash, you know?” he nervously chuckled, “N-No one’s more generous than Larry! You… uh… don’t need to pull that trigger there, do you?”

“I ain’t interested in the money, buddy, but I am interested in splitting you in half. With a bullet,” the man grinned as he reached over and ripped the mask off Larry’s face.

Looking into the face of death, looking like a lame, sweaty, sobbing slob, Larry did the only thing he could think of; he prayed to the king. A man once said that Elvis ain’t dead, and if Elvis ain’t dead then your girlfriend will come back to you and you’ll live happily ever after.

Part of happily ever after was living, so Larry really hoped that Elvis knew that he went through Elvis’ top ten like it was a Sunday sermon, and that Moody Blues beat anything from that the Mozart poser they made him listen to in school. Come on king, get off the toilet and save his number one supporter.

Honestly, after the fact, Larry would swear that he heard a ‘uh huh huh’ moments before something came crashing down in front of him.

Whatever it was, it hit the concrete with such force that Larry and his attacker were both blown back, stumbling on their asses to find a new crater in the middle of the street.

It was that kid again! Only this time a long metal pole was stabbing her into her back, pinning her down into the hole. Up above, Larry could just catch a black blur launching over the pole, snatching it up and disappearing over the next rooftop.

“…Did…” she tried and struggled to push herself up, coughing out rocks onto the floor, “Did anyone get the number on that fleabag?”

Before either could break their stunned silence to answer, Ladybug was hammered back into her hole when the towering form of Hawkmoth landed on her back, tap danced up onto her head and then leapt up into the air with nothing more than a childish giggle.

“The miraculous is mine. All mine!” the mad villain howled as he disappeared down the street.

For a moment, it was just Larry and the thug staring at each other over the fallen body of the young hero, both at a loss for what to do. They’d even forgotten what they were doing before the bizarre interruption. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long before Ladybug peeled herself away from the broken street, clumps of dirt and stone clinging to her frowning cheeks.

“I’m gonna kill Alya after this…” she murmured under her breath, groaning as she swayed back onto her feet, “I’m gonna beat Hawkmoth into a pulp, then I’m going to wrap my yoyo around Alya’s-”

Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, Ladybug noticed the two people within earshot watching her. At the same time, both men realized that having guns out in front of a superhero was a bad idea and, in the time it took for Ladybug to rub dirt out of her eyes, the two men unanimously tossed their guns away and fell back on the old ‘inconspicuous whistling’ routine.

“Urg, sorry to drop in like this,” she cringed, clutching her head, “but did either of you happen to see which way the bad guys went?”

Wordlessly, they both pointed down the street.

Ladybug squinted again. “…Huh. Thanks.”

Ladybug groaned as she started off down the street, limping just a little from the force of the impact she’d just endured. Only to immediately come to a stop, groaning as the flapping of wings bellowed over the horizon. Her yoyo whirred at her side, ready to launch at the first sign of fluttering gray.

A blizzard of pale wings came down the street a thick fog of annoying insects carrying Hawkmoth’s laughter in a twisted echo. They were coming fast, coming hard, and were trying to break everyone’s eardrums.

“Not so fast, Ladybug!” Hawkmoth’s voice taunted in a hundred little voices, “I’ve been itching to use my babies again.”

“Great,” Ladybug muttered, watching as the moths spread through the skies, diving down to swallow her whole. “It’s the return of the big dumb floating head, except stupider.”

Larry turned back towards the thug, only to find that the man had already booked it. His outline faded into the mouth of an alley before Larry could blink.

“Hey, don’t leave me here!” Larry called after him, then made the bold choice of also running in the exact same direction—only to immediately trip over his own untied shoelace and go face-first into the pavement with the full weight of a duffle bag of stolen money slapping into the back of his head.

He groaned, blinking up at the clouds as bills fluttered around him like dirty snow.

“Ow. My ancestors just felt that one.”

Ladybug didn’t even sigh. She just moved, instincts kicking in. With one well-practiced snap of her yoyo, she zipped across the street, scooped up Larry like a sack of potatoes, and launched them both skyward just as the swarm of moths surged low enough to brush the sidewalk. It was a short ride, but one Larry wasn’t eager to repeat as they reached the rooftop.

Don’t you say that Larry Fudge ever talked any trash.

He knew that many would say he wasn’t the most masculine of men, some would even say that he screamed like a little girl and had a woman’s legs; but having a five-foot nothing teenager in pigtails hoisting him up into her arms like it was nothing? It was a little emasculating.

“Sorry about the bumpy ride, Sir,” she hummed, placing him gingerly back on his feet. “I’ve never had to carry someone with such…”

She paused, suddenly tight lipped and speechless.

Larry loving patted the giant missile shaped anomaly that was his pompadour, beaming with pride that it’s stature could impress even a superhero.

“Uh, distracting hair? Couldn’t really see where I was going.”

“No problem, little dudette,” his comb was already in hand, poised for glamour as straightened out the majestic point of his pampered peak. “Not everyone can handle so much power in their face; you should have seen my mom’s face when I popped out in the hospital.”

“You mean to tell me you were born-” Ladybug stopped herself, biting back the usual flood of questions everyone had for the Fudgster, “Anyway, you’re safe now. Oh, and I snagged your bag.”

She dropped a thick duffle bag at his feet with a loud thump, whistling to herself as she did so, “Geez, what do you have in here? It’s heavy.”

Now, it was Larry’s turn to feel overwhelmed. Lucky Liver Larry was no guilty Glynda or nothing, he was a hardcore, ride-or-die hard ass, with nerves of steel. It’s just that, if the kid opened that duffle bag, she might get the wrong idea. She’ll look at all that green and wonder ‘Hey, why would someone as cool and obviously rich as Larry have all his money in cash? Shouldn’t he store some of this in the bank?’.

And when you lived as full a life as old Larry, you knew that, when little girls start asking questions, everything’s gonna come out. Because they’re devious little gremlins. Besides, this was one of those super saint dudes, he wouldn’t want to corrupt Paris’ sweetheart by showing her all that moolah. She might start getting the itch to steal!

“It’s dirt,” he said with the profound confidence of a man who didn’t just say those exact words. “For holes and stuff.”

“Right…” she seemed to buy it just fine, but then again she was also talking into her yoyo, “Volly, tell me you have eyes on the mouse miraculous?”

A pause as her eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean Chat’s trying to eat it?”

---

Volpina was not having a good day. Well, it was more a few days, and it would eventually become a bad week.

“Think fast, asshole!”

Shoulder tackling Chat Noir off a building and piledriving him into the roof next over so hard that the miraculous cookie shot out of his mouth at Mach five, that alleviated her aggravation a little. Just as she’d told Ladybug, the crazy cat literally tried to swallow the miraculous just to keep her from getting it.

It was good, all this activity, all this strain on her muscles that made her adrenaline spike and her heart sing. Made her feel in control of her body again, which had become an important factor of her routine that she never considered until Heartbreaker brainwashed her. She’d based her entire life around an identity that she crafted for ends that were hers and hers alone; and the pig miraculous had ripped that away from her, leaving a stain upon her character that was entirely foreign, entirely not hers.

But that wasn’t the big bug that rattled her recently, just a background annoyance that would slowly leak in when the night fell and her body locked up. Nor was it the recent scolding she received from the old fossil who thought he could tell her how a good hero acts. Yeah, she broke his stupid child proof lock, but that just proved that she wasn’t a child and shouldn’t be held to that standard. She was doing just fine without that lock all this time, but because a supervillain takes control of her and puts her body through paces that Volpina would never do willingly, suddenly her competence comes into question.

What she was looking for in the moment as she and Chat Noir wrestled across the roof, punching and shoving each other aside in their charge towards the saliva glazed miraculous, was a simple distraction.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise for her, it was an unpleasant period she went through every year around this time, she was usually prepared for it. It was Ladybug’s fault really, and the rest of these menaces that had become a staple of her life now. They left her unfocused, distracted her so much she forgot that a day she didn’t like was coming up.  She prided herself on being guarded, tensing up for the annoying hits of life; but they cursed her with relief, allowed her to settle, and thus allowed this punchline to hurt her for once.

Allowed for someone as worthless as Marinette to see Lila’s crumbling state and get a small victory handed to her.

She couldn’t dwell on it; she wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she pushed herself to focus on the fight, on the moving punching bag that was swiping at her with his baton. Volpina ducked, gritting her teeth as Chat Noir’s baton whistled past her ear. She retaliated with a brutal heel to his chest, sending him staggering back.

“You need a hobby,” he wheezed, clutching his ribs.

“I had one,” she growled, driving forward with a vicious swipe of her flute. “Then I started babysitting you.”

The baton came up just in time to block her swing, sparks flaring as instrument met pole. They locked eyes for a brief moment, both breathing heavily, both furious in completely different ways. Chat looked more like a scolded puppy than a combatant—ears back, eyes wide, defensive. But he was fast. Slippery. The kind of fighter who got by on instinct and dumb luck.

Unfortunately for him, Volpina had no patience left for either.

She swept low, kicked his legs out from under him, and snagged the mouse miraculous off the ground before he could react. It was still wet.

“Gross,” she muttered, wiping it on Chat’s shoulder for good measure.

“Hey! That’s couture!” he whined, rolling to his feet.

“Then don’t try to eat magic jewelry like a psychotic seagull,” she snapped.

Quickly, she shoved Chat aside and dived off the roof, catching herself on a flag pole and swinging herself across the street to the next roof where she could continue to run. She pressed a finger to her ear, “Ladybug, I’ve got it. Slightly soggy, but intact.”

“I told you not to let him near it!” came Ladybug’s exasperated voice over the comms.

“He came at me like a starving toddler in a candy aisle! What was I supposed to do, reason with him?!”

“Uncalled for,” Chat muttered as he landed beside Volpina, giving chase. “Also fair.”

The two broke away when Hawkmoth’s horde of angry moths came out of nowhere and swarmed them, snatching the miraculous out of Volpina’s grasp while she blindly swiped at the little thieving bastards.

“I’ll be taking that!” Hawkmoth’s voice echoed through the moths, the man himself spectating their little chase from a few blocks over. He sent a mocking wave when Volpina noticed him.

The advantage of Alya’s impromptu kidnapping is that Hawkmoth wasn’t going in with a plan or preparing to fight at all. So, when Ladybug and Volpina busted in and the miraculous was revealed, he had no time to get himself an akuma before they all took off to play hot potato across Paris with the miraculous.

The disadvantage was that it encouraged Hawkmoth to rely on his annoying, ugly, itchy little swarm of assholes.

Thinking quick, she pressed the flute to her lips and spat out her latest illusion, a dome of darkness that descended over her, Chat and the horde. Even if her illusions weren’t physical, they could still block vision, and all the lights suddenly turning off was nice and disorientating for her foes.

Chat stumbled for a moment, but night vison would kick in quick. So, without much consideration, Volpina grabbed him by the tail and hurled him off the side. Naturally, this had him breaking through the illusion and wiping the dome away, but it immediately alerted the disorientated Hawkmoth to his son’s plummet and, in a desperate move, he redirected his moths to intercept, allowing the perfect opportunity for Ladybug to swing through them and grab the miraculous.

“That was a dirty trick!” Chat yelled out as he was caught by the make-shift moth platform.

“When have I ever been clear, Furball?”

However, before Volpina could have her last laugh, Hawkmoth caught her from behind. He’d launched himself off his roof and dove straight for her, crashing into her back and, while in mid-air, he took hold of her, spun her around and slammed her into Ladybug, taking both of them down to street level.

Ladybug hit the pavement with a crack, grunting as Volpina landed beside her in a heap of flailing limbs. Hawkmoth stuck his land, moving to tuck the miraculous in hand with a triumphant sneer—only to immediately trip over Volpina’s leg.

The miraculous soared through the air, a rogue frisbee that wasn’t coming back any time soon..

“Mine!” Chat shouted, pouncing off his platform.

“Not yours!” Ladybug rebounded off a streetlight with her yoyo.

They collided midair, smacking heads, and the miraculous bounced between them, a supercharged ping pong ball ricocheting off a trash can lid and landing perfectly in the open jaws of a very excited golden retriever.

“No!” Hawkmoth, Volpina, and Ladybug screamed in unison.

The dog gave a happy bark then immediately popped like a confetti cannon, bursting into a swarm of ten tiny yipping puppies, all chasing each other in circles with the miraculous bouncing between their mouths. It was a game of fetch-from-Hell.

“Oh no. Oh noooo,” Ladybug gasped as a puppy nipped the miraculous, was immediately duplicated, and the horde doubled in size.

“Someone stop the dogs! This is how Paris dies!” Volpina yelled, diving into the stampede to wrestle the miraculous free.

Chat Noir landed beside her and immediately tripped over a puppy. “What’d I miss—OH MY GOD WHY ARE THERE SO MANY?”

He snatched the miraculous mid-bounce. Bad idea. The second his clawed fingers touched it, a surge of light burst out. In a blinding flash, there were two Chat Noir’s half his size, getting swarmed by puppies.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!” both Chats squeaked.

“You shrank! You look like a Funko Pop!” Volpina cackled, grabbing the miraculous from his teeny-tiny hands. Only to immediately regret it as both Chat’s aimed their mini-batons at her eyes.

“Gah! You cheap little-”

The miraculous launched itself at a lamppost, splitting it in two. Then it zinged into a passing fruit vendor’s cart, shrinking it—and causing all the apples to roll off the cart and pummel Hawkmoth’s head.

The miraculous zinged into his hand.

There was a zap, a pop, and suddenly there were four Hawkmoths, all stacked on top of each other in a wobbly human totem pole.

“Oh, this is freaky,” each one bellowed in slightly different tones.

Ladybug snatched the miraculous in mid-air—but immediately bounced it off her palm. Cars on the street began shrinking left and right as the charged miraculous fragments pinged off of them; now no bigger than hot wheels. A man in a suit watched his luxury sedan deflate into a matchbox-sized paperweight with the same expression someone might wear at a funeral.

“Eat my dust, losers!” Chat shouted as he skated by on two miniaturized Fiats.

Volpina stared. “Are you wearing cars?!”

“Better traction than Crocs!”

With no better option, she stomped her feet down on a pair of shrunken Vespas and took off after him, gliding through traffic in the most high speed roller derby of her life.

“Stop that miraculous!” Ladybug shouted from above, swinging between buildings, her yo-yo darting down to try and snatch the chaotic jewellery from their hands. She missed again only for it to bonk off Chat’s ear and spark another accidental activation.

Volpina leapt off a curb, landed cleanly on a flattened sports car, and used it to launch herself into the air—kicking Chat mid-flight and sending him to the ground. She caught the airborne miraculous with a smug little flip and yelled, “That’s another victory for me, zero for you, Meow Mix!”

The chase ricocheted through the city, random objects being split apart and made into the most annoying of obstacles, or the most convenient of props to level against the other team. Fortunately, for everyone’s patience, the split objects eventually merged back together, so they didn’t have to deal with the four bumbling Hawkmoths for very long.

At some point, Hawkmoth yelled over to Chat Noir, “Hit the miraculous into the next right turn, we need some akumatized back-up!”

Chat did as he was told, intercepting Ladybug’s latest attempt to reach for the miraculous, batting it skyward with a powerful thwack of his baton.

She glared at him, both of them shoulder to shoulder sprinting after the prize. “Bring in any akuma you want, this miraculous is going to join the pig in my collection.”

“Who are you even going to akumatized now?” Volpina spoke up, leaping over them and sprinting ahead, dashing in between cars as the miraculous bounced off of walls and slid under passing vehicles. “You don’t have time to focus on finding a victim.”

Hawkmoth used his cane as a golf club to smack the miraculous out of reach, launching Volpina back with an uppercut, only to reveal an akuma in his clenched fist, throbbing with purple energy. “Oh, but I have the perfect man for the job.”

“Perfect man for the-” Chat stopped himself mid-sentence, a terrible realization dawning on his wide-eyed horrified expression. “Wait a minute, where are we going again?”

“It’s just the park,” Volpina said casually.

Ladybug was the first to catch on, her eyes widening in solidarity with Chat.

“Oh God, the park!” she sped up, her and Chat kicking into overdrive, trying to keep pace with Hawkmoth. “Hawkmoth, no!”

Chat cried out, his baton extending outwards to just narrowly miss Hawkmoth’s leg. Hawkmoth, in response, cackled like a mad man and dashed down the steps into the park.

“Dad, I swear to God,” Chat began, “tell me you’re not thinking about who I think you’re thinking about.”

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. That was really all the answer the two needed.

“…I have a really good feeling about him today, I swear.”

It was only then that it all sunk in for Volpina as, when they reached the bottom of the steps, she saw him. On the other side of the park, settled down on a bench, feeding bread to pigeons; Mr. Ramier.

Otherwise known as Mr. Pigeon.

There were few words for the hopeless, choking noise that escaped Volpina throat before she screamed, “73 times was enough!”

Ladybug desperately lashed out with her yoyo, but Hawkmoth simply jumped over it, “Why are you so obsessed with him?”

He called back over his shoulder, “He’s a really cool guy once you get to know him!”

“Dad, I will give them the miraculous.” Chat huffed, launching himself into a slide that skidded past Hawkmoth and snatched up the mouse miraculous. “I’m serious.”

“You what?” Hawkmoth blinked.

“I will hand it over,” Chat snarled, standing now, chest heaving. “I will walk up to Ladybug, place it gently in her palm, and say, ‘Here you go, m’lady. My dad was going to akumatize Mr. Pigeon again.’”

“You’d betray me?” Hawkmoth gasped.

Despite Chat’s plea, Ladybug and Volpina were on him in an instant, leaving Hawkmoth to continue onwards.

“Give me that!” Ladybug lunged, yo-yo snapping like a whip around his wrist.

“Absolutely not—!” Chat yanked his arm back just as Volpina dove in from the side, both hands scrabbling for the miraculous.

“I earned it fair and square, I’m the MVP today!” Volpina shouted, halfway over his back like a rabid backpack.

Chat twisted, elbowed someone (maybe himself), and stumbled sideways into Ladybug, who caught him, wrestled the miraculous out of his hand, then immediately got tackled by Chat again.

“Guys—!” she grunted, wrestling free. “Focus! We’re playing hot potato with a magical object and Hawkmoth is still here!”

Across the plaza, Hawkmoth took his dramatic stance on a fountain ledge, one hand raised high with a swirling dark butterfly ready to go.

“I’ve had enough!” he bellowed. “Fly away, my little akuma, and evilize him!”

“NO!” they all screamed.

But it was too late.

The akuma soared, arrowing toward Mr. Ramier, who only now turned his head towards the commotion. “Oh, hello Mr. Moth, is it that time of the month already?”

Ladybug hurled her yo-yo. Volpina struck out with her flute. Chat lunged with his whole body. In the chaos, the mouse miraculous popped loose; bounced off Chat’s boot, rolled down Volpina’s tail, and launched directly into the path of the incoming akuma.

In an instant, the akuma hit the miraculous. Then the akuma merged with the miraculous. And then… the akumatized miraculous landed.

Ladybug dropped to her knees, “Oh.”

“Oh no.”

---

The mindscape somehow seemed emptier than usual. And for a moment, Hawkmoth was alone in it, glancing around the endless void of thought searching for Mr. Ramier, but all he found was the darkness.

He tapped his cane against the ground, watching it break apart the floor in blinding white ripples, then he called out, “Uh… hello? Anyone here? I’m pretty sure I can’t materialize here without a connection to someone.”

No response.

“Did I come at a bad time? I know you were going through some stuff with your brother last time we spoke,” Hawkmoth hummed, “did you stand up to him like I said? He’s not as scary as you think he is.”

Finally, something spoke back to him.

But… he was pretty sure that it wasn’t Mr. Ramier.

“Koo?”

Hawkmoth’s gaze slowly turned downward to the tune of a rusty door hanging from it’s hinges. At his feet, barely reaching his ankle, was a pigeon. One of Ramier’s favourites, Hawkmoth recalled; Reginald.

Cautiously, Hawkmoth crouched down, only now considering the idea that he could akumatized an animal. He cleared his throat, extending his hand to give an awkward wave, “Do you understand me?”

The pigeon tilted his head, the mindscape shifting to images of Mr. Ramier and bread. “Koo, koo,” he replied, pecking at Hawkmoth’s foot.

“Right. Didn’t understand any of that,” Hawkmoth sighed, scratching his head. “Do you want power to…”

What the hell did pigeons want? To eat? To annoy people? To swoop?

“I don’t know, poop on any statue you like?”

---

There was no time for strategy, for comprehension. It was too late to turn back now, which the trio of concerned miraculous holders quickly found out when the dark energy of the akumatization exploded outward in one blinding blast that knocked them clear on their asses. Ladybug threw her arm out in front of her, over her eyes to block to visage and swat away at the titanic wind taking hold of her.

It was like a miniature tornado being dumped in front of her, taking all of her strength and willpower to cling to a lamp post and not get sucked up in the eye of the storm. Soon enough, the light was replaced with darkness, unstable akuma energy bursting out like lightning in sharp arcs. And then, from the darkness, a new, deep, roaring voice emerged.

“Mullo, get squeaky!”

A blast of darkness parted the sky.

It came with the sound of thunder and the scent of breadcrumbs. A cyclone of feathers burst from the core of the explosion, hurling debris through the air. Ladybug, Chat, and Volpina were flung like rag dolls in opposite directions, each scrambling to regain footing as arcs of corrupted akuma energy split across the plaza like lightning.

BOOM.

A heavy, thundering step.

BOOM.

The lamp posts shook. The ground cracked.

BOOM.

Ladybug braced herself, eyes wide as the smoke parted—and a shape began to emerge from the swirling shadow. No, not a shape. A figure. Massive, gleaming, majestic.

A pigeon.

A gargantuan pigeon.

His feathers shimmered like moonlight, sleek and unyielding. His chest was adorned with silver down to the tip of his wings, a deep purple royal sash cutting across his shoulder. His claws, plated in obsidian metal, crushed stone underfoot. And atop his noble head rested a grand crown; crafted of chrome, the front display shapes to resemble mouse ears.

His eyes burned with a magenta fire. His voice rolled across the plaza in a booming echo like a god’s decree.

“Foolish bipedal worms,” he intoned, his voice an unholy blend of echo chamber and pigeon gurgle. “Your day of reckoning for the injustices you have committed against my avian brothers has at long last arrived.”

The giant pigeon lifted a wing, fanning up a serious wave of wind that continued to knock the trio back.

“For you see… you are not dealing with the average pigeon. You are not even dealing with a common bird of the city square. No, you are dealing with a royal renegade. The apex of feathered kind. The avatar of justice here to reclaim what your vile kind has so vehemently denied us…”

The clouds behind him split, revealing Hawkmoth perched atop the pigeon’s armoured back. He had never looked more pleased. He stood tall and triumphant, purple jacket flaring in the wind, lightly gripping the edge of one of the shoulder pads. His laughter echoed across the city like thunder.

“Tremble in fear and bow in worship of me,” the akuma roared, throwing both wings into the sky. “KING PIGEON!”

Notes:

Truly, Ladybug faces her most dangerous foe yet.

Lila: *Suffering*
Marinette and Adrien: *Desperately trying not to snigger.*
The moral of the story is that doing drugs makes you happy and not doing drugs makes you lame.

Gabriel Agreste - #1 Mr. Pigeon Fan

Next Time - King Pigeon:

CottonTail: I have two questions.

CottonTail: One for God.

CottonTail: One for everyone else.

Chester: God's listening.

CottonTail: Why.

CottonTail: Why do I keep getting shit on!?

Chester: Because it's funny.

FreakyTikki: Next Question.

GlitterMoth: Come on, Volpina.

GlitterMoth: Get out here.

GlitterMoth: We just want to talk.

CottonTail: How.

CottonTail: How. In the fuck.

CottonTail: IS THE PIGEON IN THE GROUP CHAT!?

EmperorOfTheSky: Ugly human.

EmperorOfTheSky: When one casts off their chains, there is no limit to the heights they may reach!

EmperorOfTheSky: Also, do you have any bread? My children must feed.

CottonTail: Flock off, Feather Face!

Chapter 52: Turtle Calamity: King Pigeon

Summary:

King Pigeon chases Ladybug and Volpina through the streets of Paris

It had been days since Mayura had Hawkmoth’s lips all over her, and Nathalie was still living in that moment. Her mind had gone blank when he threw her against the wall, alarms blared in her head, telling her to scream out her true identity before Hawkmoth lashed out at her perceived insolence. Only for any vigour for saving herself to leave her once she found his eyes.

Rage, she expected. He hated being made powerless, and he hated her for making him unable to deny the situation he brought upon himself with Heartbreaker. It was the hunger that struck her, the way his eyes took her all in without a shred of the shame Gabriel had held when he’d accidentally glimpsed that same visage.

It was easy to dismiss it, to tell herself that she was merely seeing what she wanted to see. It was easy, until it wasn’t. It was easy, until his fingers dug into her dress, incessantly tugging on the fabric with the temptation to rip it apart and leave her bare to him. It was easy, until he pinned her down, captured her lips and devoured any restraint Mayura had.

She had folded immediately. How could she not? All of her composure fell to carnal desire under his touch, every impulse betraying her and opening up to his whim. The ghost of his fingers still haunted her skin, prickling at her nerves and drawing out stolen gasps even late into her work the next day.

Their internal clock was completely overworked, neither of them knew how long they remained in that embrace, only that they parted with their hair a mess, coated with sweat and the fabric of their clothes twisted to the extreme. Nathalie wondered how far she’d have let it gone if Hawkmoth pushed for it. She liked to think she had enough self-respect and restraint to not get carried away. But then again, there was a lot she thought she had enough discipline not to do until Gabriel Agreste entered the picture.

Honestly, she couldn’t believe how well she managed to maintain her demeanour when facing Gabriel again. Her mental autopilot was working hard to carry her through the day as her every thought went into restraining herself from asking him some very revealing questions. She’d hide herself behind her desk, stealing little glances around her computer screen to see him ferociously sketching away his latest designs.

He kept deleting them with a growl, muttering to himself that he’d probably end up in legal trouble if the dresses looked too much ‘like hers’. Maybe Nathalie could think up any manner of people he could be ripping off the design of, but screw that, Nathalie was feeling confident and took this as a sign that Gabriel was thinking about that kiss, or two, or three, just as much as she was.

At some point during their ‘encounter’, Mayura had made a quip about doubting Hawkmoth’s stamina. Completely unrelated, but suddenly Gabriel floated the idea of joining Nathalie for her morning runs, excusing the urge as getting sick of Chat Noir and Ladybug outrunning him all the time. Mayura took over in that fateful moment and dryly told Gabriel that she agrees, it would do wonders for his stamina; more stamina in which to beat the heroes, of course.

Gabriel, for lack of a better word, retreated with a flush of heat colouring his ears at this.

Nooroo did not approve of all this extra emotional baggage his holder, and thus also the kwami, was clambering with. Duusu approved way too damn much, pestering Nathalie to bug Hawkmoth with some flirty texts. To her credit, Nathalie said no; she wasn’t going to flood Hawkmoth’s communicator with messages asking if he was thinking about her… he might think she was desperate or something. She had some self-respect left, damn it!

“Mister Gabriel is texting you again,” Duusu sighed.

Duusu was nestled atop Nathalie’s shoulder, Nathalie her sat curled up on her windowsill, staring out into the Paris skyline. Gabriel and Adrien had some interview with Ladybug’s reporter friend planned, so Nathalie was given the go ahead to go home early if she wanted no part of it. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t care about Hawkmoth’s interview, and more that she did not trust Duusu not to give the game away and make some loud obnoxious comment in the middle of watching the interview.

And Nathalie sure as hell wasn’t leaving Duusu alone.

Nathalie shook her head, tapping Duusu on the head, “I’m telling you, Duusu, he’s just texting to brag about how cool he thought his answers were.”

He liked to send her little reports any time he and Chat Noir made a particularly ‘powerful’ impression, in his own words. He phrased it like he was being neutral about it, but the moment Nathalie gave him a nugget of validation, he’d fall into his little self-congratulatory spiels. It was cute, but also exhausting sometimes.

Duusu still looked between her and the phone, uncertain. “What if he needs your help?”

“Gabriel requires assistance in many things,” Nathalie hummed, stretching her leg out, “but he’s a natural when it comes to interviews.”

Gabriel didn’t like people, much less nosey reporters; as such, he endeavoured to forge the most efficient responses that would get them out of his hair as soon as possible. He knew the image he wanted and he painted it well, no matter how the rumour mill assumed that Nathalie wrote his lines for him. Then again, it wasn’t like she was going to correct them; she was fine taking credit.

Duusu picked herself up, her hovering growing erratic with an urge to zip back and forth. She spun around in the air, moaning, “What if this is the day he tries to confess his undying love for you?”

“He wouldn’t do that over the phone,” Nathalie answered flatly, and quickly without a second thought. Besides, the phone was all the way over there and she wasn't even wearing her glasses. “He’d orchestrate some big dramatic event where he can pin me down with a spotlight and make a grand speech about his love.”

Saying it out loud revealed quite a lot about how well she knew the man, but thankfully Duusu didn’t decide to call her out on it.

“That sounds so romantic!” she coo’d, pressing her paws to her cheeks.

“Gabriel can be romantic when he wants to be,” Nathalie replied simply, shrugging. Gabriel could be romantic, he could be compassionate, he could be generous; and now she certainly knew that he could be passionate. All it took was getting him in the right mood.

“I can’t wait for the day you tell him you’re Mayura and he can be romantic all the time.”

“Over my dead body,” Nathalie rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately, this only threw Duusu into a further fantasy, the kwami swooning in the air and following every second with an overwhelmed wail.

“Oh, I can see it now.” She zipped down to Nathalie’s nose, clinging to it, bouncing off of it, ensuring that there was no ignoring the kwami with a romance high, “On your death bed he’ll finally confess his love to you, but j-just as he tries to caress your cheek, you close your eyes forever.”

Duusu shoved Nathalie’s nose away, flying back to splatter against the window like a bug. She let out a loud, high-pitched weeping session, banging her against the glass and turning her gaze to the grim sun setting on her fairy tale romance.

“A-And then he cries, and sobs and OH THE TRAGEDY!”

The kwami pulled her tail up to use as a hanky, drying her tearful eyes before continuing, her voice small and dainty.

“B-But then he kisses you for the final time, and true love’s kiss brings you back to life,” she shot off high, screaming in triumph, “and you get married, and Adrien grows up, and you all live happily ever after!”

“Duusu,” Nathalie groaned, “if I let you pick up the phone, will you stop telling me stories about my imaginary love life?”

Wordlessly, Duusu nodded. Just as wordlessly, Nathalie sighed and made a vague gesture towards the phone.

Snatching it off the table, Duusu, looking at the screen that was almost as big as her entire body, used her head to press the buttons. After a quick click and a few codes punched in, Duusu let out a whistle at the scrolling notifications.

“Ooo, that’s a lot of words.”

Nathalie’s brow quirked up, speaking with a curious hum, “Why, what happened?”

Duusu spun midair, balancing the phone on her head in a way that made Nathalie’s wallet panic. The kwami returned Nathalie’s curious hum. “Mister Gabriel says that Miss Cesaire called him a cuck and he wants to know what it means,” she reported. Before Nathalie could do a spit take, Duusu scrolled further. “Oh, don’t worry, he found out.”

The report continued.

“Apparently, the interview became a kidnapping.”

Nathalie choked on nothing. “What?”

“And they found the mouse miraculous.” Duusu said, voice pitched to hold back her giggles

“The mous-”

“But Ladybug and Volpina were there too.”

Duusu chirped, bouncing in place now like a kid hopped up on too much sugar. “But but Mister Gabriel got the mouse miraculous and a new akuma, and-”

The phone beeped.

“Oh, a weather update.”

Nathalie blinked, dizzy from the barrage. “What? Are we going to have rainfall too?”

Duusu showed her the screen with a shrug. “It just says ‘pigeons’.”

---

Ladybug was sure that her grandmother never thought buying Marinette that vespa would one day save a superhero’s life, and Marinette would never tell her so; but she was feeling oh-so lucky to have such a kick-ass grandma right now.

The dynamic duo of Ladybug and Volpina tore up the empty streets on the back of a vespa they ‘borrowed’ from the garage they’d stumbled into during their escape. Ladybug standing at the helm, urging the vehicle into a sharp swerve while Volpina clung to her hips for dear life. And yes, escape, retreat, get the hell out of dodge; they were getting gone.

And they were right to.

A split second later, that eardrum scratching, spine-chilling, booming screech that could only charitably be called a squawk roared over the rooftops like thunder. Along with it, the body of the titanic, feathered monster wiped out the clouds and dived for them.

King Pigeon did not play around, he went straight for the kill, pulling up just before he hit the ground with a sharpness that his size shouldn’t have allowed. Even that simple movement was enough to turn the air into a whip, lashing out at the fleeing heroes’ backs and pulling the vespa out of control.

His wings unfurled, these massive, terrifying things that spanned the width of the entire boulevard. The feathers shimmered, feather shaped blades that caught the light and sliced through the walls of buildings like paper cutouts. Each beat of his wings kicked up shattered stone and overturned cars. In function, this creature was a living, moving killzone and he was closing in fast.

Ladybug was ashamed to admit it, but King Pigeon might very well be the most dangerous akuma they’d faced since Stormy Weather; and that’s only because Stormy’s ability to plunge them into an eternal winter by potentially knocking the Earth off it’s axis will forever cement her as #1.

Maybe Mirror Mistress was a contender, she could inflict so much damage without even being touched, but Ladybug doubted that a sewage truck was going to save them from this foe. Even their attacks harmlessly bounced off King Pigeon’s armour. Still, she was happy that Lila Rossi was probably on the list of ‘never akumatized again’ for Hawkmoth. Ladybug shivered to imagine anyone giving that girl superpowers; she’d consider Chloe more likely to do good things with her powers than Lila.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Volpina shouted over the roar, hair streaming behind her.

“You wanna take the wheel and try to get around all this crap, be my guest!” Ladybug barked, teeth clenched as she jerked them into an alleyway so narrow the Vespa scraped sparks. “Now, stop complaining and start navigating. Where’s the damn subway?”

“Behold!” Behind them, King Pigeon shrieked again—a sound that cracked glass and sent alarm systems wailing in chorus. “The hairless apes duck when I bless them from above. Truly, your kind’s cowardice knows no ceiling.”

“To think, Hawkmoth found an akuma that could talk more crap than him,” Volpina groaned, pressing her cheek against Ladybug’s pigtail.

The vespa shot out of the alley, spat out onto the street with nothing but a metallic screech and a bumpy landing for their troubles. Ladybug heard Volpina yelp at the unsteady movement, full on wrapping her lips around her Ladybug-shaped life preserver.

Overhead, King Pigeon soared into view and, to Ladybug’s great horror, was now armed with a car in it’s claws. Without much fanfare, other than the view of Hawkmoth hanging off King Pigeon’s side with a nasty grin and gesturing down with his cane, the giant block of metal was released. Ladybug barely had the time to violently yank back on the vespa, sending it into a wide spin out, before the car-shaped artillery came crashing down beside them.

The metal impact broke through the concrete, digging out a crate in their wake, and a shockwave that made the vespa bounce. Volpina was thrown up, slammed down and then knocked into Ladybug’s back, her eyes glazed over and a light whimper escaping.

“Volpina! Directions! Now!” Ladybug barked, banking left and using an abandoned fruit cart as a ramp just as King Pigeon dashed through with his claws raised.

They avoided the swipe, but only narrowly, once more making a heavy, unsteady landing to return them to the street. Ahead there was only more abandoned vehicles, broken pieces of pavement and no easy ways out.

“What do I look like, a tour guide?” Volpina cried out over the wind violently whipping past them, “if it isn’t the school or the ice cream café, I don’t know where the hell it is.”

“Just use the map in your flute!”

Volpina let out a strangled, fearful cry, “I need both arms to stay on the bike.”

“Just do it!” Ladybug hissed.

Volpina whimpered like a kicked puppy, but to her credit, she twisted sideways just enough to yank her flute free. “Fffffffine!”

With one hand and a lot of yelling, she slapped it against her wrist and fumbled with the projection mode. A holographic city map sparked to life in the air, just as King Pigeon roared behind them again.

King Pigeon flew by for another swipe, flying low enough that his claws tore up the pavement, cobbling together clumps of stone and metal into a dangerous boulder and launching it down at them.

“How quaint!” he squawked. “Your kind requires maps to navigate a single street. I migrated across three continents last fall.”

Ladybug banked hard toward the right, tires screaming as they barely slipped between two dumpsters, smashing through the windows of a storefront before coming out on another street. Behind them, the boulder bounced off a building, curving around to get just an inch away from smacking the tailpipe mid-turn.

Volpina tapped her shoulder, “okay, quick question: where are we?”

An exasperated sigh rattled Ladybug, resisting the urge to just turn around scowl at her partner. “The map is based on our current location.”

“Yeah,” Volpina pushed the display into view, wiggiling it as ‘Finding location…’ blinked on screen in big bold letters, “but the app can’t get our location while we’re moving at the speed of pigeon!”

Ladybug hissed, just barely swerving around a flipped city bus that was tumbling into their path. “Great, I’ll just slow down then.”

“I’m just relaying information, Buggy!”

Another pigeon scream cut through the air. King Pigeon dropped down into a dive behind them, wings spread. Hawkmoth used only one hand to cling to King’s back, bellowing with laughter, “Look how they scatter like mice under the majesty of your noble art! Devour them like the vermin they are, my glorious silver-feathered prince!”

Ladybug bared her teeth. “Why don’t you try relaying some useful information, Volly?!”

Volpina’s eyes darted back to the map, then to the street ahead. “Cut through here, we can lose him in the mall.”

Ladybug swerved hard, tires skidding as she angled the Vespa into another narrow street.

“Can’t he just—” Ladybug shouted, only to cut herself off when glancing back at the feathered war machine flapping toward them with the wrath of birdkind under his razor-sharp wings.

“Hawkmoth wouldn’t let him risk destroying our Miraculous,” Volpina snapped back, gripping Ladybug’s waist tighter as the Vespa bounced over a pothole. “You know how he gets about collateral damage when it’s his prize on the line.”

They tore through and out of another store through a busted loading bay, the Vespa coughing as it struggled over the rubble-strewn ramp. Ladybug gunned it the moment they hit open pavement, ducking around a fallen streetlamp and trying not to think about how every turn they made just seemed to lead them into more war-torn Paris.

The sky thundered with wings again, forcing Ladybug to glance up; instantly regret it.

“Oh, come on,” she groaned.

Overhead, King Pigeon gave a mighty heave mid-flight… and dropped something. A smooth, oval-shaped something.

It hit the ground with a damp, wet splorp.

Then another.

And another.

A barrage of oversized pigeon eggs began pelting the streets, some bouncing once before cracking open in bursts of white yolk and feathers.

“He’s—he’s literally shitting all over us,” Volpina moaned, eyes wide in horror as she ducked a splattering glob of avian ammunition. “How can the same crap happen to the same girl twice!?”

Ladybug didn’t dare ask what the first time was. Not when the first egg cracked apart and from it burst a pigeon roughly the size of a very angry toddler with talons.

“Oh my god, they’re hatching,” Ladybug hissed, kicking the Vespa into overdrive.

The next egg popped open midair, and this one let out a mechanical vrrrrrrrRRRRRRMMMMMM before divebombing them with the unmistakable screech of a World War II biplane engine.

It wasn’t alone. More eggs fell in rapid-fire salvos, splattering along the asphalt and erupting into dozes of pigeons half their father's size, each one flapping erratically like drunken fighter pilots. They zoomed through the sky, circling the Vespa in a flurry of flapping wings and maddening coos.

One rammed into a stop sign and exploded in a puff of feathers and smoke. Another divebombed Ladybug’s shoulder, trying to peck her earring right off her head.

Volpina smacked it with her flute mid-screech. “I am not getting pecked to death by a flying feather duster!”

More of the devil chicks swarmed, some divebombing the Vespa’s wheels, others trying to wedge themselves under the handlebars. A few dove into the pavement ahead and exploded like squawking, feathery grenades, leaving potholes and smouldering craters in their wake.

Ladybug ducked another feather-nuke and snarled through gritted teeth, “what kind of sick bastard came up with multiplying kamikaze pigeons!?”

They bursted through a line of toppled mailboxes, barrelling toward the cracked glass doors of a half-demolished mall entrance. One of the automatic doors half-heartedly wheezed open at their approach, the other already jammed off its tracks. Ladybug ducked as the Vespa slipped inside, past empty kiosks and flickering ceiling lights.

Behind them, King Pigeon shrieked in frustration, banking upward at the last second to avoid shearing through the building. His children opted to follow him instead of attempting to break the door down.

“Okay…” Ladybug huffed, bringing the vespa to a harsh stop. “I think we’re safe now.”

Volpina proceeded to smack Ladybug upside the head.

“Why did you have to say it?!”

---

It was a chaotic scene in a mundane sense. People were hustling along in stampeding droves in response to the akuma attack, but they weren’t exactly rushing like their lives depended on it. At this point in the akuma game, the all destructive battle between good and evil was more a spectator’s sport or an annoying interruption bringing your day to a screeching halt; like a traffic jam. At least, when it was Hawkmoth and Ladybug going head to head, civilians were content knowing that any damages would be cleaned up and neither side was going out of their way to rack up a body count.

It was only the recent appearance of a legitimate supervillain serial killer in Heartbreaker and those murderous metal maniacs that attacked the poor Freedom Fighters that kept Parisens on their toes.

So, in response to the high speed chase where everything around the heroes seemed to shrink and multiply, people simply evacuated at a brisk jog. Some were rushing for a meeting they were going to be late for, some were grumbling about how the train or bus was going to be late now, some were bugging others for news updates…

And some were simply making the most of it.

One such was Alix, landing with a perfect pirouette and sliding her roller skates to a sharp stop in front of her larger friend, Kim. Behind her, a gaggle of adults scowled at the two, shaking their heads in dismay before storming off.

“Ha!” She laughed, elbowing him in the chest, “Told you I could jump five people.”

Kim crossed his arms defiantly, biting back, “You hit the last guy on the way down, you only cleared four!”

Alix had to jump up just to make sure her glare met his, whining, “No I didn’t!”

His foot came down to poke at her skates, drawing her attention to a ripped piece of fabric that clung to the wheels. “You so did.”

With a scoff, she pushed him away and thus also herself back on her skates, “You’re just a sore loser.”

He zipped around her on his own wheels, pushing her helmet down over her eyes as he passed. “You’re just short.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” she yelped, yanking her helmet back up just to see him crouching down, a wolfish grin plastered on his face that was sure to get her steamed.

“Yeah, but it pisses you off,” Kim clicked his tongue, flicking her forehead, “so I win.”

Things fell silent between them for a moment, Alix sinking into a childish pout, staring up in frustration at her infinitely more immature partner, whilst his stare only challenged her for the perfect retort.

Then she grinned, falling back on the old reliable, “Bet you can’t jump six.”

Kim and Alix, they were two of a kind, a special set of thrill seekers who could never trust anyone else to challenge them the way they wanted to be challenged consistently. They realized that long ago when they were stuck together at some dumb camp where a simple game of freeze tag turned into a warzone between the two youngest kids and all the scared older teens they bullied into playing along.

They left that summer bloodied, bruises, in a whole lot of trouble with their parents, but with an unshakable bond that transcended the divide between pre-teen gender wars. An eternal balancing act of competitive ribbing and  faithful determination, where they always pushed for the other to push back. Didn’t matter if one was lagging behind, didn’t matter if one needed a kick up the ass, didn’t matter if one was being a bigger dick than usual; they were there to light the fire no matter what.

Kim may be a bit of a block head and Alix a hot head, he may be a giant and her a dwarf, he may be an insensitive ass and her a competitive ass, he may be a smelly boy and her an annoying girl; but they were on the same wavelength from dusk till dawn. And challenge was the only language they understood.

“Oh, you are so on!”

Kim stomped down on his heel, pumping himself up into a spin so he could start planning his route to the first convenient line of bodies to launch himself over, only to come to a halt. It seemed that, enthralled in insulting each other, the two completely missed the evacuation, elaving them all alone on the street.

“…when I find the people.”

Alix scratched the back of her neck. “Where’d everyone go?” she asked.

Kim rooted around in his pocket to retrieve his phone, curiously scrolling through his notifications. He nodded, casually speaking up, “Looks like there was an akuma alert or something?”

“Wait, really?” Alix scrambled for her phone too, finding the same notification. It only took a moment to process the information before an excitably look bloomed on her features.

She skated over to Kim, attaching herself to his hip and pulling his collar down so that their scheming eyes met. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Alix asked.

Kim didn’t even need to think about it, bobbing up and down with her as her excitement infected him as well. “We’d break the internet if we got some footage of us styling in the middle of an akuma fight?”

She punched his shoulder, whooping, “Right on the money, dude!”

The two took off down the street, skating around the debris and destruction left behind by Ladybug’s chase. Alix flipped her GoPro into place on her helmet, narrating into it with mockingly serious energy. “Day twenty-nine of the Hawkmoth apocalypse. Resources low. Morale stupidly high. We ride.”

They screeched to a halt behind a cracked retaining wall just across from the mall’s ruined entrance. The akuma wasn’t in sight yet but the rooftop skyline was lined with large, puffed-up pigeons. Was it really that Mr. Pigeon guy again?

“Yo. Boost me,” Alix whispered, pulling her goggles down.

Kim knelt without question, bracing her foot against his thigh. “Please don’t use me like a jungle gym.”

“Too late.”

With the grace of a caffeinated spider monkey, Alix scaled him and stood with one skate balanced on his shoulder and the other digging into his upper back.

“Ow.”

“Shhh. You’re a tree now.”

She peeked up over the wall. Kim squinted through a bullet-hole in the stone, his nose uncomfortably close to ancient gum and pigeon poo fossils.

Across from them, perched on the neon sign stretching of from across the street from the mall, King Pigeon sat; his wings slightly open and crown in the sun. His minions were arrayed on rooftops, now suddenly looking like creepy lawn ornaments, heads twitching every time something moved.

Kim recoiled slightly. “Is that a… giant chicken?”

Alix jabbed her heel lightly into his ear. “Duh, it’s a pigeon. Are you blind?”

“Your big dumb foot is all up in my face, so kind of.”

“What’s wrong with my feet?”

“You’re built like the short people from Lord of the Rings.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a hobbit?”

“I ain’t calling you an Orlando Bloom.”

“Wow. First you insult my height, then my fantasy creature status. You’re dead to me.”

“Then get off my shoulders, Frodo Saggins.”

They bickered a few more seconds in theatrical whispers before a shared silence settled—unnaturally still.

Kim squinted harder. “What’s the akuma doing?”

Alix adjusted her stance, zooming in on her GoPro’s tiny screen. “He’s just… sitting there. Staring at the mall.”

After a time, she shuffled in her makeshift seat. “Do you think birds shop around too?” she asked quietly.

Kim nodded like this was a valid philosophical question. “What’s he gonna buy? Giant bird feed?”

“Maybe he’ll get a big hat, I dunno.”

Kim squinted up at her but didn’t reply.

“…He’s talking to Hawkmoth,” Alix added, leaning forward. “And some dude.”

“Some dude?”

“Yeah. He looks like someone’s mom got dirty with a bird. Real creepy dude. Probably hangs out around parks or something.”

Kim snapped his fingers, squinting through the hole. “Where’s the cat guy?”

Alix adjusted her angle. “Other side of the street. Looks like he’s hiding behind a lamp post. Dude’s legit scared of the pigeon.”

Suddenly, Kim took to incessantly patting her on the ass repeating “Alix. Alix. Alix.” over and over again.

“What?”

Kim leaned just far enough to make eye contact up at her under her foot. “I bet you can’t jump over the giant pigeon.”

A slow grin crept across Alix’s face. “Bet. What are the stakes?”

Kim cracked his knuckles. “You eat it big time, I get your skates.”

Alix gasped. “But these are my favourite pair! They’re and everything.”

“Exactly. Sentimental value.”

She pouted dramatically. “Ugh, fine. But when I ace the jump, you have to…” After a moment of pondering, her face broke out into an evil grin. “Get me something nice and shiny.”

“Pffft, you are such a gir-”

“From Old Man Crackerjack junkyard.”

Kim’s smirk disappeared so quick you could practically see his life leaving his eyes. “O-Old Man Crackerjack?” he spluttered, “Don’t people say he’s, like, a teenager-eating serial killer or something?”

“Yup.” Alix nodded, “And I ain’t talking about some basic junk, I’m talking about the good stuff he keeps aside to try and clean up and sell off.”

“Really, you’re getting off of losing free,” she began.

“Unless,” Alix squeezed his head in lieu of leaning in, “you’re a chicken.”

Kim’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no chicken!”

“Bawk, bawk, baaaaawk.” She squawked, flapping her arms and wiggling her non-existent tail.

His chest came out at full puff, spinning her around on his shoulders, “What do I got to lose, you’re gonna blow this anyway.”

---

It was a beautiful day all things considered. A picture perfect sunny sky dominated by crumbling buildings, toxic smog bleeding out of the ruined battlefield to tear down the skyline. Hawkmoth stood above it all, yet all he could look to was down below him, the warzone, the torn arena; the perfect stage for his final victory.

King Pigeon’s creation may have not been his original plan, but it was an opportunity he’d played to perfection. The heroes had been utterly defenceless against the royal monster, spending the first ten minutes of the encounter being thrown about and drilled into the ground until a timely illusion from Volpina allowed them a moment to slip away.

Not long enough to escape, just long enough to draw out the hunt, as Hawkmoth had no issue following their trail atop the back of his new friend. He didn’t even need to wrangle King Pigeon into helping him or go over their deal, the creature understood the assignment and propelled himself into it with gusto as thanks for the powers Hawkmoth bestowed upon him.

Now, the chase had concluded with the heroes rushing for the cover of their local mall. A building that had multiple exits to exploit. ‘Had’ being the key word, as Hawkmoth was quick to have King Pigeon send his explosive children to cave in any of the entrances aside from the front one that would funnel the heroes right into a direct conflict.

“It appears that the vermin have sequestered themselves inside this concrete fortress,” King Pigeon rumbled.

Hawkmoth had no idea where the pigeon’s voice came from, just that he could hear it.

Hawkmoth held up his hand, clambering up to the pigeon’s head. “Correction: They’ve trapped themselves inside this concrete tomb.” He bellowed out a maniacal laugh, spinning his cane around in his hand, “I almost can’t believe it, we have them on the ropes.”

With only one spot the heroes could emerge from, Hawkmoth had ordered the rest of the birds to take point around the open area that surrounded the mall. Cars were picked up and placed down as barriers, the avian army stood at the ready, forming a barrier of feathers around the entrance, covering both the ground and roof level.

King Pigeon’s head tilted, sliding his crown down to knock against Hawkmoth’s legs, “Shall we end this skirmish and bury the bugs under their sanctuary?”

“Nothing quite so gruesome, my king.” Hawkmoth tutted, jumping off the head and sliding down the neck, “I don’t want them dead, believe it or not, nor their miraculous damaged. No, what I have in mind requires more precision.”

King Pigeon swept his left wing under his body in a bow that Hawkmoth couldn’t really see, but appreciated the effort of none the less. “My troops are at your command, Master.”

Hawkmoth tapped his cane against his chin, returning his gaze to the mall. King Pigeon was too large to enter the mall without risking too much structural damage and burying the heroes, or worse, allow the heroes a chance to slip out and make King Pigeon crushed himself to death under the collapsing building.

However, his smaller soldiers should be able to move through the mall with ease and cause problems for the heroes. Smoke them out into the open for King Pigeon to lay the final strike. The question was how independently the soldiers could act.

“How do your soldiers faire without your command?”

“Hm, their strategic thinking is limited, I’m afraid.” King Pigeon’s head snapped back and forth with his growl, “Without me, they’re headless chickens.”

So, unless the mall had a massive skylight for the pigeon to get a birds-eye-view of the inside from, the army would be easy to avoid.

“That means sending them inside the building to swarm the heroes would be inefficient,” Hawkmoth clicked his tongue, “We must lure them out to us then.”

A cough brought Hawkmoth’s eyes to Mr. Ramier, standing comfortably near the tail end, munching on a biscuit. Hawkmoth figured that it was only fair to bring the man along considering that he’d been the original target of the akuma, and Mr. Ramier’s long-standing support of the bird community earned only the highest respect of King Pigeon and his flock, so there were no problems there.

Mr. Ramier held a finger up, his expression excitable as he spoke, “Why don’t we leave treats outside the door and wait for them to come out?”

King Pigeon roared at this, “A brilliant plan, Guardian!”

The akuma was so pleased with the plan that he started to sway on his perch, which meant Hawkmoth and Mr. Ramier, their entire stability being tied to the creature. were sent stumbling into each other. After heads were knocked together, Hawkmoth stabled himself by grabbing hold of one of the feather-shaped indents in King Pigeon’s armour.

“Gentleman, they’re not animals, they’re not going to just throw themselves at food on a hook,” he warned, batting away at the wind. He stopped himself, considering for a moment, before quickly adding on, “Well, Ladybug won’t. I don’t know about Volpina, but I’ve seen her do some crazy things for a snickers bar.”

“ACHOO!”

It was a titanic sneeze that broke up their conversation, not just because of the volume of the sound, but because it was quickly followed by the building shaking as Chat Noir’s body was launched into a nearby wall like he’d been smacked.

Hawkmoth peered over the edge of King Pigeon’s wing, gazing down at where Chat Noir was sunken into a person-shaped hole, gripping the edges and wiping away at his nose.

“You doing okay over there, Son?” Hawkmoth asked.

Chat waved him off, “I’m doing-”

Only to be launched back into the building by the sheer knockback of his sneeze. After a moment of silence, an uneasy, whining murmur escaped the hole, “Great, Dad.”

King Pigeon’s head bowed to give Chat Noir’s crash site a curious look, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s allergic to feathers.”

“D-Don’t worry about-”

ACHOO

Out the hole he shot, tumbling across the street and into a car.

“-me, I just need a minute to-”

ACHOO

This time, he took flight, smashing through a lamp post along the way. He flipped into a wide arc, falling through the roof of another shop.

“Ah-Ah-ACHOO-CATACLYSM!”

Dark, rusted veins consumed the storefront before disintegrating it into dust, causing the rest of the room to collapse in on itself.

“Oh no, that poor video store,” Mr. Ramier gasped.

From the rubble pile, Chat’s hand shot out with a thumbs up. “I’m okay!”

Hawkmoth rubbed his temples, “And now he needs to go find a spot to hide and recharge.”

King Pigeon was a powerful akuma, but he balanced that out by also neutering Hawkmoth’s partner. Hawkmoth liked winning, but the victory would feel a bit less sweet if he couldn’t do it with his son. Maybe he’ll pull King Pigeon back when it was time to make the final blow and they could rip the ladybug earrings off of their nemesis together.

“Mr. Moth,” Mr. Ramier spoke up, leaning in, frowning, “I don’t mean to be a worry wart, but we do seem to be causing a lot of destruction in this fight.”

The carnage had become such a norm in Hawkmoth’s life that it actually took him a few seconds of looking over the mass destruction, demolished vehicles and multiple craters splitting open the street to realize what Mr. Ramier was saying.

“Ah, don’t worry,” he shrugged, “most of the damage was in the abandoned buildings district. And it all gets fixed afterwards anyway.”

“Paris has a district of abandoned buildings?”

“Of course! Every big, populated city with a superhero has them,” Hawkmoth scoffed at Mr. Ramier not knowing this completely pedestrian knowledge. “How do you think Tokyo survives all those giant mech battles?”

“Huh, I never thought about that,” Mr. Ramier hummed, impressed enough to raise his brows and laugh a little. “You really have this all figured out.”

“Not really,” Hawkmoth joined the laughter, throwing his arm around Mr. Ramier and poking the man in the chest, “but the key to a good supervillain is acting like you do!”

Mr. Ramier pressed his knuckle to his lips, contemplating. “If I may suggest, and if I’m remembering my time as Mr. Pigeon correctly, the two heroes are quite prideful, much like you,” he said hesitantly, “I’m sure you could lure them out with some personal jabs, yes?”

Hawkmoth only brought Mr. Ramier along to spectate, but none the less, he appreciated the man making the effort to try and help. He was always the most considerate of Hawkmoth’s akumas, always eager to offer aid even if it didn’t end up panning out.

His other ones were always so demanding, like they couldn’t handle even the slightest task without whining for directions or yelling for him to give them more incentive to live up to their end of the bargain.

People keep complaining that Gabriel is too controlling, but now Hawkmoth isn’t controlling enough? Bah, the people he had to put up with. Honestly, the moment he figured out how to give people togglable akumatized forms, Mr. Ramier was getting it first. Free of charge, no strings or anything. The man just wanted to feed his damn pigeons and be happy.

“A grand idea!” Hawkmoth cackled, opening his cane top to reveal his miraculous communicator. “And I have a direct line to-”

Suddenly, the heel of a roller-skate was digging into his nose. It was a tiny thing, but no less sharp as it shredded through his skin and then, quite rudely, shoved him to the floor. In his upside-down view, he saw a small, feminine figure carry herself through the air on the momentum she gained by launching off of his head. Mr. Ramier barely had time to duck as her body sailed passed, eventually making a stumbling landing onto the opposing rooftop.

“Score!” she cried in that raspy, gremlin voice of hers.

Clasping his bruised head, Hawkmoth could only growl, “What the hell!?”

“And she lands it!” the girl whooped, spinning on the spot and cupping her hands over her lips, projecting her voice to an imaginary crowd. “Once again, Alix Kimbel proves why she’s queen of skating rink!”

She moved over to allow a larger boy to slide over to her side, his phone raised high. “Kim, tell me you got that in 4k.”

The boy scoffed, casually jabbing his thumb in Hawkmoth’s direction, “What I got is you clearly landing on Hawkmoth, meaning you lost.”

“Bullshit, I cleared it,” Alix hissed, aggressively gesturing to King Pigeon. “The bet was to jump over the pigeon, not the guy riding the pigeon.”

“He counts as part of it!”

“Nu-uh.”

“Ya-huh.”

“Nu. Uh.”

“Ya. Huh.”

Hawkmoth launched himself off of King Pigeon’s back in a single, graceful leap, cape fluttering behind him. He landed with a thud between the two teens, startling them both, and without hesitation, grabbed Alix and Kim each by the ear.

“What is wrong with you two brats!?” he snapped, tugging upward with just enough pressure to make them yelp.

“OW! Hey!” Kim squawked.

“Dude, not cool!” Alix barked, squirming in his grip.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to pull off such ridiculously dangerous stunts?” he scolded, giving both ears a firm twist for emphasis. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed doing that!”

“L-Let go! Gaaaawd!” Alix cried, trying to bat at his arm.

“Why is the supervillain being so lame!?” Kim added with a wince.

Hawkmoth glared. “Stop your moaning, this is nothing compared to the pain you’d be in if you fell and splattered yourself across the pavement.”

Kim stomped his foot. “Put us down! We’re not little kiddies!”

“Yeah!” Alix protested, flailing her fists in a desperate attempt to clobber Hawkmoth, but all she ended up hitting was air. “We could knock your block off any time, you big bald meanie!”

Hawkmoth’s eye twitched.

“If this continues,” he said, voice dark and slow, “I will be phoning your parents.”

That shut them both up.

“He’s bluffing,” Alix whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “He can’t do that…”

“Can he?” Kim hissed back, suddenly a lot less sure of himself.

“I don’t wanna find out,” Alix muttered.

Hawkmoth gave one last yank on their ears before releasing them with a huff. The two immediately recoiled and rubbed at their heads, glaring at him with watery eyes, but made no further comment.

“Good, you’re learning,” he grumbled, brushing off his hands like he’d just handled something sticky. He gestured up to Mr. Ramier, continuing to scold them, “Now, I believe you owe me, and the man you almost hit, an apology.”

The two crestfallen teens turned away, slumped their shoulders and grumble dout a low, “…we’resowhry.”

Hawkmoth smacked them, gently, on the top of the head with his cane, “Like you mean it.”

They jumped up with a yelp before crying out, “God, we’re sorry!”

“That’s better.” Hawkmoth returned his cane to tuck it between his arms, making a snapping noise up at King Pigeon. After a brief ‘ka-kaw!’ a small group of the mini-pigeons gathered by the scene, descending upon the two teens to grab at their shirts and, all together, lift Kim and Alix into the air.

“Now,” Hawkmoth continued, “I’m going to put you down on the streets, and you better run off back home or there will be hell to pay. Do I make myself clear?”

Suspended in the air, looking like when you hold up a misbehaving puppy by the scruff of it’s neck, the two teens just silently nodded, huffing and puffing all the way down into the street. Hawkmoth shook his head as he turned away.

“Damn kids, you’d never catch my son misbehaving like this.”

Chat Noir’s voice came out over the communicator, “But-”

“Don’t contradict your father in front of the minions, boy.”

---

Miraculous Group Chat

EmperorOfTheSky: Flightless Vermin of Paris!

EmperorOfTheSky: Trapping yourself in your concrete cage with the rats will not save you.

EmperorOfTheSky: You either starve in there, or face my armies on the battlefield!

QueenBug: Aw, damn, let me think about that for a moment.

QueenBug: How about no? Instead, we’ll wait for those flying little time bombs of yours to blow up for us.

EmperorOfTheSky: Ignorant to the end, I see.

EmperorOfTheSky: Dispense as many as you fancy, I can always deploy more atop your heads!

QueenBug: Eeeeeeew.

CottonTail: I have two questions.

CottonTail: One for God.

CottonTail: One for everyone else.

Chester: God's listening.

CottonTail: Why.

CottonTail: Why do I keep getting shit on!?

Chester: Because it's funny.

FreakyTikki: Next Question.

GlitterMoth: Come on, Volpina.

GlitterMoth: Get out here.

GlitterMoth: We just want to talk.

CottonTail: How.

CottonTail: How. In the fuck.

CottonTail: IS THE PIGEON IN THE GROUP CHAT!?

EmperorOfTheSky: Ugly human.

EmperorOfTheSky: When one casts off their chains, there is no limit to the heights they may reach!

EmperorOfTheSky: Also, do you have any bread? My children must feed.

CottonTail: Flock off, Feather Face!

QueenBug: Dare I ask how the male bird is laying eggs?

GlitterMoth: Magic, obviously.

QueenBug: That isn’t an explanation!

KittyPun: 

QueenBug: How’s the feathers, Furball?

KittyPun: I’m coAPIJAJHSDVNUJ

KittyPun: *coping

CottonTail: Speaking of feathers, where’s Hawky’s girlfriend?

CottonTail: I thought she was on your team.

KittyPun: Team? She isn’t on any team!

KittyPun: She’s a good for nothing, two-timing, smooshed blueberry-looking criminal! The only thing she has loyalty to is shiny things.

FeatherFatal: Well, I was trying to relax for a day.

FeatherFatal: But now I’m hurt.

GlitterMoth: Son! I demand you exercise the manners I have taught you when pertaining to a lady.

GlitterMoth: Preferably before she sends a sentimonster to ruin my plan.

EmperorOfTheSky: Your underwhelming offspring is right to be distrustful.

EmperorOfTheSky: Peacocks are a deceptive sort.

CottonTail: Is this… bird racism?

FeatherFatal: @GlitterMoth Now, now, Handsome; I thought you said I wasn’t a lady.

GlitterMoth: Well, not a lady…

GlitterMoth: You’re more like a gem?

GlitterMoth: Both should be handled with grace and care, yes?

FeatherFatal: :KissEmoji:

KittyPun: Urg, gross!

KittyPun: Tikki, there has to be a rule again being… icky!

FeatherFatal: Calm down, Junior. Your daddy will survive some light flirting.

KittyPun: You stumbled into helping him with Heartbreaker, that got him to be nice to you.

KittyPun: But don’t let that get to your head, it doesn’t change anything.

KittyPun: You mean nothing to him.

FeatherFatal: Funny, that’s what he told me too.

KittyPun: See?

GlitterMoth: CAN WE STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS!?

EmperorOfTheSky: GEM.

GlitterMoth: Oh, thank God.

EmperorOfTheSky: GEM?

EmperorOfTheSky: I’D LOVE GEM.

KittyPun: Oh right, ‘cus pigeons love shiny things.

CottonTail: What? No they don’t.

QueenBug: Come on, Volly, everyone knows pigeons love shiny things.

CottonTail: That’s a misconception! They hate anything reflective, it scares them.

GlitterMoth: Then why does King Pigeon love shiny things?

EmperorOfTheSky: GIMME. GIMME. GIMME.

EmperorOfTheSky: ME WANT GLITTER ROCK.

CottonTail: Ignorant magic. Can’t explain shit.

FeatherFatal: Wait, so that’s… an actual pigeon talking?

EmperorOfTheSky: And that is truly defective wing-me-down feathers daring to be ignorant of the obvious?

FeatherFatal: I thought it was some new version of Mr. Pigeon, but he has manners.

Glittermoth: Mr. Ramier is up here too.

Glittermoth: He says hi.

Glittermoth: He also says that peacocks deserve just as much respect as any other bird, and a royal pigeon should know that.

EmperorOfTheSky: …I wasn’t that rude…

FeatherFatal: Hey, of you guys are all busy with this play date, mind if I go and swipe some diamonds?

QueenBug: Yes?

QueenBug: Just because Hawky is our arch nemesis doesn’t mean you get a free pass!

KittyPun: You tell her, Bugaboo.

KittyPun: Wait…

KittyPun: Wait, no, you can’t go and fight another villain!

KittyPun: Heartbreaker doesn’t count since she was attacking everybody.

FeatherFatal: Don’t worry, Junior, I’m sure that any time they fight me, they’ll be thinking of you.

KittyPun: First you try to steal my dad, now you’re trying to steal my nemesis?

KittyPun: What kind of a monster are you!?

---

Ladybug flipped her bugphone closed with a sigh, leaning back against the wall of the stairwell. “Okay, Mayura and Chat’s arguing will keep team moth busy for at least half-an-hour; we need a plan.”

They had settled in the open centre of the mall entrance, either side of the circular room leading into escalators to the next floor. Here, there the staging ground for many small store entrances and stalls wheeled out across the floor. Volpina had decided to set up shop by a hot dog cart, scarfing down a frightening amount of food in a frantic manner Ladybug would never have expected from such an image conscious hero.

“We get some deodorant,” Volpina started, still chewing on her food and wiping mustard on her tail, “we get a lighter, and we treat those feathery bastards to some hellfire!”

She loudly swallowed her food, pumping her fist into the air to punctuate her suggestion.

“Oh my god-” Ladybug slapped her palm over her face, groaning. “We are not burning the akuma alive!”

Volpina rolled her eyes, already drenching another hotdog bun in a mixture of ketchup and mustard. “It’s not like he’s a dude this time,” she said briskly, “he’s literally a giant pigeon. This is just advanced cooking.”

There were too many things to unpack about that sentence, and Volpina’s casual attitude of spitting it out without bothering close her mouth as she consumed more food. Seriously, did she not have any breakfast this morning or something?

However, there was no time to broach any of that as the sound of glass shattered had both girls shooting to attention, whirling around to find the source of the noise. The source being two clearly not pigeon-shaped idiots tumbling through the entrance and knocking over everything that dared to be in their path.

It seemed the two were in the process of wrestling, and it didn’t take Ladybug long to recognise Kim and Alix rolling towards them in a mess of limbs and hair, the two loudly bickering about something. They came to a halt just at Ladybug’s foot, Kim looking up at her with light surprise and Alix shuffling around in his arms just enough to look at Ladybug like she was interrupting something important.

Kim clicked his tongue, “Sup, Bug Lady and Furry Girl.”

Ladybug suppressed a groan, already knowing that she wasn’t going to like this one bit. Volpina took the chance to poke at them with her foot, untangling them with one powerful kick and leaving the two to pick themselves up.

“What are you doing here?” Ladybug asked.

Kim clapped his hands together, hopping in place, an excitable six year old rather than a teenager. “We were doing some sick jump and tricks over the pigeons.”

“Yeah,” Alix hissed with an exasperated huff, throwing her hands up, “but then that lame-o Hawkmoth got all mad at us and yelled at us to go home.”

“So we’re a little bummed out right now.”

Ladybug stared at them blankly for a moment, holding back so many questions that she knew would only get stupid answers. She couldn’t believe that, once upon a time, she was ever attracted to Kim. Maybe in retrospect Chloe did her a favour in getting him to shatter her heart in the worst way possible; lord knows what she’d have let Kim drag her into if they’d gotten together.

Volpina slid in beside her, arm around Ladybug’s shoulder, head leaned in to talk directly into Ladybug’s ear; but no attempt to made to actually whisper. “Okay, here’s my plan; we use Kim and Alix as meat shields while we get the akumatized object-”

“Hey!”

She dismissed the two with a wave, “Don’t worry, no one will miss them.”

With a roll of her eyes, Ladybug didn’t dignify that plan with anything other than her hand shoving Volpina’s face back. Instead, she invested her words in something more productive, “What is the akumatized object anyway? I didn’t really see it before everything went to hell.”

Volpina pouted, “The mouse miraculous.”

“Harder to break a miraculous, but we can manage it.” Ladybug pulled away, pulling her hand up to clasp her chin between her fingers. “Strange though, I couldn’t see any miraculous on him.”

“Yeah, ‘cus it ain’t on him,” Volpina winced, “It’s in him.”

“What?”

“The pigeon ate it.”

Ladybug blinked several times, slowly processing what Volpina had just said.

“…He ate it?”

Volpina nodded, biting into another hotdog like this wasn’t the most deranged development of their week. “Yeah. Chomp chomp. Right down the hatch. Like a pigeon Pez dispenser, but in reverse.”

Ladybug rubbed her temples, drawing in a long, pained inhale through her nose. “Why is everything always so much worse than I expect?”

Without waiting for an answer, because the answer would undoubtedly give her a headache, she turned on her heel and stormed into one of the nearby abandoned storefronts. A moment later, she emerged dragging a dust-covered whiteboard on wheels, which squealed loudly and painfully as she positioned it in the middle of their makeshift base of operations.

She picked up a dry erase marker and held it before them. “All right, new plan.”

She sketched a very wobbly pigeon shape in the centre of the board and circled it dramatically. “We go out there and distract the pigeon army. Meanwhile, Kim and Alix—” she underlined their names, adding angry eyebrows to both stick figures “—go through the department store and find a giant inflatable pool.”

Ladybug kept going. “They fill the pool with bird feed, baked beans, vindaloo curry, and laxatives. Then, once we’ve tired King Pigeon out, we lure him to the pool on an empty stoma—”

“No.” Volpina smacked the board with her hand, leaving a smear of ketchup. “We are not saving the day by making the villain shit out the akumatized object!”

Kim gagged. Alix laughed. Ladybug raised an eyebrow.

“Look,” Ladybug said slowly, “we’re either getting it to come out, or you’re going in after it.”

Volpina glared at Ladybug. “Just use your Lucky Charm!”

Ladybug threw her hands in the air. “Fine! God!”

With a dramatic flick of her yo-yo, red light burst from her palm. She caught the object mid-spin and looked at it.

“…Glue?” she read aloud, holding up a tube of industrial-strength adhesive.

Volpina blinked. “What, are we gonna stick him and Hawkmoth together until they get sick of each other?”

That’s when the movie magic moment of realization dawned on Ladybug, the glue representing a clear objective that, ironically, was the completely opposite of the glue’s function. Not to bring things together, but to break them apart.

“Ah, I get it.” She clicked her tongue, aiming the tube at Volpina. “Volly, how do you beat an akuma without breaking the akumatized object?”

“Uh…” Volpina rubbed the back of her head, “Only other way of getting out of an akuma is Hawkmoth taking away their power.”

“Exactly. If we can’t get to the akumatized object…”

Volpina nodded along, picking up some of what Ladybug was going for, but still confused. “Then we get Hawkmoth to neutralize it for us? Why would we do that?” she asked, “You think you can get King Pigeon to turn on him?”

Ladybug shook her head before turning back to the board. The marker flew across the surface in aggressive, but precise, strokes that drew out the new plan.

“No, it’s not about getting King Pigeon to turn on Hawkmoth,” she explained, “It’s about getting Hawkmoth to turn on King Pigeon.”

She paused, looking over her shoulder at Kim, “Hey, Kim, you’re our resident prank expert, right?”

He seemed to perk up just at being mentioned at all.

“How do you feel about a classic?”

Notes:

How would you feel if a supervillain called you up to report that your kids are being reckless idiots?

It's taking all of Mayura's restraint not to traumatize Chat Noir with all the 'That's what your Dad said...' jokes in the book.

Lila is never going to recover from the sewage truck incident.

Hawkmoth and Mr. Ramier are just living their best lives.

Next Time - Birds of a Feather:

Hawkmoth was relentless with his cane, slamming it down again and again with only enough control over himself to stop his enhanced strength from making his ‘instrument’ crumble too soon. The banging reached a frantic beat, causing the glass bottles propped up against the metal drum to rattle even louder, shivering with every hit.

“Ladybug… come out to play,” he coo’d, almost soft like a gentle lullaby.

Still, the rapid pounding betrayed any façade of innocence, violently smacking the drum. His hits were getting so hard that even the ground started to react in kind, the stone flesh of the street cracking, splitting apart and bleeding dust.

“Laaaaadyyyyybug.” His volume picked up with his breathy pitch, but the same song still stuck underneath. “Come out to pla-ey-ay!”
The birds all joined in, syncing up to beat their wings with his deadly rhythm. They were poised, always ready, always able, always there to dive in for the kill at the first sight of red and black spots.

“Ladybug… come out to play-ee-ee-ay!”

Wind rumbled, roaring as loud as thunder for the storm soon to strike. It passed between the army of wings, growing louder, stronger with every passing second. First the rubbish bins were knocked over, then glass windows started to crack, then cars and rubble were picked up. For a moment, they were all int eh eye of the storm, a dome of wind, almost like a tornado, swirling around their arena.

“Ladybug.”

Bang.

“Come.”

Bang.

“Out.”

BANG.

“To.”

CRASH.

One final hit, the strongest Hawkmoth could manage, shattered the drum into pieces. These pieces, still sizeable chunks in of themselves, all converged on the entrance to the mall, tearing the doors off their hinges and breaking down the walls in streams of heated metal.

“PLAY-EE-EE-EE-EE-AAAAAAAY!”

Through the mist of the destruction, all those greys and blacks and browns, there was no mistaking the red blur that materialized through it all.

“You want me Hawky?” Ladybug asked, throwing her hands up. “You got me.”

Chapter 53: Turtle Calamity: Birds of a Feather

Summary:

Ladybug faces justice for her bird racism, Chat Noir does not have a good day, but Alix and Kim have an amazing day.

Hawkmoth was relentless with his cane, slamming it down again and again with only enough control over himself to stop his enhanced strength from making his ‘instrument’ crumble too soon. The banging reached a frantic beat, causing the glass bottles propped up against the metal drum to rattle even louder, shivering with every hit.

“Ladybug… come out to play,” he coo’d, almost soft like a gentle lullaby.

Still, the rapid pounding betrayed any façade of innocence, violently smacking the drum. His hits were getting so hard that even the ground started to react in kind, the stone flesh of the street cracking, splitting apart and bleeding dust.

“Laaaaadyyyyybug.” His volume picked up with his breathy pitch, but the same song still stuck underneath. “Come out to pla-ey-ay!”

The birds all joined in, syncing up to beat their wings with his deadly rhythm. They were poised, always ready, always able, always there to dive in for the kill at the first sight of red and black spots.

“Ladybug… come out to play-ee-ee-ay!”

Wind rumbled, roaring as loud as thunder for the storm soon to strike. It passed between the army of wings, growing louder, stronger with every passing second. First the rubbish bins were knocked over, then glass windows started to crack, then cars and rubble were picked up. For a moment, they were all int eh eye of the storm, a dome of wind, almost like a tornado, swirling around their arena.

“Ladybug.”

Bang.

“Come.”

Bang.

“Out.”

BANG.

“To.”

CRASH.

One final hit, the strongest Hawkmoth could manage, shattered the drum into pieces. These pieces, still sizeable chunks in of themselves, all converged on the entrance to the mall, tearing the doors off their hinges and breaking down the walls in streams of heated metal.

“PLAY-EE-EE-EE-EE-AAAAAAAY!”

Through the mist of the destruction, all those greys and blacks and browns, there was no mistaking the red blur that materialized through it all.

“You want me Hawky?” Ladybug asked, throwing her hands up. “You got me.”

Hawkmoth pulled back into a smooth, tall stance, moving his hand down to wipe dust off his cane. “Ah, Ladybug,” he hummed, “have you come to finally accept the futility of your pitiful resistance?”

She brought her hands down to level with her face as she approached, wiggling her fingers to frame a mocking smile. Surrounding her was the Hawkmoth’s makeshift arena, cars piled up to block off street exits, dust and feathers drowning out the skyline, and the army of feathered spectators looking down at Ladybug and Hawkmoth from their concrete perches.

“Maybe I just wanted some one on one time with my favourite diabolical doofuses.” Ladybug cocked her head to the side, sweeping her gaze over the army and counting only the towering form of King Pigeon high above as the odd one out. She asked, “Where’s my kitty, anyway?”

Somewhere in the distance, a muffled, faded ‘ACHOO!’ answered her.

Hawkmoth scratched his chin sheepishly, explaining, “He’s… coping.”

“Wow, he’s so jealous of Adrien Agreste he’s even stealing Adrien’s allergies,” Ladybug sighed as she shook her head.

Hawkmoth stared at her blankly for a second, more short-lived sneezes sounding off, almost sounding like laughter. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Riiiiight.”

Ladybug clapped her hands together, kicking up her cape in a sharp swerve as she pushed off to circle around Hawkmoth. “Anyway, Hawky,” the emphasis she put on his name only seemed to spark amusement in his eyes, “I’ve come to a bit of a realization today.”

Hawkmoth leaned back, sweeping his cane up to rest it behind his neck, nestling it between his shoulders. It was the paradox of an archenemy’s conflict; you knew that your enemy being so chipper usually meant that they had a plan brewing, but you also know how dreadfully boring a victory it would be if they didn’t have anything up their sleeve.

“Oh? Do tell,” he practically purred, synching up his movements to follow Ladybug’s circle route, ensuring their eye contact never broke.

He only paused to cut the tip of his foot across the ground, kicking up a gaggle of broken pavement and launching them off to the side. When they bounced off the air accompanied by a girly yelp, his grin stretched out and he lightly admonished Ladybug, “And I really hope that this isn’t a stalling tactic for Volpina over there.”

“Oh, come on!” Volpina screeched, tumbling out of her illusion nursing a bruise on her forehead. “What’s the point of illusions if this asshole can just see through them?”

She had a point; Hawkmoth was getting scarily good at picking out Volpina’s illusions. Maybe they needed to talk about changing tactics after this one.

It was enough incentive for Hawkmoth to break the calm and unleash the storm, approaching her in a hail of slashes. She ducked the first one by throwing her head back, hitting a rough landing on her shoulder before rolling over to the side to dodge the next one. With a throw that came as second nature by this point, the yoyo was sent across to the nearest lamp post, wrapping around the base and making for easy leverage for Ladybug to yank herself back up to her feet and avoid Hawkmoth’s next attack simultaneously.

The pigeon soldiers were nice enough to let Ladybug and Hawkmoth have their battle, instead all flocking to pile on Volpina as she raced around the arena screaming swear words. The explosive ones were the worst, taking no hesitation in dive bombing the fox heroine, only narrowly missing her and setting off mini explosions of feathers around her feet.

Between all the ducking and dodging, Volpina barely had a chance to scream out mid dive roll, “Why am I on bird duty!?”

Ladybug leapt into a full-frontal flip just to avoid Hawkmoth’s charge, shrugging when she landed. “I thought foxes were natural bird hunters.”

Volpina was swallowed up by a painful swarm of angry, pecking beaks and scratching talons before she could spit out a response. Ladybug’s attention remained on Hawkmoth, lassoing his arm with her yoyo and yanking him forward into a punch.

“Do you believe in fate?” she asked the more her knuckles dug into his nose.

Despite clutching a bloody nose as he bounced back, Hawkmoth still managed to keep his sneer strong, “I believe that it is powerless before my machinations.”

He used the leverage of her still knotted yoyo to drag her to him this time, smacking her across the cheek with the blunt end of his cane. This time, he didn’t allow her to fall back and loosen the wire, keeping her there, up close, and using his new position to repeatedly smack her. The catch was that this gave her the leverage to knee him hard in the stomach.

“See, I disagree only a little,” she spat, her free hand catching his hand by the wrist before she could suffer another blow, leaving the two in a locked state. “’Cus I think you and me are linked forever by fate.”

Well, locked was being charitable. Hawkmoth had the clear advantage in strength here, and it was only awkward positioning that stopped him from taking advantage. Still, she had a foot in the door, or more correctly a knee in the stomach, and she was digging for all it was worth.

Eventually, Hawkmoth wins out, disorientating her with a savage head butt. He heaved her up over himself, snatching her yoyo from her and throwing it away. To really lay the disrespect on thick, her tested his knuckles on her stomach, laying into her a few rounds before launching her up, grabbing her by the hair and ramming her into the ground.

There he had her, flat on her front, bleeding, bruised and gasping for air in a crate formed around her rough landing. At this point, he liked to think he earned his victory, crouching down before her heaving, beaten body with a mad grin. Gently, he reached forward, making the most important pull of his life, those earrings glowing like the light reflected off of angels as far as he was concerned.

His fingers came down. The ladybug miraculous was within his grasp.

Shame he had to then rip his hand away as a painful amount of electricity shot up his arm and burned him inside. He was left reeling back, trying to shake away the pain of the sudden discharge, screaming bloody murder while Ladybug just laughed at him.

“The look on your face!” she howled, pushing herself onto her knees just so she could hold her stomach. “You really thought you hit the jackpot for a moment.”

Hawkmoth growled, biting down on his finger for a moment just to numb the annoying ache is his arm. “I assume that, after Volpina found herself brainwashed and exposed by Heartbreaker, your guardian decided to finally do something useful.”

“Yeah, he left some new security measures on our miraculous to stop people from taking them,” Ladybug finished giggling, wiping blood off her lip.

“Then I’ll just have to remove those earrings,” Hawkmoth spun his cane back into place, letting the blade gleam under the sunlight and perfectly frame itself over Ladybug’s ear. “Surgically.”

“You know,” Ladybug huffed, pushing herself into an unsteady, low stance. “Tikki tells me that there’s plenty of other worlds where you and I do this dance while only our partners change.”

Hawkmoth adopted his own stance, leaning back on his heel, ready to bound forward with one decisive slice. “Your point being?” he growled.

“Just that, in a manner of speaking, we’re cosmically stuck together,” she shot off first, jumping into a sprint, “With glue.”

The two came charging into conflict once more, Hawkmoth with his sword raised high and Ladybug with her hands behind her back. The sword came down for a savage slash down her front, but Ladybug dodged to the side, letting Hawkmoth’s momentum carry him down beside her. That split-second of positioning was all she need, bringing her hands forward to reveal herself holding her lucky charm, the aforementioned glue.

All too late, Hawkmoth realized her scheme. Too late to shield his eyes when Ladybug brought both hands down to smack the glue tube between them and dump it’s entire contents on his eyes.

“YOU CHEAP LITTLE-”

He staggered, clawing at the eye‑slits as the quick‑bond cement welded his lashes, visor, and half his eyebrows into one gummy mess.

Ladybug back‑flipped clear, skidding on one knee and tossing the empty tube aside. “Hey, you have a giant chicken on your side; I think this is fair play.”

A thunderous squawking roar hit Ladybug before she noticed the giant shadow descending on her position. There was little reaction time, just Ladybug glancing up to find bus rocketing down on her head, before Volpina’s body tackled her out of the way. Even less time for the two heroes to scramble to an unsteady crouch-run just to stumble out of the follow-up, narrowly dodging King Pigeon swooping down to swipe at them with his talons.

“Pigeon!” he bellowed, “I am a French Mondain Pigeon, you uneducated, contemptuous bigot!”

Volpina swiped the first thing she could find, a glass bottle in this instance, spinning around to throw it at King Pigeon’s head while he passed. The bottle may not pack any punch, but it made for a good disrespectful gesture when it shattered on King Pigeon’s royal beak.

“Whatever,” Ladybug jeered, “go bawk-bawk at someone who cares.”

This only served to further incense the bird king’s rage, the giant body dominating the sky and bearing down upon them with the mighty beat of his wings turning the savage winds into rapid whips to beat them with. One war-squawk was all that was needed for the rest of the pigeons to follow suit, ripping away from their posts and converging on the two heroes.

“Volly, go pound their plumage; I’ve got our bouncing butterfly boy.”

Volpina caught one unfortunate bird by the tail feather, yanking him back and tossing him into the approaching flock. He exploded upon impact, taking out a squad of fearless feathered fighters with one morbid makeshift molotov.

“…Are you okay?” she asked Ladybug, using what little breathing room she had to heave. “Your jokes are getting dangerously close to Chat Noir territory today.”

Ladybug snatched up her yoyo, unleashing it on the onslaught of birds in one sweeping attack, wiping the menaces from the sky by the handful. The survivors came at her in a desperate last stand, but she was too quick for them. She twisted and flipped through most, running her knuckles through their backs as she passed, others she simply whipped with her yoyo.

It was a fast-paced slaughter, and she almost thought she wouldn’t be able to keep up. However, the adrenaline boost hit her hard and had her dashing through her foes with reckless abandon, and yet perfect grace.

She didn’t note Volpina’s odd expression as she swung her leg around, breaking her foot on several beaks before switching to her arm mid-spin to drive her fist through attempted dive bombers. By the end of it, she simply shot Volpina a thumbs up.

“Don’t worry, I’m just in a good mood,” she laughed, “I feel great!”

Volpina scratched the back of her head, “I suppose someone has to.”

Ladybug decided that this was a good time to rush past Volpina, barely getting out a ‘Thanks for dealing with this. Bye!’ before she launched herself back to where Hawkmoth was still flailing around trying to wipe away his new liquid blindfold.

It was the perfect set up to come down from above, knees pulled up for the mother of all leg drops. Would have been a killer strike if Hawkmoth didn’t whip around at the last minute, bringing his cane up to block her attack head on. He was shoved back by the force, but it wasn’t the same as a hit.

“Aha!” he cried out, pushing her into a backflip to land and returning his cane to his side. “Sad little bug, I bet you expected this to be a simple fight after taking away my sight.”

Hawkmoth drew his free hand over his eyes, spreading his fingers out in an almost ‘jazz hands’ motion to indicate his lost sense. “Unfortunately for you, I am not so feeble. With my connection to my akuma, and his minions, my sixth sense is unmatched.”

Ladybug couldn’t find it in herself to be disappointed. Maybe, deep down, she did enjoy their back and forth as much as Hawkmoth did. Of course, she’d never admit that.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hawky,” she shot back, readying her yoyo once more. “I know that there’s no such thing as a simple fight with you.”

“Then have at thee!”

“Bring it on, Old Man!”

---

During the chaos of Ladybug and Volpina running the pigeon gauntlet, no one noticed the ones who broke from the mall and sped away from the battle. No one but Chat Noir. He was thankful to get away from the source of his nasal terror, gracefully slinking from rooftop to rooftop to follow the runaway from a distance. They were on the same vespa the heroes used to evade King Pigeon, tearing through the streets at a rushed pace.

I hope she doesn’t mind me dropping in, Chat grinned to himself, jumping off the edge of the roof and diving into the street below. He slowed his fall by extending his baton into the concrete, sliding down the pole just as the vespa swerved to avoid it. They’d ended up on a long stretch of road; no alleys, no turns, nothing to break the one-way street for a good minute. A perfect place to trap his prey.

The friction between the screeching tires and the ground kicked up enough dust to create a light fog over Chat’s surrounds. However, as he spun around the pole to get a look at his target, he was surprised by a very male sounding cough breaking through the mist.

It took a moment for the dust to clear enough to reveal the vespa rider, a pouting Kim desperately trying to jig the vehicle back into place with his foot. “Come on,” he whined, “stupid pothole…”

“Kim?” Chat asked, returning his baton to normal as he approached the boy. “Damn, I really thought Volpina was trying to pull a fast one.”

He lightly jogged forward, reaching out for the vespa, “Here, let me help.”

With his super strength, it was an easy time yanking the vespa out of the hole trapping its wheel, settling it back in the middle of the street for Kim. After all, Hawkmoth had demanded that Kim and Alix leave, so Chat had no beef with them. Unfortunately, that meant that Volpina and Ladybug were back with all the pigeons.

Urg, great, more feathers.

“Thanks, Brah,” Kim cheered, jumping back on to the vespa, “You’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

Chat blinked. “Hey, wait, what do they say about me?”

“Oh, uh-” Kim tapped his lips in thought, “Y’know, about you being slow, ‘bout you being a buzzkill, ‘bout you being no good, ‘bout you being a daddy’s boy, ‘bout you being a furry; normal stuff.”

Chat frowned, his shoulders and body language sinking into a sulking pose. “Oh…” he grumbled, “I thought I was getting pretty popular.”

Kim patted him on the shoulder, “Hey, don’t worry, they say the same things about me! And I’m awesome.”

There was a moment of strangled, awkward silence where Chat just stared at Kim and recalled all the annoying pranks that made him infamous across the school. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah, we’re like… two sides of the same coin, you and me.”

“Sometimes people even say I’m a bit of a mena-”

Chat slapped the side of the vespa, calling out, “Seems to me like you’re good to go!”

“Oh, right.” Kim rubbed the back of his head. “I got a thing to do.”

With that, Kim kicked off and pushed the vespa into ignition, speeding off down the road. Chat waved him off, battling a sigh. Mentally preparing himself for the return to pigeon warfare was not a prospect he liked, but he had to help his father in any way he could. After all, he couldn’t let himself be out done by a pigeon. He was the son of Hawkmoth, damn it!

Strangely enough, as he watched Kim get further down the street, it almost looked like Kim was slowing down. Wait, no, he was. Kim’s figure slowed into a complete stop at the other end of the street where he then proceeded to turn the vehicle around. It was only then that the obvious question struck Chat; where was Alix?

Well, he got his answer quick when a red-haired blur skated out from around the corner and positioned herself at the vespa’s backside, one hand grabbing hold of Kim to keep herself steady. Without much fanfare, the vespa took off once more, this time make a direct line to Chat Noir. The closer it got, the easier Chat’s enhanced vision could make out some new additions to the two teens’ kit. Namely, two bags strapped to the vespa, and big, bulky water guns in their laps.

“Heads up, Nerd!” Kim yelled out before banking hard left, allowing the vehicle’ backside to drag Alix forward, carrying the momentum into her skates and using it to sling shot her at Chat Noir.

Okay, this is just another attempt at a prank, Chat noted dully, watching Alix quickly approach with total apathy. She may have been fast, but she was still slow compared to a miraculous wielder. It was a simple matter to lash out with his hand, swiping her foot out of the air when she attempted to jump over him.

“I know that they say cats hate water,” he hummed, tilting his head back, “but this is getting ridiculous.”

However, just as he was about to throw her to the ground, she aimed the barrel of the water gun between his eyes.

“Get sticky, Loser!” she howled, pulling the trigger and, instead of being sprayed with water, he was instead hit with-

“Gah!” he howled, stumbling back as Alix jumped off of him, leaving Chat to desperately scrape at the now drenched lengths of his body. It was a thick, stick sludge that felt annoying cold even through his suit. He tried in vain to wipe it away, but that just made the feeling spread further; it was everywhere, in his hair, on his skin, in his eye – everything itched, everything burned!

“Glue!?” Chat screeched, tripping over his own feet as he tried to peel away the viscous sludge clinging to his suit. “You shot me with glue! Who even puts glue in a water gun!?”

“I do!” Alix yelled proudly, skating backwards just out of reach and ditching her weapon. “Custom mix. Half craft store, half science lab. You should feel honoured—it’s the deluxe sticky blend!”

“I’m going to feel something,” Chat hissed, trying to stretch his glued arm away from his torso. “Rage. Betrayal. Murderous intent!”

Kim zoomed back into view on the vespa before Chat could act on his threat, laughing maniacally as he raised another modified water blaster.

“Round two, Kitty!” he yelled.

“NO—WAIT—KIM—”

SPLOOSH!

A fresh wave of cold, goopy glue slammed into Chat Noir, hitting him square in the back and sending him skidding forward on his front. He twisted, flailed, and landed on his knees with a wet squelch as the glue soaked through every crevice of his suit. His bell gave a mournful little plink.

“Kim!!” he roared, voice cracking, “I hate you! I hate you so MUCH right now!”

Kim only laughed harder, doing a victory wheelie as he sped by. “Then this is the perfect time for a little glow-up, bro!”

Alix skated in from the opposite side, meeting Kim in a perfectly-timed pass. They both reached out and snatched a sack from each other’s hands in mid-motion, cackling like the pair of ‘annoying hyenas who needed to be put down’ they were.

“Don’t worry, Pussy Cat!” Kim hollered as he circled back, sack in hand. “You’re gonna look amazing!”

“Yeah!” Alix agreed. “We’re giving you a major makeover!”

“No!” Chat tried to rise, but his glue-stuck limbs betrayed him. “Don’t you dare—!”

Alix was faster.

She tore open her sack and hurled the contents like a magician throwing confetti.

“ACHOO!!”

Chat Noir was instantly buried in a cloud of white. Feathers. Hundreds—no, thousands—of fluffy white feathers rained down on him, clinging to every sticky inch of his body.

His eyes crossed. His nose twitched. He knew that smell. His curse.

“NO—ACHOO! ACHH–CHHCHOOO!!”

The sneezes came out as canon blasts. Each one sent him flying backwards, limbs flailing, leaving a trail of gluey feathers in his wake in a display that would leave the laws of physics baffled. One sneeze launched him across the sidewalk. The next sent him tumbling through a hedge. The third hurled him into a traffic sign with a metallic gong that was still ringing in his ears minutes later.

Alix doubled over laughing, skating in lazy loops as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Best. Idea. Ever.”

Kim, meanwhile, had to push the vespa into gear to catch up to the airborne sneeze tornado that used to be Chat Noir. “He’s like a snot-powered rocket,” he muttered, barely keeping up as Chat pinballed from one wall to the next.

Eventually, Chat skidded to a halt in the middle of the street, feathers stuck to his suit, face, and even one dangling pathetically from his ear. He blinked blearily, about to rise—until Kim zoomed to a stop beside him, grinning ear to ear and holding up the final sack.

“And what makeover,” Kim declared triumphantly, “is complete without some—bedazzling!”

Kim upended the sack. A cascade of shiny plastic gems, fake gold chains, glittery friendship bracelets, and craft rhinestones exploded over Chat Noir in a sparkly avalanche. By the end of it, he looked like a disco chicken that had crash-landed into an elementary school art project.

“…I hate all of you,” he said, deadpan, just before another massive ACHOO! sent him flying off again like a sneezing firework.

The two latest entries on Adrien’s shit list laughed themselves silly.

“Get the camera!” Alix yelled.

---

Hawkmoth learned a very important thing today. Namely, that getting squirted in the face with glue sucked. It stung his eyes, irritated his skin and made it slightly harder to beat down on teenagers with his cane sword. And Ladybug was taking full advantage of that, emerging from the darkness to strike him from all angles with reckless abandon, ensuring that there could be no safe haven or corner to cover his back and no time to strategize.

Unfortunately for Ladybug, harder was not the same as impossible. And Gabriel had been trained by the very best just for such an encounter. Back in his youth, the old buzzard that tutored him in the way of the blade took great pleasure in setting up lessons surrounding the neutering of one of Gabriel’s senses. The personal favourite was sticking a cooking pot over Gabriel’s head and whacking it with a broom until Gabriel could no longer tell up from down.

“Life’s an immature little prick, Gabi.” The drunken swordsman had told him once, “If yah wanna stay on your feet, yah gotta learn to move after it pulls your trousers down.”

“Maybe it would stop pulling your trousers down if you got a belt, Old Man.”

So, a little bit of blindness only served to get Hawkmoth nostalgic, even if the young Ladybug had far more energy and ferocity than his teacher. It also helped that he still had his mental connection with his akuma who had a ‘birds’ eye’ view of the battle, supplying him with a delayed and blurry, but still useful, mental picture of his surroundings.

He danced in between shattered terrain on the backfoot, slipping back-and-forth at the edge of Ladybug’s lashings. He ducked under a pipe, leaned into the burn of glue tightening over his forehead, and allowed muscle memory to take over. Step left. Turn elbow. Parry blindly. Counter low.

He caught her by the wrist.

For a moment, both of them froze—startled, perhaps, that he’d landed the move. Her yo-yo pulsed with a short burst of kinetic feedback, caught awkwardly mid-swing. He was close enough to hear her breath hitch.

He made a split-second decision to throw away his stabbing potential, letting the cane drop to the floor in favour of doubling down on restraining his foe. Not being able to see his opponent meant very little if she had nowhere else to go. All it took was one swipe, and a moment of fumbling his fingers across her shoulders, to secure her other arm.

“You know, Bug,” he snarled, hearing a delightful, pained yelp when he stretched her arms out and pulled her into his chest. “I feel like we’ve grown so distant. Perhaps it’s time for us to get closer.”

“Sorry, Chrome Dome; I’m just not a hugger,” she growled back, kicking her feet against his stomach trying to break away, but she wasn’t in a good position to kick that hard.

However, Hawkmoth did relinquish her, just a little bit; enough to hoist her upwards and over his shoulder. Before Ladybug could react, she was back-to-back with Hawkmoth, his arms linked with hers. He dropped down low, doubling over to present her body to the sky. It only took until the flock of pigeons flocked over them that Ladybug realized that she had just been placed on a pseudo sacrificial altar.

“Down here, my ascended champions!” Hawkmoth called out to them, “I have the featherless bigot ripe for punishment!”

Ladybug yelped, pulling hard trying to struggle herself free, “Oh come on! Bawk-Bawk was not serious.”

“It’s basically a hate crime against bird kind,” Hawkmoth tutted her. “Youths are so ignorant these days.”

They came without mercy. Squawking, beady-eyed bombs dropped from the sky and colliding with her body at the speed of a bullet. Some were just blunt instruments pounding into her, others exploded on impact, burning away at her suit; either way it hurt her enough to cry out swears, and that was enough for Hawkmoth to feel victorious.

“Birds of a feather, Bugaboo. Consider it karmic justice for mocking their glorious coo.”

Ladybug howled in protest as another feathered missile struck her square in the ribs, exploding in a puff of smoke. A second followed with a blast of suspiciously textured liquid, and the third clipped her shoulder with a payload of god-knows-what that smelled like expired breadcrumbs and felt like velcro.

“OW—OW—WHY IS THAT ONE STICKY?!”

Another pigeon clipped her thigh. She shrieked again. “I’M GONNA TURN YOU INTO CHICKEN NUGGETS!”

“Oh-ho, you’d better hope they don’t hear that,” Hawkmoth grinned. “That’s double hate speech.”

High above, the flock of pigeons formed an ominous spiral. The clouds parted. A single golden beam of light broke through the sky as they began their final descent.

“Your fate is sealed,” Hawkmoth announced grandly. “Repent, heretic.”

“You’re insane.”

“Only moderately! Now hold still.”

Ladybug did not, in fact, hold still. She flung her body sideways, catching Hawkmoth off guard. They both went toppling to the ground; Ladybug landing hard on her side, Hawkmoth rolling awkwardly across the pavement. The pigeons missed their mark and instead bombed the concrete between them with a symphony of impacts.

Ladybug coughed, rolling onto her knees, feathers stuck in her hair, glue on her arms, pigeon poop suspiciously close to her cheek. She spat something out. “I hope you know that I’m sending you all my therapy bills after this.”

Hawkmoth would have responded, but in that moment, he was preoccupied with the return of his vision. It seemed that the blast and the rolling had successfully torn his glue mask off; though at the cost of his eyebrows.

“You can send me all the bills you want,” he cackled, rising to his feet. “Money will be meaningless next to unifying the ladybug and cat miraculous and claiming my wish.”

“I’m not down yet,” Ladybug croaked, glaring back at Hawkmoth in defiance.

Hawkmoth merely applauded her efforts but could spare no comfort for her delusions. “A darling platitude, but I’m afraid, as you can see from my crystal-clear eyes, your plan fell through. You are at my mercy, Bug.”

At this, Ladybug smirked, “Oh, that wasn’t my plan.”

He ignored her bluff, simply snapping his fingers and calling up to the skies, “King Pigeon! It’s time for dinner!”

There should have been the titanic beating of wings echoing across the horizon. There should have been an all consuming shadow that blocked out the sun as it descended upon Ladybug. There should have been a roar. Ladybug should have been screaming.

Yet, there was nothing.

Hawkmoth craned his neck up to where King Pigeon found his perch, finding the akuma just sitting there, staring off into the distance; not a thought going on inside that head. He knew that the creature could hear him, that the tether was firmly being pulled upon, but the akuma did not heed the call of Hawkmoth.

Then, came a sneeze, dragging Hawkmoth’s attention back Ladybug, or at least, just past Ladybug.

“That’s my plan.”

Chat Noir landed just beyond, propelled by his cataclysmic sneezes. He was quite the sight; all ruffled, splattered in glue, horrifically smeared with feathers and-

Hawkmoth’s eyes widened.

It was then that King Pigeon finally roared, that he finally ripped away from his perch and swooped down low for the kill.

“SSSSSSSSSSHINY!”

Ladybug and Hawkmoth were but ants, easily swept aside by King Pigeon’s wings, the beast losing any thought or desire for anything other than the jewels that adorned Chat Noir’s body. For Chat, a giant feather’s creature drooling as it comes rocketing towards him was a whole new nightmare he could never have conceived of until today. And for that, Chat froze up completely.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like what happens next, Hawky,” Ladybug taunted. “Shame that your akuma is so powerful that even I can’t stop it.”

Hawkmoth’s left eye twitched. “You contemptable, scheming little wretch!” he hissed.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ladybug chimed, getting to her feet and wagging her finger. “No name calling now, you have more important things to worry about.”

His gaze flew back to the utter monster now unleashed upon his son, only a matter of seconds before he secured Adrien in his talons and dragging him away to somewhere Gabriel would never see him again.

“I’m sure when the King’s done with his prisoner, he’ll be right back to deal with me,” Ladybug hummed, making a show of tapping her chin inquisitively. “I suppose if your wish is that important, your son is just a tiny sacrifice…”

He gritted his teeth, cursing his recklessness, and her newfound ruthlessness. He was mad and impressed at the same time, damn it!

“And I was so close too,” he grumbled.

With a sigh, he raised his hand up high and snapped his fingers. In an instant, King Pigeon was stripped away and stuffed into a tiny butterfly, and his children along with him; leaving only a tiny, completely harmless bird to land on Chat Noir’s head.

---

Marinette was still riding the high of her latest victory even when she was stripping Ladybug’s form from herself. Usually losing Ladybug’s face was immediately followed by a sense of disappointment, the acknowledgement of going back to poultry Marinette Dupain Cheng, but not today, today she allowed herself to celebrate; because the look on Hawkmoth’s face drowned out all pity parties.

Naturally, after King Pigeon was declawed, Volpina quickly dived in to swipe the troublesome bird. While Ladybug purified the akuma, and cleaned up all the mess with her miraculous sweeping skills, Volpina, quite literally, shook the pigeon down until it coughed out the mouse miraculous. They rocked the miraculous, bounced the akuma, and got to watch Hawkmoth carry Chat Noir away in crippling defeat.

Ergo, Volpina and Ladybug were still the baddest bitches in Paris, and for once, Ladybug allowed herself to feel it.

Tikki let out a relieved sigh as she emerged from the miraculous, stretching out her paws until her mini shoulders popped, “It’s good to see you so happy, Marinette.”

Marinette skipped her way over to her dresser, pulling out Tikki’s sweet stash. “What’s not to be happy about? We rocked it today. Which, considering it all started with Alya getting herself kidnapped, is even more impressive.”

Tikki immediately rushed for her sugary delights, diving headfirst into the pile and munching her way through it all. Marinette loved her kwami, but damn was watching the little thing devour macaroons like a drug addict went through crack a little disturbing to watch.

It was after a minute of listening to Tikki’s disgusting wet swallow noises while Marinette gathered a clean set of clothes that Tikki’s bulbous little head emerged from the pile, her voice muffled through the food. “It’s just that you’ve been really moody lately-”

“Tikki, don’t speak with your mouth full.”

One giant swallow.

“I was worried that the Heartbreaker case was getting to you.”

Marinette paused, leaning against the door to her bathroom with a contemplative weight pushing down her brow. The Heartbreaker case had been all kinds of harrowing.

The Dauntless battle already rattled her enough, getting ambushed and assaulted without her miraculous, watching Chat nearly die acting as her meat shield; it had been the first time she remembered how helpless she felt as Marinette since getting the miraculous.

Heartbreaker then came along to prove that Ladybug could feel just as powerless. She was faced with the true terrifying, bloody potential of the miraculous they wielded. She was forced to take on her partner, enslaved by a psychotic singer, in a fight she could do nothing but stall until Chat came to help her. She watched one of her closest friends be turned into a smiling puppet, hurting himself just to power Heartbreaker and her slaves up.

And Volpina… she put up a tough front, but the scars left on her body and mind weren’t going away any time soon. When Marinette had arrived at Fu’s latest hideaway, she’d gotten a glimpse of Volpina through the blinds of a changing screen without her miraculous. Under the transformation, the overuse of Volpina’s abilities left sickly purple veins wrapping around her arm. Fu had medicine to combat it, but she’d need to use make up to conceal them while they healed; and he was very quick to warn Volpina how close she’d been to inflicting permanent damage.

It showed how easily their greatest strength could be turned against them, and how even Ladybug’s miraculous healing powers couldn’t save her best friend when it counted.

“I can’t say it hasn’t left some bruises…” Marinette sighed, clutching her hand to her chest. “The job’s dangerous, I knew that. We’re constantly getting thrown through buildings and getting pummelled, of course I knew that.”

She still saw Volpina in her mind’s eye, the fox girl’s body writhing in agony as Heartbreaker’s music sent her heart spiralling into a death rattle.

“But it was the first time that danger felt so real… I was too used to fighting Hawkmoth, to our battles being fixable; but no miraculous ladybug is going to bring those victims back, or heal Volpina’s wounds.”

Through the dark memories, Marinette found it in herself to break into a weak smile. “I guess just having a normal, stupid fight with Hawkmoth was what I really needed to clear all that muck out of my system.”

“Volpina seemed to have the opposite effect,” Tikki said lowly, looking back out the window. “I hope she’s alright.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed. Volpina had been in a mood even before the kidnapping, but she refused to tell Ladybug anything about it. But it’s Volpina, if anyone can be trusted to know when to ask for help, it would be her.

“It’s probably just her wounds acting up, I can’t imagine how they must be affecting her.”

With that, Marinette pushed her way into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. Happy she may be, her muscles were still in desperate need of relaxation after such a stamina draining gauntlet like that. Honestly, if Kim and Alix hadn’t been there to act as helpers, Marinette didn’t know how they’d have gotten out of that mess. No way Hawkmoth would have let both Ladybug and Volpina out of his sight; and Ladybug wouldn’t have entertained the idea of pushing Volpina’s illusions further.

God, was King Pigeon really gonna be one of the most dangerous members of their line up?

She spent the next hour drinking in the refreshing sensation of hot water dripping down her spine. Marinette let the steam curl around her as she leaned into the tiled wall of her shower, soaking in the heat. The hot water traced its way through the tangled mess of her hair and rolled down her spine in rivulets, easing away the aches and bruises from the battle. Her eyes drifted shut.

Tikki was right, she felt better, different. Good.

Not in the manic adrenaline-rush way she sometimes did after a particularly close fight, or the smug satisfaction when a plan worked. This was different. Deeper. Lighter. The heaviness she’d been carrying ever since the Heartbreaker incident—since Dauntless, even—had finally peeled off her shoulders.

She tilted her head back under the spray and gave a quiet, thoughtful hum.

Why did she feel so good?

It was ridiculous. Today had been chaos. Alya stumbled into a kidnapping. The mouse miraculous appeared with zero warning. They had a ridiculous size-shifting chase through Paris. Got hunted down by a dragon-sized pigeon. Pinned down by kamikaze birds shitting on them. And Ladybug got manhandled by Hawkmoth. Even in victory, it should have been a ‘Damn, it’s finally over’ sort of relief, not ‘I’m pumped for round two, baby!’.

Was this just a new chapter for Marinette? Had she finally emerged from her cocoon as a more confident and life-loving woman? Or was this just a fleeting sensation that would be gone when she woke up tomorrow?

Later, where she was pulling her clothes on, when she was drying her hair; she found the answer in her bathroom bin. At the top of the rubbish pile, looking like it was wrapped in a heavenly glow, was the ambrosia inhaler.

Quite honestly, she’d forgotten all about it. She didn’t remember what she saw, what it was like, to inhale it that night; all she remembered was how the experience left her. Refreshed, ready, rearing to take on life.

Hesitantly, she crouched down to pluck it from the bin, staring down at it through curious eyes. Shame welled up in her stomach, knowing that Tikki was only one wall away from seeing her holder in possession of a drug. She should have thrown it away, she should smash it out of disgust; at the very least it should have felt like it burned to the touch.

Instead, Marinette held it to her chest, considering it. Was this the source of her sudden confidence boost? This wretched little thing? She scrutinized her memories on drug PSAs. She knew that people acted weirdly under the influence, kind of like with alcohol where you let go of your inhibitions. You get a rush, an unmatched euphoria. That’s what made it all so addicting.

And damaging. Couldn’t’ forget damaging. It was poison wrapped in a nice box; she reminded herself. No good could come from it. Any nice sensations were just there to prep her for getting hooked on it, getting desperate for it. She’d throw it away and never think about it again.

It wasn’t like it made her happy.

It wasn’t like it made her more outgoing.

It wasn’t like it made her a better Ladybug.

A series of bangs as something heavy tumbled down the steps of her balcony hatch broke her through her thoughts. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel a flicker of fear or alarm at the potential intruder, just… amusement. Guess that meant she was getting used to Chat Noir dropping in.

She gave the inhaler one last look. The empty inhaler that couldn’t give her anything even if she wanted it to. Air was getting low, so she of course breathing in a little. There was nothing wrong with that. The inhaler was empty, there was nothing dangerous to breathe in. All she got from it was that sweet honey scent filling her nose.

Marinette sauntered out of the bathroom confident, turning the corner to find a bundle of black, green and blonde lying prone at her feet. Chat Noir, thankfully, was free of all the muck Kim and Alix had dumped on him, though his hair still looked frazzled as he stared up at her through dizzy eyes.

“Sorry to drop in... Mrs Pigeon…” he drawled with a light groan.

“You know, most people knock before entering,” Marinette scolded, crossing her arms under her chest.

“I slipped on a ladybug and tumbled down the rabbit hole…” he giggled to him before ending on an ‘ow’, shuffling on his back. “I hope I didn’t break anything on the way down.”

Marinette rolled her eye. “Trust me, if you did, you wouldn’t be seeing such a pleasant face.”

Chat blinked in his delirium, confused. “I can’t see your face; those big pillows are in the way.”

“What pillows?”

Chat paused, sobering up in time to realize his mistake, and quickly retreat, “O-Oh, it was just my hair. So bouncy and light, easy mistake to make. Silly me.”

Marinette poked him with her foot before stomping off towards her bed. “You are such a goober, you know that?”

She didn’t ask him why he was here, didn’t consider telling him to leave, didn’t so much as instinctively note that him being there was odd. Chat Noir was in her bedroom, this had just become part of her life now and she… was more comfortable with it then she’d admit.

He pouted as he jumped to his feet, scarpering across the room to catch up with her. “Hey, cut me some slack, Princess,” he wailed, stopping at the foot of the ladder up to her bed. He dropped his chin down on the top by her knee so that he could stare up at her through wide, puppy-cat eyes. “This cat’s fresh off the worst day ever.”

Marinette squinted at him, her lips curling to a slight grin, “Mhm, tell me about it.”

He pretended to wipe away a tear and sniffle, “Oh, you have no idea, Princess. It was a disaster!”

And so, he continued into his perspective on the akuma fight, slowly, but surely, pulling himself closer and closer to her as he talked. By the time he got to Kim and Alix, he was assuming the real kitten position of resting his head on her knee and sighing. And she let him. She kept letting him.

“And then- and then,” he wailed into her leg, “they covered me in feathers, and I’m super allergic, so it was basically a living hell where I couldn’t see where I was going and I couldn’t stop sneezing and for a moment there I really thought that my nose had fallen off and I thought I was sneezing blood and it was so disorientating and- and- and-”

He left the rest of his sentence muffled by her leg, burry his face in her skin and groaning. Without thinking about it, a gentle, calming hum escaped her lips as her fingers moved through his hair, brushing her thumb up against his cat ears. “Aww, my poor kitty…”

He practically preened at the attention, his ears twitching to life to lean into her touch. She could feel vibrations from his throat, a gentle rumbling from a restrained purr that was like electricity on her senses.

“It’s alright now,” she coo’d, “No more feathers.”

Slowly, he tilted his head up, his emerald eyes perfectly framed through the curve of her leg and the sharp drapes of his fringe. He looked so enamoured in that moment, which Marinette couldn’t stop from getting her heart pumping.

“Your kitty?” he asked quietly.

A blush did strike her cheeks, but she didn’t let it stop her from nodding. “Mhmhm. I mean, you keep coming to my window for milk, sleeping in my bed, watching stuff on my laptop; I don’t think we can keep calling you a stray. Unless…” her fingers plunged deeper, scraping her nails down the side of his throat. “Should I get you a collar?”

That had him shooting up with a scarlet face. “T-That won’t be necessary, Princess!” he stammered.

At some point, her hand dug it’s way under, grabbing hold of his collar and pulling him up high enough that she got a full view of his torso, that his nose brushed against hers. The spandex at the start of their journey was fine on it’s own, but there was something about jackets over spandex that she always adored, and his was a nice jacket. Over time, all of the miraculous holder’s style had shifted, Hawkmoth and Ladybug adding capes to their costumes to name a few, but Chat’s was the only one she took a real look at.

The jacket almost looked formal, like those dress tunics you’d see on old soldiers with the big buttons in the middle tying it together. Except his was flushed dark, with green highlights around the frame, and he only had one green button on a flap near the high collar; the rest was a jagged zipper. When all zipped up with the flap, it looked almost sophisticated; but when unzipped it became punk, it became wild like him.

“Are you sure?” she asked ruefully, pressing her thumb against his throat, lavishing in the rhythm of his pulse and watching him squirm. “It would look great on you, I think.”

Chat breathed in deep, but side-stepped answering, simply gently gasping her wrist. “You’re very… open today, Princess.”

“I am?”

Maybe that inhaler still had some ambrosia left in it after all.

“Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” she chewed on that thought, unable to tell herself whether it was a good thing or not. “I’m in a weird mood today.”

She cleared her throat, looking away and letting her hand drop. “And, maybe, I missed your visits a little.”

He didn’t tease her, and in some ways, she really wished her did so she could pout and call him a jerk. Instead, she just gently squeezed her hand, picking it up and keeping it close. “Would have swung by after Heartbreaker if I hadn’t been wiped out.”

“H-Heartbreaker, huh?” Marinette found herself squeezing back, his hopeful smile like a warm blanket that banished the earlier cold around this very topic. “Alya and Nino say you saved everyone’s bacon out there.”

“They did?” he grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. Like he hadn’t begged Ladybug to talk up his involved specifically to impress Marinette. “I mean, Ladybug and Ma- that other woman did most of the important work.”

“And you made that important work worth it.”

She didn’t know if it was Ladybug or Marinette telling him that.

“W-Well, I couldn’t just stand aside and do nothing. Even if my Dad’s life wasn’t on the line,” he said firmly. “I know I’m a criminal, but… turning people into slaves like that? Seriously messed up. I can’t believe anyone would use the miraculous to do that.”

Once more, Marinette found herself bashful. “Was she… was it… Were you scared?”

Chat hesitated. That smile faltered for half a second, his hand still gently holding hers. He stared at their joined hands as though he were anchoring himself to it.

“For a second, as far as I knew, my dad was about to die,” he said quietly. “Worse, he was gonna die as a puppet for some sick lady who’d been using him as eye candy.”

And she’d made him choose. Ladybug had looked at a boy about to lose his entire world and begged him to sacrifice it for hers. Whether it turned out right in the end or not, Ladybug could never forgive herself for demanding a son choose between his father and somebody else.

Marinette felt a chill creep in the air, making her wrap her arms around herself, nestling into her knees and sighing, “Do you ever worry that the fear is going to be too much?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” He let out a breathy chuckle, one that shook more than it soothed. “But Ladybug sorted me out.”

Marinette’s head shot up in surprise. “She did?”

He looked up at her again, and there was something so heartbreakingly sincere in his expression

“I had to make a decision during that fight. Help my Dad or help Volpina,” he whispered, pulling himself closer. “I chose Volpina, and I was so sure that I’d screwed everything up. I was terrified.”

Wordlessly, Marinette loosened her grip and let him pry her arms open and push his way inside. His embrace felt so warm, so perfect in a way that no fire would ever be able to replicate.

“But when Volpina got back up, I just remember looking at Ladybug and- and-” His jaw clenched. Marinette could feel the slight tremor through his grip that rose to a tight, tense crescendo, before suddenly dropping to something loose and easy. A faint grin broke out across his features. “She had this expression on her face, that unbridled happiness and relief that could outshine the sun, you know?”

She’d been so wrapped up in celebrating Volpina’s recovery and stilling her hammering heart, she’d never noticed that Chat had been watching their exchange intently.

“That’s what it’s like to save someone, what she does every day,” he gently pulled one of her hands free, pressing it to his chest, to his heart. “It gave me this real warm feeling, the sort of feeling that tells you that, no matter how scary it gets, it’s all worth it in the end.”

Marinette’s heart stuttered. The paradox that was her former partner still puzzled her, how every time she tried to find a reason to hate him, he outwitted her with another heartfelt episode that turned her to mush in his paws. Even as a traitor, even across enemy lines, even when she asked him to make an impossible choice; Chat still found a way to be inspired by her somehow.

No matter the confidence boost Marinette had found, nothing could stop the bashfulness from Chat’s raw, vulnerable heart being exposed to her and her alone. She turned her head away, masking a blush and clearing her throat.

“Why are you here anyway?” she asked. “It’s not even night yet, and shouldn’t you be helping your father cooldown after getting his butt whooped?”

“Dad likes to brood alone,” Chat shrugged, his voice dropping to a low, more nervous tone. “Besides, I was worried that if I didn’t come and visit you sooner or later, you might start thinking I was ghosting you.”

“Chat,” Marinette sighed, shaking her head, “I know you have much more important things than-”

Her arm felt the absence of his fingers before they invaded her face, spreading out and over to cup her jaw, locking her against his forehead. For a moment, he struggled to get the words out, to be anything but speechless before her gaze, the air between the two thick with unstated feelings and temptations.

His eyes, so earnest, so admiring, so loving, pulled her in. She almost wanted to tilt her head and push her lips forward to claim his words as her own. She resisted, just barely, remaining in place when he finally spoke. “There’s nothing more important to a knight than his princess.”

There was a long pause. No teasing. No dramatics. Just the two of them, breathing.

Marinette rolled her eyes fondly and pressed her finger to his lips to shush him. “You are such a corn ball,” she scoffed before shoving him away.

He rolled with the shove so easily, the laughter that escaped him like honey on her ears. “And you love it.”

She hated how right he was.

---

Kim was many things. A dick, really tall, not the sharpest tool in the shed, a master prankster; but most of all, he was a man of his word. Even if Alix was a total fat head who clearly lost the bet, but whatever.

Old Man Crackerjack was the sort of man who transcended into legend in the imagination of children. The resident curmudgeon whose story was told over a campfire, with histories bouncing from secretly being a robot, to the number of bodies he has hidden in his basement, to the hundreds of kids he’s had his dog maul to death to add their toys to his collection. And standing before the gate of the junkyard, it was easy to see why.

The towering stature of the grand hotel casted a near permanent shadow over the junkyard, ensuring that it still looked dark, dingy and dangerous even in the light of day. Past the protection of the gate, the land looked like a warzone, dug open into trenches and littered with the aftermath of multiple mortar shells. Just peering through the holes in the fence, Kim could swear he heard the wails of the dead twisting through the metal graveyard. The victims of car wrecks, lost souls, or perhaps victims of Crackerjack himself; Kim didn’t know, but he felt their presence looming over him.

And here he was, armed with a crowbar, ready to tear it his way inside.

Fortunately, Alix was coming along, arriving alongside him after putting away her phone. Not because of the bonds of friendship or anything, but because she realized that she could not trust Kim to know what was ‘nice’ enough to be worth taking.

“That was your mom,” Alix told him offhandedly.

Kim squinted. “Why is my mom calling you?”

“Because she wants a replacement kid,” Alix snapped back, “and because my uncle Larry came round asking about me. So, we gotta do this quick.”

Kim grimaced, hefting the crowbar across his shoulders as he looked toward the rusted, chain-wrapped gate. “That the guy who switched out your dad’s juice with alcohol?”

“Heh heh, Jamlil picked the best day to try and swipe Dad’s special blend,” Alix said, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a pair of thick, grease-stained gloves. “He wants to take us out to dinner, so let’s hurry up, yeah?”

Kim gave her a thumbs-up, as if that somehow made this situation more official, before stepping up to the gate. The crowbar scraped against the rusted chain links as he wedged it in. “I still don’t see why you don’t have to do the dare. You totally lost that bet.”

“No my fault your dumb ass didn’t think the terms through,” Alix said, cracking her knuckles.

The chain snapped with a metallic clink, the gate creaking open like it had been waiting centuries for this exact moment. A cold wind whistled through the gap, carrying the scent of oil, rust, and something disturbingly like old eggs.

Kim paused. “...That smell is rank.”

“Get used to it,” Alix muttered, pulling up her scarf over her nose. “You’re gonna be knee-deep in haunted microwaves and demon-possessed lawn chairs in a second.”

They crept through the gate and into the belly of the scrapyard, the ground crunching beneath their feet. Mountains of crushed cars loomed over them like sleeping beasts, and stacks of old washing machines stood as monuments to lives lived. Somewhere in the distance, a sharp, echoing bark cracked through the silence, followed by the sound of something metallic being dragged.

Kim flinched. “That better not be his dog.”

“I don’t think he has a dog,” Alix whispered. “I think it’s just Crackerjack wearing a leash and barking to scare off trespassers.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

They pressed deeper, Alix taking the lead as she scaled over a heap of crumpled shopping carts like it was a jungle gym. Kim clumsily followed behind, nearly falling face-first into a broken sink. He barely had time to recover when Alix waved him down and crouched.

“There.” She pointed toward a mound of tech: discarded radios, video game consoles, dusty screens, and – jackpot – a retro computer with only three missing parts. “That's valuable.”

Kim’s eyes lit up. “Oh heck yes.”

Kim was about to dive in for the computer when something to the left of the pile caught his eye — a faint glint, a star buried in grime. It was subtle, but unmistakably shiny, and Kim was a raccoon-brained goblin at heart. Shiny meant treasure.

“Hold up,” he muttered, veering away from the other junk and squinting into the pile. “There’s something else in there…”

“What, did you spot another haunted toaster?” Alix asked dryly.

“No, no, I saw—wait, there!” Kim shoved aside a cracked TV shell and began digging, scattering old joysticks and cassette players. Alix caught the gleam too and crouched beside him, curiosity piqued.

“A bracelet?” she muttered.

It was a bracelet with green accents and white insides, made to resemble a turtle shell. It had a sheen that caught every sliver of light despite being caked in layers of dust. Kim yanked it free with a grunt.

“Whoa,” he breathed, wiping it off with the hem of his hoodie. “This looks pretty and important.”

With a puff of ancient energy and a flash of green light, something burst out of it; a swirling mist that spun once around Kim’s head like a halo before snapping into shape. Floating in front of them was a tiny green turtle-like creature with a calm expression, stubby limbs, and shell segments that shimmered with cosmic energy. He looked peaceful. Wise. Serene.

Kim screamed and fell over backward.

Alix, however, gasped with awe. “Dude. DUDE. It’s a genie.”

Wayzz blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“A turtle genie!” Kim shouted from the ground, pointing wildly. “Do I get three wishes?! Or like infinite?! I wish for infinite wishes!”

“No, wait!” Alix barked, slapping his arm. “That’s cheating! You can’t wish for more wishes, everyone knows that!”

“You don’t know how this works! What if this genie lets you?!”

Wayzz looked back and forth between the two of them, his expression somewhere between alarmed and deeply disappointed. “Children—”

“Okay, okay, new plan,” Kim said quickly, standing up and grabbing Wayzz by the cheeks like a cartoon villain. “I wish for a hoverboard that hovers, a mansion made of pizza, and—"

Alix slapped his shoulder, “Hey, this is my haul, remember? Why do you get to make the wishes?”

“I AM NOT A GENIE,” Wayzz snapped.

Kim froze.

Alix blinked. “...You’re not?”

Both scoffed, “Urk, lame.”

Wayzz straightened his floating posture and placed his stubby hands behind his back, regaining his ancient dignity. “I am Wayzz, a Kwami. I grant not wishes, but power — to those chosen to protect the balance of the world.”

“Ohhhh,” Kim said, nodding slowly. “So like… a magical turtle genie.”

Wayzz sighed deeply. “No.”

“I heard genie,” Alix said.

“I also heard genie,” Kim agreed.

“I am the kwami of the miraculous,” Wayzz groaned, “Mi-ra-cu-lous!”

Alix crouched beside him, eyes narrowed in thought. “Wait… you mean like the thingies Ladybug and Hawkmoth use??”

“Yes! Just like them,” Wayzz said, bowing. “The Miraculous of the Turtle grants the power of protection to those who are worthy.”

Alix snatched the bracelet up, whistling. “Sweet! I’m gonna get superpowers.”

Only for Kim to come in and grab the bracelet too. “I found it first! I got dibs.”

“What?” She jumped up, scandalized as she aggressively pointed at him. “This is all for me, that was the rules of the bet.”

But Kim stood his ground, shaking his head and pulling on the bracelet. “Nu-uh; you already claimed this junk. I found this after you’d already decided what to take, so…” he breathed for a moment before shoving Alix away. “Buzz off!”

He didn’t get far before Alix jumped him, making a grab for the bracelet and yanking it away.

“Mine!”

“No, mine!”

The two were locked in conflict, punching, kicking and screaming for domination over the miraculous. All while Wayzz’ pleas for peace and understanding fell on deaf ears, forcing the poor kwami to hover there and watch as the miraculous between them started to spark, started to crack.

“Stop being a dick, Kim!”

“Stop being a little, tiny, gnome bitch, Alix!”

The harder they pulled, the deeper the wounds on the unstable miraculous sunk, until it was flashing before them and spitting out sparks. Still, the two were too caught up in bickering to notice the potentially dangerous reaction of the miraculous.

“Gimme!”

Until finally, the turtle miraculous had enough; with a mighty crack that echoed throughout Paris, the miraculous bracelet snapped in two. And with that snap, the energy overloaded and blasted outwards, drowning the two feuding teens in miraculous energy before they could even notice the oncoming danger.

---

Hey there, Bug Bears and Foxy Funsters, Alya Cesaire here; your #1 source of non-stop, hard hitting truth bombs on Paris' resident menaces. Now, I don't know about you, but this reporter feels that the public have been lacking in details about our miraculous heroes and our nefarious villains.

Sure, we've had an interview or two, but let's face it;  no one's been asking the real, hard hitting questions. Its all the same censored, safe, PR-approved questionnaires you'd find on an online survey. None of them are getting the answers the people want.

So, after much begging, pleading, and a month's allowance's worth of 'sorry for calling you a cuck' gift baskets, I'm finally able to bring you the investigative journalism you're all yearning for. Ladybug, Volpina, Hawkmoth, Chat Noir, and some blue lady; all sitting down in a group call with me and a big stack of questions from you, the wonderful citizens of Paris!

That's right, they will be answering your questions. Got some burning mystery that's keeping you up at night? Send your questions in now!

That's all for tonight, this is Alya Cesaire, bugging out!

Notes:

Thought this would be a fun thought experiment, send me the burning questions from Parisian citizens for our cast, and I'll see if I can improvise some interesting responses next chapter. I already have some questions from Tumblr, but I'm putting it here too.

Next Time - Live On The Ladyblog!

Next Next Time - Limited Vision:

Adrien regarded Nino with a serious expression of consideration. Brows furrowed, lips locked, eyes narrowed, fingers stroking away; the perfect image of a mind at work. It was almost intense as he stared at Nino from across their hot chocolates, making Nino nervous that the elder Agreste was going to barge in any moment and throw him out.

“…are you sure, Nino?” Adrien breathed out the question on shaky air, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair.

Nino nodded vigorously, “I’m sure.”

“So,” Adrien fixed his finger to his chin, hardly able to believe it, “Chloe has magic kisses?”

Nino clapped his hands together, “That’s what I thought!”

Chapter 54: Live on the Ladyblog!

Summary:

Alya hosts a live QnA with our cast of heroes and villains!

Alya: Hello there, Bug Bears and Foxy Funsters! This is ‘Live on the Ladyblog’, and today, we are in a group call with some very special guests who want to answer your burning questions! Let’s go down the roll call, shall we?

Alya: Ladybug!

*The call screen materializes with Ladybug’s camera front and center. She sits at the top of the Eiffel Tower waving.*

Ladybug: Hey guys, it’s great to be here!

Alya: It sur-

Ladybug: Can you hear me?

Alya: Yes, Ladybug, we can hear you.

Ladybug: What?

Alya: God damn it- Do you have me muted?

Alya: Wait, shit, she can’t hear me. Max, can you send her a message in chat?

*Ladybug accidentally turns on the big head filter.*

Ladybug: I got it, I got it! Can you hear me now?

Alya: We could always hear you. You muted us!

Ladybug: Oh, sorry.

Alya: Next we have Volpina.

*Ladybug’s screen shrinks to incorporate Volpina, who is lounging about in a chair down by the pool, a drink in hand.*

Volpina: Delighted to be going live to all my lovely fans in Paris.

Alya: You look comfortable, Vixen.

Volpina: Always, Cesaire.

Volpina: Uh, Buggy, do you know you’ve got the big head filter going on?

Ladybug: Ah, crap- I mean, crud. Give me a sec. I can fix this.

Alya: Up next, we have the mysterious, the magnificent, the majestic; Mayura!

*Mayura’s screen shows her awkwardly sitting at her computer.*

Mayura: Uh… H-Hello, Darlings. A pleasure, I’m sure.

Alya: You sound a little nervous there, Mayura.

Volpina: I mean, she’s a thief; she’s probably not used to the spotlight.

Mayura: I’m fine! I just need a moment.

Alya: Take your time, we still need to introduce-

*Hawkmoth and Chat Noir’s screen pops in to a random guitar riff. The two are sitting on stools inside their lair, Chat propping his elbow up against his father’s arm. Both of them have a cat over them.*

Chat: Heeeeeeellooooo, Paris!

Hawkmoth: The kings have arrived!

Volpina: Oh my god…

Alya: Guys, you do realize you have a fil-

Chat: We know.

Hawkmoth: We wanted to leave an impression.

Mayura: *Barely stopping herself from squealing* They… Look… Adorable…

Volpina: Knock it off, you two.

Ladybug: Yeah, this is a serious interview. Put yourselves back to normal!

Hawkmoth: You first, or do you naturally have sunglasses projected over your face.

*Ladybug scrambles with her video options.*

Ladybug: God damn it, how do I turn off these filters.

Alya: Okay, well, I’ll just run this by you guys one more time. This is real simple. Our viewers send in questions, you guys answer them, and we all have a good time. Clear?

Hawkmoth: Clear.

Chat: Clear!

Volpina: Crystal, Babe.

Ladybug *With a high pitch filter over her voice*: Clear.

Alya: Alright, let’s start…

---

@seaclipse

Ladybug and Chat Noir, what do you both think about Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain Cheng respectively? Please answer both these questions in the presence of each other.

Ladybug: Alya, did you send this question?

Alya: Why do you assume I had something to do with this?

Ladybug: Who else knows Marinette enough to care about my opinion on her?

Alya: Hey, lots of people know my best friend! Her fashion posts are getting a lot of traction... as well as her Anti-Chat posts.

Chat Noir: Come on, Buggaboo, it's obvious. Marinette sent this herself.

Ladybug: No she didn't!

Chat Noir: She wants your professional opinion on who's better boyfriend material.

Ladybug: Like hell she did!

Ladybug: Besides, Adrien Agreste is always going to be better than some stupid supervillain; everyone knows that.

Chat Noir: I don't think she'd agree.

Ladybug: Adrien Agreste isn't the one stealing her macaroons.

Chat Noir: He isn't the one she's letting steal her macaroons.

Hawkmoth: They are damn good macaroons though.

Alya: I know, right?

Ladybug: Please don't associate the Dupain Cheng bakery with villainy.

Alya: Girl, they're one of the stream's sponsors.

Ladybug: What!?

*Ladybug reads the chat.*

@TheFriendlyGiant: It's been great for business.

@TheFriendlyGiant: 'Treats so good even the villains can't resist'.

Ladybug: Oh my god, Da- I mean, Mr. Dupain!

Alya: Anyway... you guys haven't answered the question yet.

Chat Noir: I mean, what is there to say about Adrien Agreste?

Ladybug: He's dreamy, his hair is amazing, he's refreshing as a spring breeze, can actually make jokes that are funny.

Hawkmoth: He's kind, considerate, ever so smart, and the most wonderful boy you'll ever meet.

Ladybug: Uh...

Chat Noir: Dad!

Hawkmoth: He's practically perfect in every way.

Chat: Your actual son is here.

Hawkmoth: Oh, right.

Volpina: Yeesh, I wouldn't want to be Chat Noir right now.

Ladybug: Hey, he's right; I've heard Adrien's a great friend who would never betray his partner for their ugly, miserable old man. Unlike some two-bit fleabags in this call.

Chat Noir: Yeah, yeah, he's as pure and bland as cardboard and can't measure up to this cool cat. No offence, Adrien, obviously, but there's just no competing with me.

@SunshineBoy: None taken! Anyone would have a hard time measuring up to you.

Alya: Good to see Adrien's such a good sport about it.

Volpina: Boo, I want drama!

Ladybug: A-A-Adrien's watching this!?

Hawkmoth: What- How!?

Chat Noir: Hey, he's a big Ladybug and Chat Noir fan, of course he's not missing the stream.

@SunshineBoy: I wouldn't miss it for all the cheese in the world.

Hawkmoth: Oh, that explains it...

Ladybug: D-Did he hear all the things I said about him just now?

Alya: I mean, he was gonna hear them even if he didn't watch the stream, it's not like this is going to be deleted afterwards.

Chat Noir: Don't be so nervous, Bug.

Ladybug: How can I not be nervous!?

Chat Noir: I don't think you need to worry about Adrien, he's probably not interested in you anyway.

Ladybug: What the hell does that mean?

Chat Noir: *Mutters* It would be super weird to date your nemesis...

Volpina: What was that?

Chat Noir: I just don't think Ladybug is his type, you know?

Alya: No, Nino already figured out that Adrien isn't gay.

@DJDisaster: Why did you bring me into this?

Hawkmoth: Aw, he kept the name.

Volpina: That akuma literally almost made him kill himself, but okay...

Ladybug/Chat Noir: Why is Nino talking about Adrien's sexuality with you!?

Alya: Because I needed to know if Marinette was gonna need some drastic actions to get his attention.

Alya: Now, Chat, let's finish off. What do you think of Mari? And remember, this is my best friend you're talking about, so watch what you're saying.

Chat Noir: Heh heh, that's a... big question.

Chat Noir: Where to even start?

Chat Noir: Well, I'll just say that she's special, y'know? Like, I've got everything going for me and I still struggle with most stuff, but she's out here manning her parent's shop, starting her mini-fashion empire and still finding time to help everyone she comes across.

Hawkmoth: Ah, she reminds me of when I was a boy, though I was much grumpi-

Ladybug: Let the boy speak, Hawky. I swear to God!

Chat Noir: Just being close to her, you suddenly just want to do better just out of respect for all the effort she puts into life. Despite that, she doesn't get back nearly what she puts in, and that pisses me off sometimes. Now, I can't bake, or design clothes or do much for her in general, but I can at least offer to cataclysm anyone giving her trouble.

Volpina: I think I'm gonna hurl. That was the biggest crock of 'romantic' sludge I've ever been force fed. Does that work on anyone?

Mayura: It would work on me.

Volpina: Bug, back me up here.

Ladybug: *Trying not to cry* Y-Yeah, w-what a stupid thing to say... I b-bet Marinette is the type of girl that's too smart to fall for such a t-t-terrible pick-up line!

Volpina: See? It's so bad that it's physically hurting my partner.

Alya: I dunno, I think Marinette *Grins at Ladybug* is a sucker for something like that.

Volpina: Well, Marinette is a sucker...

Hawkmoth: She's a little of the whiney side, but she has potential. She'd be a good friend to my son.

Mayura: Friend? Really?

Hawkmoth: What, you have something against her?

Mayura: I just think they're suggesting she'll be more than a 'friend'.

Chat Noir: N-No one asked you, Smurf Lady!

Hawkmoth: More than a friend? You mean... an assistant?

Mayura: Oh my-

Alya: We're talking about girlfriend material here, Hawkmoth.

Hawkmoth: Don't be disgusting, Miss Cesaire!

Ladybug: You can't be serious.

Hawkmoth: What? She's being highly inappropriate bringing up such despicable matters.

Volpina: You do realize you have a kid, right? That required a lady and you getting 'despicable'. Unless you're telling us that your boy popped out of thin air.

Hawkmoth: The circumstances of his birth are none of your concern!

*Hawkmoth grabs Chat Noir by the cheeks, squeezing his head to push out Chat Noir's nervous 'Blink twice if you're being held hostage' grin.*

Hawkmoth: Just look at the boy! He's practically a baby, he's far too young to be thinking about girls and romance.

Alya: I think Mari wants to go way pass thinking.

Ladybug: Alya!

Hawkmoth: *His eyes darkening* Are you saying... this girl has befriended my son in order to violate him? To manipulate him for her perverse desires?

Ladybug: No, she's not saying anything like that, are you Alya?

Volpina: I think she might have been, honestly. I've heard people say that she keeps a punching bag with his face on it in her room, and she makes out with it.

Chat Noir: Can you stop talking?

Ladybug: Who the hell is telling you this?! A punching bag couldn’t even fit in her room…

Alya: Hey, let's not shame what people do in the privacy of their own bedroom.

Hawkmoth: *Holding Chat to his chest tightly, slamming his fist into a table.* And to think I was so cautiously fond of her.

Ladybug: Alya. Shut up, you are going to get somebody killed!

Chat Noir: Dad, calm down! It's not that serious.

Hawkmoth: This is very serious! But don't worry, my baby boy, I won't let that witch lay a finger on you.

Chat Noir: Oh my god...

Hawkmoth: Let this be a message to all the harlots of Paris; Chat Noir is off limits. Turn your lustful gaze towards him at your own peril.

Mayura: Mhm, I love it when he gets mad.

Chat Noir: Can you not?!

Ladybug: Next question. NOW.

If Ladybug officiates Hawkmoth and Mayura's marriage, does that mean that Hawkmoth or Mayura will officiate her's?

Volpina: What kind of question is that?

Chat Noir: M-Marriage? Dad, you didn't...

Mayura: Handsome, I appreciate the round about proposal, but I think we need to go on more dates first.

Hawkmoth: I-I didn't send this!

Volpina: And why would Ladybug officiate it?

Ladybug: I am legally recognised by the Government as a wedding officiant.

Volpina: How?!

Ladybug: Superhero cred has it's perks.

Volpina: Why?

Ladybug: Because I love weddings! And yes, I'd be honoured to officiate, even for you, you grumpy old butterfly.

Hawkmoth: There is no wedding! I've barely known this woman for more than a few months!

Alya: Hey, there's no shame in marrying early. Some people just know when they've met the one for them.

Hawkmoth: I'm already married!

Ladybug: Wait, really?

Volpina: That poor, poor woman.

Mayura: Well, as much as I am a thief, I'm no homewrecker...

Alya: My heart goes out for you, Girl.

Mayura: Don't be sad, there's always Gabriel Agreste.

Chat Noir: Why don't you just steal everyone's dad while you're at it?!

Mayura: ...Kid, I might.

Alya: Mayura over here collecting DILFs like infinity stones.

Ladybug: You did not just call-

Alya: DID I STUTTER?!

Volpina: So, what does Mrs. Hawkmoth think of all this supervillain business?

Hawkmoth: Uh... well...

Chat Noir: Mom isn't exactly around anymore.

Ladybug:...

Alya:...

Volpina:...

Alya: Mayura, you still have a shot, he's divorced.

Hawkmoth: What?

Volpina: And she didn't even take the kid. Ouch.

Ladybug: She probably wasn't good enough for you anyway. Don't worry, Hawky; we're here for you.

Hawkmoth: But-

Chat Noir: Dad, just accept them being thoughtful, any way you could explain it is gonna come out wrong.

Hawkmoth: Damn it... fine.

Hawkmoth: Bug?

Ladybug: Yes?

Hawkmoth: If you want me to officiate your future wedding-

Ladybug: Don't worry, Hawky, I already have my dream wedding planned out. I just need it to happen in the next fifteen years; I have Power Princess down for catering and her life expectancy is dropping.

To all the superheroes and supervillains, what is, no doubt, the best fashion style in all of history?

Ladybug: That’s not even a contest. Parisian chic. Sorry if I sound biased for my home fashion, but it's true. Structured, clean lines, timeless silhouettes with just enough personality to stand out. Function and form is important.

Hawkmoth: A fine choice, though I must admit I find it a bit unrefined at times.

Ladybug: That's the point of it, isn't it? To look natural, like you're not trying too hard to look striking.

Hawkmoth: I just don't like clothes that intentionally look like they're too big for you.

Chat Noir: I don't really know much about fashion-

Hawkmoth: SERIOUSLY?

Chat Noir: But I'd go for anything that majors in dark, leather and sleek. Something that could win a fight and a runway show.

Alya: I think you're talking about punk.

Chat Noir: Oh, you're right. Hey! Dad, you were a punk back in the day, weren't you?

Ladybug: Pffft, no way!

Hawkmoth: We all have our phases when we're young.

Volpina: You guys are so boring. It's bold statement that print; big hair, bigger attitude. Give me glam, give me glitter, give me drama!

Chat Noir: So, like He-

Volpina: Heartbreaker's suit was an abomination and completely misses the point of glam!

Volpina: Honestly, what brain dead idiot came up with it?

Hawkmoth: ...He was probably hypnotized and not feeling creative at the time...

Mayura: I like my clothes minimalist, preppy probably. Business casual with a... alluring edge. Precision is fashion, I've been told. Subtle elegance. Authority without noise. And a well-cut blazer can be invincible armour.

Chat Noir: You sound like you're in a job interview.

Mayura: I don't usually do interviews, okay?

Hawkmoth: I think my personal vote is obvious; that Victorian Goth style. High collars, sweeping coats, and just a hint of menace. It's theatrical, it's elegant, and it commands attention. True style whispers with silk and screams with shadows.

Alya: Yeah, everyone saw that coming.

Ladybug: Just slap on some pale make-up and your transformation into a vampire will be complete.

Mayura: ...

Volpina: Mayura, you okay?

Mayure: I'm fine, just... imagining.

@Sorveing 

For Chat Noir: Since you see Hawkmoth detransformed, is it true that your dad is bald under the mask? how does it feel to see your father without eyebrows after Ladybug's glue attack? Is it a cursed picture? Is he actually bold and now he has no eyebrows? *shudders*

Chat: Yep, completely bald.

Hawkmoth: What!?

Chat: Smooth like a… like a ball. Of metal.

Hawkmoth: Cease this ridiculousness at once!

Ladybug: I knew it!

Volpina: The dome of shame is real!

Ladybug: Sorry about your eyebrows, Hawky. I don’t even know how the glue got under your mask.

Hawkmoth: I have hair! I have an amazing set of hair, I’m not bald! And my eye brows are fine, because the transformation restored them.

Ladybug: …Prove it.

Hawkmoth: Fine! I wil- Wait a minute.

Volpina: Almost had him.

For Hawkmoth: How does it feel to have no eyebrows? Do you use makeup to paint them? Does your head get cold being bald? Do you polish your head? ... does your head shine?

Hawkmoth: Why are you people obsessed with my cranium!?

Chat: He uses some expensive head wash imported from Spain.

Hawkmoth: I will ground you.

Alya: The video feed doesn’t show it very well, but at certain angles that chrome dome of his lights up like the sun.

Hawkmoth: Right, this is ridiculous.

Ladybug: Yeah guys, lay off him. He can’t help it if he’s cranially challenged.

Hawkmoth: This is prejudice, plain and simple, against the bald community.

Volpina: So, you admit you’re apart of that community?

Hawkmoth: No!

Alya: Uh, guys, can we tone it down on the bald jokes? I have some sponsors I want to get after this that are very offended…

@lephanfranche

For Mayura: For the new femme fatale in the city, after your debut at Heartbreaker's concert, what are you planning?

Mayura: Are people really calling me a femme fatale? Oh my.

Alya: You kidding? Didn't even take an hour after you beat Heartbreaker for you to get your very own simp servers.

Mayura: I didn't know I was getting so many admirers.

Alya: Hey, kicking a supervillain's ass and freeing a bunch of hypnotized fans through the power of rock as your entrance gets you far. Say hi to your fans, Blueberry!

Mayura: It's a pleasure to be adored, Darlings. I'm sure my next caper will be as dazzling as the last.

Alya: And the chat goes wild with-

Alya: Okay, that's a lot of stuff my mod should be removing. What am I paying Max for?

@Markov: Even AIs need coffee breaks.

Hawkmoth: Why are they spamming 'leg lock'?

Chat Noir: They're going to break her legs or something?

Mayura: Next question!

Are you Hawkmoth's new competition?

Mayura: I don't think we can give ourselves so simple a label. I'm not oppose to being friendly, so long as Handsome here has something to keep my attention.

Hawkmoth: Competition? She's good, I'll admit, but she's no Ladybug.

Mayura: Excuse me?

Hawkmoth: I'm just saying, every time we've fought, you barely scrape by, much less get close to victory. And one of those times I was a brainwashed puppet.

Chat Noir: Oooo, he's got you there, lady.

Mayura: Really? Because I think I did pretty well in our last 'fight'. Did you not think so, Handsome?

Hawkmoth: *Blushing* Uh... ah... w-w-well... I mean, it doesn't matter because I refuse to consider anyone else competition. Ladybug is my nemesis, plain and simple.

Mayura: Are you saying that I mean nothing to you?

Chat Noir: Yeah, that's exactly what he's saying?

Hawkmoth: Son, please don't...

Chat Noir: Why are you so red? Does she really make you that mad?

Mayura: Oh, I'm getting under his skin alright.

Hawkmoth: You are the worst.                               

Are you planning to steal Ladybug's miraculous? Or do you plan seizing any other miraculous?

Mayura: Oh, I have an interest in Ladybug's lovely jewellery, but there's no need to rush into it, is there? For now, I'm just content stealing all your hearts.

Chat Noir: BOOOOOOO!

Alya: Come on, Chat, be mature.

Mayura: Honestly, I never had much of a plan when I acquired the Peacock miraculous. I just wanted to feel useful I guess, powerful, free, just get out there and break the rules instead of being choked out by them, ya'know?

Ladybug: I hear that. I completely suck in my normal life.

Mayura: I mean, I wouldn't say I suck in my regular life, but... there are many moments where I wish I could be more confident and outspoken. So many emotions I lock up inside that I can only unleash when I'm more daring.

Ladybug: So much of my life would be easier if I could be half the woman Ladybug is.

Chat Noir: Hey, you can't beat yourself up like that. Whatever type of girl you are in regular life, you're the type of girl who got all this power and still decided to be a part of this mess, so there's gotta be something special about you.

Mayura: That's nice of you to say-

Chat Noir: I was talking to Ladybug, not you, Hussy!

If you are jumping into the miraculous game, aren't you afraid of getting akumatized in the process?

Mayura: Yeah, I don't think Hawkmoth is going to get inside my head any time soon. Though he is invited to try.

Hawkmoth: I don't want to know what I'm going to find in there.

Mayura: Only good things about you, I promise.

Chat Noir: Doesn't matter anyway, we've specifically put an anti-Mayura clause in the new akuma contract.

Why are you blue?

Mayura: What is everybody's problem with my skin colour?

Ladybug: It's weird!

Chat Noir: It's ugly.

Volpina: It makes no sense. Why are you blue?

Mayura: The peacock miraculous is blue.

Volpina: Hawkmoth's is purple, you don't see him becoming discount anorexic Thanos.

Mayura: That's just what I look like, okay?

For Chat Noir: Has to be tough being the son of a supervillain, is domestic terrorism the equivalent of father/son time together on your family?

Chat Noir: Well-

Hawkmoth: It's not domestic terrorism! Terrorism necessitates a pursuit of political aims, we commit crimes for the sake of getting a wish. A serial killer isn't a terrorist, they're just a killer!

Chat Noir: Dad, it's my question.

Hawkmoth: I'm just saying-

Volpina: It really doesn't matter at this point.

Hawkmoth: Words have meaning.

Volpina: Whether you ruin our days because you want to wish for ice cream or because you're mad at the post office is semantics.

Hawkmoth: My hatred for the post office has nothing to do with this.

Ladybug: How do you have beef with the post office?

Chat Noir: Oh yeah, Dad's at war with the post office.

Hawkmoth: As my father was before me and his father before him.

Chat Noir: We don't even have a legal address officially, all our deliveries get sent to dead drops. I had to get a ride all the way to the skating rink to pick up my amazon order.

Chat Noir: Anyway, before I was interrupted; uh, yeah, this is kind of the most time we spend together lately.

Volpina: That's sad.

Alya: Blink twice if you need rescuing from a bad situation.

Chat Noir: No it isn't, we have fun.

Volpina: Yeah, terrorizing other people.

Mayura: Says the girl that has a youtube account dedicated to abusing your powers to terrorize civilians.

Volpina: They're called prank videos; they're a little different from what you guys do.

Chat Noir: Harassing someone with illusions that they can't do anything to stop until they take a swing at you isn't a prank, it's just plain old harassment.

Volpina: It's just a prank, Bro.

Ladybug: You got someone akumatized.

Hawkmoth: You're lucky I only gave him the ability to make surfaces sticky; he wanted to put you in the electric chair.

Volpina: Well, half of Paris tuned in to watch it happen and support me, so who's really in the wrong?

Do you watch movies or have any other hobbie together on your regular lives? Or does your dad seclude himself, laughs like a lonely maniac and talks to his butterflies all day? (he's got to have them somewhere)

Chat Noir: Psh, oh yeah. We do a ton of stuff together in our regular lives.

Hawkmoth: Yeah, like...

Chat Noir: Uh...

Hawkmoth: W-Well, I don't spend all my time in the lair. I have a job.

Volpina: I bet he's a fast food worker.

Ladybug: You think he can afford all the crap he puts us through on a McDonald's salary?

Volpina: Most of the budget is magic, isn't it?

Mayura: I take greater issue with the idea that you think Hawkmoth could last a day in retail without cussing out a customer and getting fired.

Hawkmoth: Hey, nobody has the patience for a retail job unless they have no other choice. And I'm not a lonely maniac! I have so many friends on my phone.

Chat Noir: Dad, I don't think your fabric supplier counts...

Hawkmoth: But... but...

Chat Noir: He does talk to the butterflies. He got mad at me last week for 'aggravating' Stoneheart and Stormy Weather.

Hawkmoth: You know they don't like you just running through them like a field of flowers, you smacked one of them into a wall.

Chat Noir: They are literally all around the lair, Dad. It is impossible to not run into them.

Hawkmoth: And yet, somehow, I've managed it.

Chat Noir: The point is that we barely have time for ourselves in our regular lives, much less each other. The masks, they allow us to escape that. It may be unconventional, but if it lets me spend more time with my dad, I'll take it.

Ladybug: Wait, you guys have a lair?

Chat Noir: Yeah? Why, do you guys not have one?

Volpina: We have a rooftop with a chair on it.

Chat Noir: What about the guardian's house?

Ladybug: You mean the one you guys blew up?

Hawkmoth: We didn't blow it up. The Guardian became a giant and smashed it.

Chat Noir: Why didn't the miraculous cure repair the damage?

Ladybug: Because Ladybug- I was off my A-Game that day.

Volpina: Not enough to stop you from drowning Mirror Mistress in sewage.

Chat Noir: Is it just me or does she sound angry about that?

Ladybug: She's angry because Mirror Mistress beat her and she wasn't awake for her defeat, obviously.

Also, do you take care of the butterflies too?

Chat Noir: No. Not since the incident.

Hawkmoth: *Sniffling* Princess Justice was going to make such a fine akuma.

Chat Noir: I thought she was trying to attack you.

Hawkmoth: You didn't have to cataclysm her!

If your dad has butterflies, does this mean you have a pack of cats in your lair as well?

Chat Noir: I wish! Dad doesn't let me have any pets.

Hawkmoth: You already have an all-powerful cheese gremlin to take care of, you can't be trusted with any more pets!

For Volpina: The coolest master of making money, you just saw your powers, saw justice, and saw gold, how did you come up with the Volpina donations website?

Volpina: That's an amazing question from an equally amazing viewer. It was quite a simple thing, really. It came to me before I put on the tights, I saw Ladybug at a coffee shop. She works day-in and day-out to protect this city, and she can't even afford to pay for her drink order! There's so much money on the table for a sucker like- I mean, there's so much money she loses out on, money she needs to provide for herself and her future family that she loses helping people. I knew then and there that if I ever became a superhero, I'd help spread awareness of this problem. Really, when you think about it, I'm just giving all of you an opportunity to be my hero.

Ladybug: That's so sweet!

Hawkmoth: And a longwinded way of saying 'I wanted to sucker Paris into paying my cleaning bill'.

Volpina: Bite me, Old Man. How do you make money?

Hawkmoth: I have a job.

Volpina: Oh yeah, and you manage a busy schedule in between akuma battles?

Hawkmoth: It's called being organised. But hey, if such basic methods of managing your life is too complicated for a small brained rat like yourself...

Chat Noir: You know, it probably helps that he decides when and where all akuma battles start.

Mayura: *Clearing her throat* It helps that he has an assistant.

Hawkmoth: Good point, she's wonderful.

Chat Noir: And much better than Mayura.

Hawkmoth: Why don't you have one, Volpina?

Volpina: I can't just get an assistant who will cover for my superhero activities no questions asked.

Hawkmoth: What is it the kids say these days? Skill issue?

Any plans to release any Volpina merchandise for your fans? Or any collabs with any brand? Have you considered to get copyright in your superhero persona in case anyone gets too smart?

Volpina: Here's the thing, copyright's a bitch for hard working supes like us. See, to officially licence or put my ownership on anything, I need to give up my real name and you know how important it is for a superhero to keep their secret identity. So, officially, I can't release any merchandise or copyright my persona.

Ladybug: Which lets Fathom Co. mass produce their line of Miraculous Paris toys and accessories.

Chat Noir: Hey, they make some real good action figures.

Ladybug: They're in bad taste! Some of them are real life supervillains who have hurt people; Heartbreaker has one! How can you sell a toy of that? It's like making a toy out of Ted Bundy.

Volpina: What matters is that we’re not getting a cut of the profits, and that’s an injustice! But don’t you guys worry, this cunning fox is taking the fight to the international scale! You too can join the movement at #PartTimeHero to speak out for the rights of superheroes to use their public persona as an alternative identity without having to endanger their civilian identity.

Hawkmoth: *Scrolling through his phone* How does Mayura already have more toys than me?

Mayura: I’m more marketable, obviously.

Chat Noir: I dunno how to feel about a mug that’s just my head.

Ladybug: How is the fight going, Volly? I don’t really understand all this politics.

Volpina: We’re getting overwhelming support, Buggy. And you’d be amazed by how much one can accomplish when they can make illusions.

Ladybug: That doesn’t sound legal…

Volpina: Hey, it’s 100% legit. Obviously, I was talking about using illusions to present the message on a bigger scale from here to America. I’m just saying, by the end of this, Fathom Co lawyers are going to wish they were dead…

Chat Noir: …

Alya: …

Ladybug: …

Volpina: You know, after how hard I’m gonna humiliate them in court.

Have you tried to convice Ladybug to make her own donations website? Or does she secretly run your website?

Volpina: Ms Stickler over here is a stubborn old goat. No social knowledge, no web savviness, nothing.

Ladybug: Hey!

Volpina: Buggy, I love you, but you’re an old lady smacking on the keyboard when it comes to anything more than posting tweets and looking up cat videos.

Do you play the flute on your regular life?

Volpina: Nope, apparently my flute playing skills are all Trixx.

Ladybug: Just want to say my guitar playing skills are all me.

Chat Noir:  I’m a trained pianist.

Volpina: Yeah, just rub it in. Assholes.

Hawkmoth: Don’t beat yourself up, we know you kill it on the triangle.

Volpina: Next akuma battle, I’m gonna beat you to death with a tambourine.

For Ladybug: Paris's #1 defender, between Hawkmoth and Chat Noir, now Mayura and any other miraculous falling into the wrong hands, it must be stressfull, how can you cope with so much on your plate?

Ladybug: Cope? Oh, it’s nothing much! I mean yes, I have a busy regular life that I have to be able to duck out of at a moment’s notice, and then jump into life threatening battles that push me to my limit, and I’m currently still scrubbing away at all the grime King Pigeon’s children left on me-

Volpina: Breathe, Buggy.

Ladybug: I guess when you think about it, the life of a superhero is a little stressful and unpredictable.

Alya: And we all appreciate the sacrifice.

Ladybug: There’s not much I can do to prepare for it all except keep a positive attitude, and thinking about all the people who’ll have their days ruined if I give up.

Ladybug: A-And I can’t help but give Volpina some credit for keeping me sane. She gave me a lot of advice on trying to keep a lot of my weekly plans spaced out, leave gaps for me to disappear; and the importance of keeping track of all easy exits of places I go to frequently.

Volpina: Hey, I just help where I can. If you go down, you take the whole ship with you, so I have to keep it together.

Ladybug: I get it, but it’s important to say, you know? A lot of our battles end in our heads before we even reach the battlefield, but knowing I got you covering my back keeps me out of that headspace.

Volpina: D-Don’t get sappy on me now, Buggy. You’re gonna ruin our image!

Alya: You know, I was gonna make a joke about drugs being the answer, but now that feels in poor taste.

Ladybug: D-Drugs!? Who said anything about drugs?!

Volpina: Bugg-

Ladybug: God, I hate drugs, you know? I’m very anti-drugs. You say no to them, that’s what Mr. Rogers always said. Crack, smack, crystal – whatever jack, I don’t mess with that. And you shouldn’t either.

Alya: Hey, I’m not on any drugs.

Ladybug: Ohoho! Could have fooled me. I seem to recall a certain someone constantly accusing other people of being on drugs. Projection, maybe?

Alya: …I think we should move on.

Ladybug: Yeah, maybe we should.

Did it cost you to adapt to Volpina's partnership since she appeared?

Ladybug:  Yeah, it costed me one traitorous fleabag; and that’s a fair price to pay for the best partner ever.

Chat Noir: Okay, cool it down a little.

Ladybug: I’m just being optimistic. If Chat Noir hadn’t stabbed me in the back and left me bleeding, empty and utterly violated by the depths of his rotten trick-

Chat Noir: I thought we were past this…

Ladybug: -then I might have been stuck with an inferior partner.

Volpina: God, can you imagine that? The ladybug and the cat? There’d probably be so much pointless drama.

Ladybug: And he’d probably be a terrible team player too.

Chat: Dad, help me out here.

Hawkmoth: Hey, you made your choice. You’re on your own, Boy.

Do you have a secret super hero lair where you both plan things out? or you just go and improvise anything?

Ladybug: Well, as we just said; we have a roof with a chair on it.

Volpina: But not for long! Right now, we’re considering the addition of a lamp and a hamster.

Chat: A hamster? That’s a pretty big decision, guys.

Mayura: I’m sure the view from your foldable lawn chair is… breathtaking.

Volpina: We never said it was a lawn chair.

Mayura: And yet, we all knew.

Hawkmoth: Hold on a moment…

*Ladybug’s yoyo rings*

Ladybug: What did you just send me? I’m not opening any more blind links from you after last time.

Hawkmoth: I didn’t know it had a virus.

Chat: I’m still surprise that our miraculous can get viruses.

Volpina: It was still funny to watch her glitch out mid-fight though.

Ladybug: Thanks for the support, partner.

Hawkmoth: It’s just some contact information. I know a guy, he can set you up with something. It won’t be anything grand, but I can foot the bill for a humble hideout befitting a hero.

Volpina: Yeah right, and this guy then feeds you all the secret entrances you can use to sneak up on us and spy.

Hawkmoth: Please, I would never be so crude. It’s all legit, he’s the middle man for a lot of super figures’ secret lair.

Ladybug: Uhuh, forgive me if I remain sceptical.

Are you doing any attempts on uncovering Hawkmoth and Chat Noir's identities?

Ladybug:  Yes, we have a very rigorous investigation process that starts with trying to remove their miraculous…

Ladybug: And that’s about it.

Alya: Seriously? Nothing else?

Volpina: What else can we do? We don’t have any magical tracking beacons or abilities that could help us follow them. We literally have no idea where they are or what they’re doing until they akumatized somebody.

Hawkmoth: I dunno, maybe the Guardian has some magic spell or doohickie that could help.

Chat: Dad, stop helping them.

Mayura: If I may, I did manage to create a sentimonster that could help me track and observe people-

Hawkmoth: They’re not falling for Optigami.

Mayura: Party pooper.

Ladybug: Hold on now, maybe you could make a different sentimonster for us…

Mayura: Now that’s an idea.

Hawkmoth: Hey, you’re supposed to be on our side!

Mayura: I’m just a thief, Handsome; I don’t choose sides.

Chat: See? I told you she was no good.

Alya: Aw, come on, Mayura; can you really bare fighting against your boyfriend?

Hawkmoth: I’m not her-

Mayura: With the cold shoulder he’s giving me, I’m finding it easier to step out of line.

Alya: You heard her, Hawky. Confess your love, or she sells you down the river.

Chat: This is blackmail!

Mayura: I just want to be adored, is that too much to ask for?

Chat: Yes!

Hawkmoth: We’ll discuss this later. In private.

Mayura: Oh my, Handsome. Again?

Hawkmoth: I-I didn’t me-

Chat: Again what?

Chat: Did you two do something?

Ladybug: They’ve done many things. Terrible, terrible things.

If you are a ladybug, then why don't you have wings to fly? Wouldn't it be easier to reach Hawkmoth that way instead of using a yo-yo?

Ladybug: Uh, duh? I have my cape?

Alya: Yeah, but a cape isn’t the same thing as wings.

Ladybug: Of course it is! What, just because it doesn’t come out of my back or let me fly, it doesn’t count?

Mayura: Yeah, that’s about it.

Hawkmoth: Hm, maybe we could round out the bottom, give it a more wing-like shape.

Ladybug: My cape is fine the way it is. Volly, back me up.

Volpina: I mean…

Ladybug: Don’t you turn on me now!

Volpina: Aren’t Ladybug wings spotted, not completely black?

Ladybug: The spots I have are already annoying enough, a spotted cape would just hurt everyone’s eyes. Do you know how much I’d have to concentrate on creating every little spot when I transform?

Hawkmoth: I’m just saying, maybe if we-

Ladybug: You’re not touching my cape!

Why is your weaopon a yo-yo?

Ladybug: Because yo-yos are cool. Next question.

Volpina: Okay, but as a weapon, what does a yo-yo do that you could do better with like a whip or a flail?

Ladybug: I’m sorry, what is your weapon again?

Volpina: …A flute…

Ladybug: That’s right, a flimsy little flute that can barely even count as a blunt object. What can you do with that? Oh, you can blow us a little song. Know what my yo-yo can do? It can move on it’s own, it can grapple to high places, it can tie people up, it trips people up – the possibilities go on.

Hawkmoth: She’s a little defensive.

Chat: Is it just me or is she stroking that yo-yo like it’s her pet?

If you can create anything? Does that mean you can pull off an infinite money glitch?

Ladybug: …Huh.

Volpina: Buggy?

Ladybug: I never thought of that.

Volpina: Shit, you think you can pull it off?

Ladybug: I won’t know if I don’t try.

Hawkmoth: I advise against this.

Chat: Aw, come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud, Dad.

Hawkmoth: You are messing with forces you can’t comprehend, this won’t end-

Ladybug: Stuff it, Old Man. I’m getting rich.

Volpina: Yeah, Buggy! Go for it.

Hawkmoth: Seriously, stop this now before you reach the point of no return!

Ladybug: Okay, so I just need to concentrate, open the yo-yo, reach inside and then-

*For a fraction of a second, all of existence shattered into shards of reality and mashed together flash before the eyes of the audience. In the next fraction, it disappears, but all the members of the call find themselves dropping into their seats like they’d just been spawned in mid-air. All of them notable sporting black eyes, cut lips and bruises.*

Ladybug: What the hell just happened?

Chat: What were we doing again?

Ladybug: Something about getting rich…

Volpina: Wait, Buggy, don’t look.

*Volpina peels a post-it note off of the back of Ladybug’s head and hands it to her.*

Ladybug: A note? It just says ‘Don’t do that again, signed…’

*Ladybug squints.*

Ladybug: Who’s Bunnix?

*More writing materializes on the note.*

Volpina: ‘You don’t want to know. Just stop.’

For Hawkmoth: For Paris's big bad, if your powers connect you to your victim's head, it means you have access to their thoughts, does this mean you have access to the juiciest gossip in the city?

Hawkmoth: Well, I don’t want to brag-

Ladybug: Liar.

Hawkmoth: Shut it. Bug, the people speak to me.

Hawkmoth Yes, my vast network of potential supervillain not only eagerly serve my cause, but relinquish their secrets to me.

Ladybug: Oh yeah, because there’s no one I trust more with my secrets than the old dude in a  luchador mask stalking Paris.

Hawkmoth: Really, who else are they going to trust?

Volpina: Okay, rude. People trade secrets with me all the time.

Hawkmoth: You mean, you use your illusions to eavesdrop on them. Say what you will about my method, but at least they have to welcome me in to listen.

Alya: I’m a great listener too, Hawkmoth. Maybe you could tell me-

Ladybug: No!

Have you ever wanted to NOT akumatize someone because the tea is so good, you wanted to see what happened next?

Hawkmoth: Oh, many times. I can’t pick just one.

Alya: Come on, Big H, give us the goods.

Hawkmoth: Well, I think one of my favourites was when I almost had your mother, Miss Cesaire.

Alya: …What?

Ladybug: Did you have to phrase it like that?

Chat: Yeah, not so funny when it’s someone else’s parent, is it?

Hawkmoth: Remember that fight you had the other week? It was a real shouting match.

Alya: Oh no.

Hawkmoth: You were throwing a fit about your Miraculous dolls, and were being such a bother to her.

Alya: M-Maybe we can move on to the next question…

Volpina: Nope, I’m invested now.

Alya: Volpina!

Volpina: Sorry, Babe, but I must.

Hawkmoth: I believe the argument started with her asking why you need to take your dolls into the bathroom with you, and you screaming back that they’re your emotional support action figures or something.

Alya: Stop! Stop! Hawky, I’m sorry for calling you a cuck, okay? It was out of line and I’m sure you’re not the type to share your girlfriend with anybody else.

Hawkmoth: …And?

Alya: *Through gritted teeth* And I know that you’re the greatest criminal mastermind in Paris.

Hawkmoth: Now, was that so hard?

Alya: Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Volpina: Hey, Cesaire, if you need a version of Volpina to take into the bath with you; why not ask the real deal instead of some plastic replacement?

Ladybug: Can we please go to the next question before I throw up?

Have you ever been weirded out by reading someone's thoughs?

Hawkmoth: Another’s mental scape is a wasteland of depravity even on a good day if one allows themselves to stray outside the trigger for their akumatizations.

Alya: Is there any akuma in particular that weirded you out?

Hawkmoth: Do you even need to ask?

Chat: Yeah, we all remember Copycat.

Alya: Oh shit, right. That guy. I think we still have footage of that battle.

---

*Phone footage from Alya hanging from a lamp post, showing off two Chat Noirs uppercutting Volpina at the same time. Ladybug is across the street, spluttering on her knees as she watches on helplessly. Hawkmoth stands on the roof above, laughing.*

Chat Noir: What can I say that isn’t obvious, Fox? Two Cats are better than one.

Ladybug: No! Volly!

Hawkmoth: Yes, yes! You’re so close, my akuma. Moulding you after my perfect son was a stroke of genius! It’s time to take Ladybug’s miraculous and secure our victory.

Copycat:  I can’t wait. Without her miraculous, Ladybug won’t be distracted by Chat Noir any more, and our love will finally blossom.

Hawkmoth: Uh, yeah, sure, whatever.

Chat Noir (Present): I can’t believe he thought me and Ladybug were together.

Ladybug (Present): You don’t have to sound too offended.

Chat Noir (Present): Again, Bug. You’re just not my type.

Volpina (Present): Yeeeeeeah, that might have been kind of my fault.

Ladybug (Present): Volly, what did you do?

Volpina (Present): He was acting kind of creepy about you, and I thought he’d leave you alone if he thought you had a thing with a supervillain.

*Footage shows Volpina trying to tackle Copycat, but being swept aside.*

Volpina: Come on, Mr. Barbot; this is no way to start a relationship.

*Ladybug freezes.*

Ladybug: Wait… Barbot? As in the guy sculpting our statue?

Hawkmoth: The very same! See how I can turn even your most devoted fan to my cause?

Ladybug: Uh… Hawkmoth?

Hawkmoth: What?

Ladybug: Isn’t he like… 24 or something?

Chat Noir: …Wait, what?

CopyCat: That’s ridiculous, I’m not 24.

Hawkmoth: See? It’s all goo-

CopyCat: I’m 35.

Hawkmoth: …

Volpina: …

Chat: You… uh… you do realize that Ladybug is like, 15 or 16 right?

CopyCat: Well, she’s very mature for her ag-

*CopyCat s immediately deakumatized into Theo Barbot.*

Theo: Wait, what the hell?!

Hawkmoth: Nope.

*Hawkmoth sweeps Chat Noir up in his arms and jumps away.*

Hawkmoth: Nope. Nope. Nope.

*Police Sirens are heard in the distance.*

Volpina: Someone needs to check this man’s hard drive.

---

Hawkmoth: This is why I do background research on akumas.

Ladybug: Your hard work is appreciated, Hawky.

If none of your akumas have worked until now... would you consider akumatizing yourself?

Ladybug: Can you even do that?

Hawkmoth: I’ve considered it. Theoretically, I could make an akuma, detransform and then get akumatized.

Chat: Awesome!

Volpina: Yeah, but inefficient, right?

Ladybug: Huh, you’re right. Akumatizing yourself would just make for a team with less man power and less power in general.

Chat: Aw, not as awesome.

Hawkmoth: Besides, the idea is… concerning. Akumas already rely on me to contain and direct them in case that they get out of hand. Remember Stormy Weather? Imagine what she’d have been like without me there to control her.

Chat: Don’t have to remind me, I almost got the shock of a lifetime.

Hawkmoth: I make it no secret that I have a lot of terrible thoughts and memories in my mind. There’s telling how dangerous the result would be if I let them be the source of my power without anyone to hold the leash.

Oh! What if you gave your miraculous to Chat Noir and let him akumatize you? I mean, nobody it's going to know it's actually you...

Chat: Hey, that’s not a bad idea.

Hawkmoth: Nonsense! You can’t have Nooroo!

Chat: Dad-

Hawkmoth: You already have Plagg, you can’t have my kwami too. He’s mine!

Ladybug: A little protective there, Hawky.

Volpina: Come on, man, they’re kwamis, not collectors items. If they wanted to swap with our partners, that’s no big deal.

Ladybug: Yeah, like if I asked to swap with Volpina-

Volpina: Over my dead body.

Hawkmoth: You wouldn’t be able to handle Nooroo anyway, the emotional turmoil that hits you all at once when you put on the miraculous would be too much.

Chat: It can’t be that bad.

Hawkmoth: Imagine being able to hear every wretched thought in Paris, every depraved experience at the forefront of people’s minds merging together to create a tidal wave that downs you in their tragedies and every niggling thought of doubt. You can block your ears, but they keep screaming all the same, all you can accomplish is dulling the noise and focusing on the few flickers of comfort from your loved ones, but even they feel so distant.

Chat: …Jesus Christ, Dad. Okay.

Ladybug: You okay man?

Hawkmoth: …

Ladybug: You’re right. Dumb question.

also, King Pigeon has to be the most creative akuma you've ever done, it was intelligent, strong and dangerous, I thought you improvised all the akumas you made, like Mr. Pigeon or the Titan baby, but this one is different! how did you come up with such a smart and cool idea?

Ladybug: It’s a giant bird that shits out other birds, what’s creative about that?!

Hawkmoth: Don’t forget the part where it was so strong that the only way you could beat him was using my son as a meat shield.

Chat: Very heroic, by the way.

Ladybug: Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Hawkmoth: To answer the question, I try not to improvise too much. All my akumas are candidates I’ve researched and planned for prior to make sure we don’t have any disastrous repeats.

Volpina: And yet, you still akumatized Mr. Pigeon 76 times.

Hawkmoth: Mr. Ramier is a cool guy who just wants to feed his god damn pigeons. I don’t know what your problem is with him.

Volpina: He’s lame!

Hawkmoth: You’re lame!

Volpina: Ooo, great come back.

Ladybug: This is all detracting from the main point that King Pigeon was absolutely a fluke and not planned.

Hawkmoth: How did you know he wasn’t planned?

Ladybug: …Seriously?

Hawkmoth: I’m an expert schemer, Bug.

Ladybug: You planned for the mouse miraculous to show up during your kidnapping of Alya…

Hawkmoth: Naturally.

Ladybug: Planned that the miraculous would be bounced around Paris until we reached the park…

Hawkmoth: It’s so obvious when you think ahead, Bug.

Ladybug: And planned that your akuma would miss Mr. Ramier and instead hit the mouse miraculous just as it’s swallowed by a bird?

Hawkmoth: …Yes.

Alya: Well, you heard the man.

Have you taken a peek at the Akuma corner?

Hawkmoth: No, my son has strongly advised that leave it to him and others to browse and report back to me.

Chat: Wouldn’t want to waste your time handling the grunt work.

Ladybug: …Yep, probably for the best.

Mayura: The best plan yet.

Hawkmoth: But from what I hear, you guys are doing some pretty nifty stuff. And I thank you for making it easier to organise my akuma strategies, it’s really inspiring how you all come together to help me.

Ladybug: Help you terrorize the city.

Alya: Okay, but does Chat ever tell you about any of the fanfiction or fanart?

Hawkmoth: The what now?

Ladybug: …Chat, you may have to cataclysm Alya.

Alya: What?!

Chat: I understand. It’s for the greater good.

Do you have something to say for your fans?

Hawkmoth: To my adoring fanbase there is many things to say, but as we are short on time, I will try to make this brief. I was not always the man you see before you, once I was quite the low life with not a penny to my name or even a family to call my own. I was a miserable specimen, but I managed to pull myself from the gutter and ascend to heights I never could have imagined, because I figured out who I needed to be and took the opportunities to become more.

Hawkmoth: I believe if there’s one thing that my akumas show about humanity, it’s that all of you have the very same potential within you all. You just need the drive and the self-reflection to find the akuma within you and akumatized yourself into the person you need to be to secure the life you deserve. Start searching today, Chatterflies; become the super villains you were always meant to be.

Ladybug: …Are we seriously ending this with a speech about how everyone should become a terrorist?

Alya: You bet we are.

Chapter 55: Turtle Calamity: Limited Vision

Summary:

Gabriel and Nathalie go for a run and discuss theortical magic, Marinette gets a surprise at the bakery, Nino finally spills the beans to Adrien, Lila has a meeting; and Dutch meets Tomoe's assistant.

Gabriel was a man who liked to dominate the room; but Nathalie was quite sure that, at this very moment, he was thankful that nobody recognised him. The media would have a field day with snapshots of Gabriel heaving his way through a haggard jog, sweat throwing his perfect hair out of balance, all while dressed in an unfashionable set of jogging pants and a sweater.

It was an amusing sight knowing how calm and composed a man he built himself to be, but it was also a sign of effort, so she politely decided to only mock him for it internally thus far. Honestly, when he’d originally asked to accompany her on her morning jogs, she’d thought he’d have any number of excuses to back out of it, but he stuck to his word.

He was serious about improving his regular life and not letting himself fall on Hawkmoth as a crutch. She respected that and was all too willing to help him. Though now she was wondering if his improvements would transfer to his Hawkmoth form, or if it was all set since the beginning. If he made real gains as Gabriel, would Hawkmoth start becoming a real giant?

“We’ll rest up there,” she called over her shoulder, pointing over the end of the park trail, a bench on the top of a hill.

He offered her a wordless thumbs up, still trying to focus on those breathing exercises she’d shown him at the start. It wasn’t that Gabriel Agreste was out of shape per say; he was no slouch, he was active, and he was crazy about sticking to a ‘fashionable’ diet. Problem is that half of exercise was the will to do it, the other half was knowing the correct technique that wouldn’t tear apart your limbs or turn you into a pretzel.

Despite his impressive set of lungs for yelling, Gabriel has next to no clue about controlling his breathing under duress, meaning he spent half the jog verbally wheezing. Nathalie would assure him that he’d get better at it, but she just knew she’d receive a scowl and a remark about how people younger than him have already figured it out and an Agreste should know better, etcetera, etcetera.

They managed to sprint to the bench just in time for Gabriel to collapse against it, disturbing the squirrels lounging around on the backboard. Nathalie hoped that it wasn’t too cruel of her to stifle a giggle as she watched the man slide down to sit in the dirt, looking closer to death’s doorstep than he’d ever looked as Hawkmoth. This was the same man who could walk into a room and glare someone into submission if he wanted to.

She was merciful enough to only wait a few more seconds before slipping the water bottle out of her bag and holding it out for him. He muttered gratitude, snatching it from her and eagerly gulping through a good quarter of the bottle. Though, it would be more accurate to say gulping a good eighth of the bottle; the other half of that quarter missed the mouth and dripped down his chin.

Real classy, Agreste.

“You’d think we’d just trekked through a dessert,” Nathalie teased, sitting herself down on the bench.

He pouted but didn’t bite back. Numbly, he muttered, “What moron decided to put the sun there?”

“There’s a kwami for that, I’m sure, Sir,” she hummed, patting him on the shoulder.

“Probably Tikki,” he grumbled, “Another way that Ladybug has vexed me.”

He held the bottle up to her and she took a swig for herself.

“Maybe when you get the wish you can get rid of the sun too,” she paused, chewing over her words before continuing, “I’ve always liked the winter times; maybe we can make every day look like Christmas.”

Gabriel found it in himself to snort, “Then we’ll be real comic book villains.”

“I was thinking more Loony Toons. You know, the small alien guy who wants to destroy Earth because it’s obstructing his view of his favourite planet.”

“Are you calling me a Martian?” Gabriel leaned back in his seat, squinting his eyes at her.

Nathalie looked back at him, wielding a small smirk. She sighed, “Hm, I’ve had my suspicions…” She snapped her fingers, “That would explain your feud with Santa Claus.”

“Nathalie!” he hissed, “We’ve discussed this. Do not speak of the fat man in my house.”

She shrugged, “We’re not in your house.”

“…Damn it.” He growled, bringing a shaking fist to his chest, “Oh, just wait until next Christmas; we’re going to nail the bastard.”

Nathalie narrowed her eyes, “Are you going to akumatized Father Christmas?”

He scoffed, “Of course not! I would never give him the honour,” he crossed his arms, “I’ll go after one of the elves, or maybe Rudolph, a disgruntled worker to bring the whole Christmas regime down.”

“Your ambitions are truly vast, Sir.”

“Naturally,” he purred, sweeping his sweat-laced hair back. “Today, Ladybug. Tomorrow, the jolly one. Next year? Who knows, maybe I’ll take on God for the love of the sport.”

She knew he was making a jest, but it still gave her pause to hear him talking about being Hawkmoth after his presumed victory over Ladybug. Emilie was the reason for Hawkmoth’s existence, with her life restored, Hawkmoth’s would be taken. At least, that’s what Nathalie always assumed. However, standing here, thinking back on the shift in Gabriel and Adrien’s dynamic, she had to wonder just how attached Gabriel was becoming to the Hawkmoth mantle.

“Of course, I’ll have to start with expanding my powers,” Gabriel continued, drumming his heels against the grass. There was a giddy energy within him, barely restrained by the thoughts and theories racing through his mind.

He cocked his head back, shooting Nathalie that almost eager grin that never failed to catch her off guard. The one that almost resembled Hawkmoth’s but didn’t fit Gabriel’s unmasked face. He loved having an audience to explain himself to.

“Adrien’s own progress has been an inspiration, I can’t have the kids outstripping me just because I got lazy,” he rattled off his thoughts at a rushed pace, caught in a high. “See, I have this theory, and Noroo thinks it has merit, that the power of transmission can transmit more than just powers.”

More than that, Nathalie realized, he loved explaining Hawkmoth. Specifically, Hawkmoth. He was a born fashion designer, and he’d once had a fiery passion when discussing his ideas, but the corporate world had burned away that love for his creation. Hawkmoth was something unchained by the mundane rot of regular life. Hawkmoth was something stupid, something silly, that he didn’t have to care about legitimizing in anyone else’s eyes.

“I mean, functionally, I already transfer information to the akumatized villains. So, I think that, with enough practise, I can transfer and store information in… well, anything.”

Hawkmoth wasn’t a tragic necessity for Gabriel. No matter how much he’d talk of Hawkmoth as only a tool, it was something he loved. Just as Adrien loved being Chat Noir.

Nathalie squinted, her voice slightly confused, “You want to use a magic marker on people?”

“A magic magic marker,” he grumbled in response. “A mental magic marker, or…”

He clicked his fingers, trying to use the rhythm to bounce his thoughts to something solid. Suddenly, he reached for the water bottle, tapping it on the side. “Imagine I’m thinking of a number. I leave it on this bottle; and the moment you touch it, that number suddenly appears in your mind.”

Leaning back, his fingers returned to his forehead. “We could leave encoded messages only we can see, imprint backups of our memories in objects just in case the Guardian or any other magic tries to mess with our minds.”

“And you think this is possible?”

“Why not? The Guardians have magic surrounding the erasure of memories or sealing them away to preserve the order’s secrecy. I read about it in the translated tome,” he went on and on, “If memories can be manipulated like that, it has to also be possible to store them.”

“How’s you progress on that then?”

“Not enough,” he growled, pouting. “I just… have to figure it out.”

The evolution of Hawkmoth wasn’t just a means to an end; it was a point of pride for him. She could see his body shaking with every syllable, buzzing at the potential he could wield and show off to Ladybug and Volpina. It was a realization that should have been so simple, yet it gave Nathalie pause.

Should this be something she should worry about? In all their discussions surrounding the reign of Hawkmoth and Chat Noir, they never considered that the two becoming too attached to their masks would be a concern.

In the beginning it was obvious that the alter-egos would be a temporary measure, that when the wish was made the family would have no further need for the miraculous that had brought such ruin to their lives. They’d return them to the Guardian, Hawkmoth and Chat Noir would die, and they’d move on from those dreams.

She should intervene now then, remind them early on that this was going to be but a small speck in the tapestry of their lives. She couldn’t allow them to get too attached to something that would be ripped away from them in the future, something that could never last, for their sakes.

Of course, that was hypocritical of her, wasn’t it? She noted with a slight bitterness that she was going through the same motions, using Mayura as an escape, a persona that had long since lost the excuse of only existing to help the mission. Stealing jewels and robbing the rich and exotic did nothing to help bring Emilie back.

No, Mayura was her outlet for the dreams that would never be, where she could flirt with Gabriel, steal even a kiss from him in a twisted falsehood of romance that would be erased and forgotten the moment Gabriel’s true love was back in the picture. Mayura was just keeping Hawkmoth warm, keeping him sated, until she was no longer needed.

She should stop it. She should tell Gabriel the truth, or fake Mayura’s retirement; no matter what, she should break this off before they reached a point they’d both be ashamed of for years to come.

Knowing this, Nathalie would still indulge in this sad dance, and she’d probably still have the gall to act surprised when the inevitable end hits her.

He was peering up at her through a slightly furrowed brow when she pushed aside her thoughts, asking “What’s with that look?”

“Nothing,” she stumbled over her words a little, busying herself with another sip of her water before continuing, “it’s just that you’re not usually this animated.”

Of all emotions to cross his face in response to that, she did not expect it to be shame. The way he deflated, his eyes cast askew, suddenly nervous to even look at her, as if he were being scolded; it stabbed at her heart.

He sighed, “…Sorry, I lost control of myself.”

Momentarily, she was stunned by the response, mentally going over her own words to find anything that someone would take as her being judgemental, but she came up with nothing. She knew that Gabriel liked to keep his image detached, but she never thought it was so bad that being eager, without the shield of Hawkmoth’s mask, was something he felt was wrong.

“Why are you apologizing?” she asked softly, slowly reaching over to drape her hand over his arm. “It’s okay to be happy on the outside, not just the inside.”

“I feel silly,” he grumbled low, but made no effort to remove her hand.

“You can be silly, Sir,” she squeezed his arm tightly, urging him to look back at her. She leaned in closer than she professionally should, breathing deeply as if she were taking him in, as if her were like the fresh air to her. “I can’t speak for everybody, but I think you look a lot better when you allow yourself to be a little silly.”

Ever so gently, her eyes flickered over to his ruined hair, still looking immaculate to her even in its frazzled state. She mustered a small smile, one where she caught his eyes following the curve of her lips. “Or when you venture out of your comfort zone and let yourself look like a complete mess.”

“Well, I don’t… I don’t mind looking like a mess in front of you,” he muttered. For the briefest of seconds, he froze up at the wording sounding too affectionate, but Nathalie caught it all the same. “Uh, you know, because you’re an expert when it comes to messes.”

She liked seeing him happy. She was endeared when he eagerly went off on those tangents and kept looking at her hoping to see how impressed she was. She felt included when he’d update her constantly about his akuma activities because he didn’t want her to be left out just because she didn’t have a miraculous.

It was easy to simply tell him, “You’ll do it.”

“Hm?”

“You’ll crack the code on your little butterfly theory,” she continued with a voice so matter-of-fact. “Put all the other butterfly holders to shame.”

That smile reached his eyes this time, and she was sure it lit her up like a Christmas tree. “Aren’t I supposed to be the overly confident one here?”

Nathalie was on her feet before her brain could even catch up with her actions, a sudden surge of passion erupting and throwing her hands up.

“Gabriel, you’re the smartest man I know, even if you can simultaneously become the dumbest when your pride or social graces come into the equation,” she looked to the sky, reached towards it, knowing Gabriel Agreste could bring it down for her fingers to grasp if he so willed it. “You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

She didn’t look back just yet to see his reaction, trying to steel herself after her outburst.

“I…” she heard his breath hitch, “I didn’t know you had that much faith in me.”

Finally turning around, she found her eyes immediately locking into the faint red tinge flushed across his cheeks.

“Sir, respectfully, no amount of emotional baggage could have kept me by your side as you became a supervillain if I didn’t have the upmost faith in you.”

She lowered herself to meet his gaze, her hand coming out to press her fingers against the butterfly miraculous, where Nooroo’s essence hummed and surged to meet her touch. Softly, she concluded, “You’re Gabriel Agreste, and there’s no one else in history I’d place my bets on.”

He just stared at her in silence for a good long while, long enough to make her nervous that she exposed too much of herself. She was just about to blurt out an excuse for herself before he let out a long. Drawn out sigh.

“Great,” he hummed good naturedly, “now I have a daunting amount of pressure on my shoulders,”

Nathalie found it in herself to smirk, her shoulders relaxing. “Now you know how Adrien feels,” she teased.

Finally, he removed himself from the ground and slid into the bench beside her, snagging another gulp of the water bottle. “How is Adrien’s schoolwork coming along?” he asked.

“He’s still occupying the top spot in his classes.”

“Which means?”

Nathalie’s expression soured, staring down at Gabriel and his suspicious tone through a scowl. “He’s doing good, and that’s the end of it.”

It meant that there’d be no talk of Hawkmoth akumatizing Adrien’s teachers or getting involved.

“O-Of course,” Gabriel cleared his throat, trying not to shrink under Nathalie’s gaze.

When she was sure that he was sufficiently wary of interfering with Adrien’s education, she sat back down and continued. “Actually, on the subject,” she adjusted her glasses as she spoke, pulling out her phone to idly flick through Adrien’s schedule. “Adrien’s school has a small event coming up soon that he wants to participate in.”

It took a few flicks until she could find the flier that Adrien had texted her a picture of. “A friendly sports competition between the classes, raising money for charity.”

There came a groan from Gabriel, the man folding his arms in his lap and shooting her a particularly disgusted look. “Nathalie, you know how little I trust charity organisations.” He shook his head, continuing to grumble, “Almost all of them turn out to be scams where only 2% of your donations are actually going towards the cause.”

She responded with an unimpressed look, “And the Odette Foundation for Narcotic Support is what?”

Naturally, he had his response already in the chamber, “An organisation I founded and thus one I trust, obviously.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself; she should have known better. Still, Nathalie wouldn’t stop pushing, Adrien was excited when he told her about it, and may or may not have officially anointed her as the official ‘make father see reason’ ambassador.

“Come now, Sir, your son dominating the competition in the name of charity work would be amazing PR for the company,” she argued. “I can run a background check on the charity in question if you’d like.”

His cheeks shifted a little, as if he were literally chewing over the idea. He exclaimed, “But what if Adrien gets hurt?”

“Then he’ll have a story to tell about his legendary injury at parties,” Nathalie said with a shrug. She couldn’t imagine that he could suffer any injury compared to half the damage he took during akuma fights. “He’ll be fine, he can’t be in more danger than Chat Noir.”

“Chat Noir has magic protection,” Gabriel replied with a slight sneer, holding up his finger to point to his miraculous.

Nathalie pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a soft inhale. Stubborn ass. She went back in with a different approach, stroke his ego a little, make him sound like the hero. “Okay, how about this; we attend the competition and, if anything gets too dicey, I cover for you while you turn into Hawkmoth and save Adrien with an akuma.”

He didn’t object straight away, and she could see him silently considering it, but she needed to seal the deal. She leaned in close, trying to mimic Mayura’s charms with her fluttering eyes; abusing his infatuation with her alter ego as any good villain would do.

“Adrien’s really eager to compete with his classmates,” she told him softly, watching his face twitch trying to maintain his composure in the face of her more devilish expression. “He’ll be so happy about it.”

Gabriel practically threw his entire body trying to turn away from her, his faded blushing now kicked up to full on emergency lights flashing through his skin. He cleared his throat, “Urg, fine. Okay. But if anything happens to my boy, Hawkmoth’s paying that old fool Damocles a visit.”

---

Marinette did not wake up cold. She did not pat the side of her bed looking for Chat Noir’s warm, strong body. She was not disappointed when she found that he had taken his leave. And she most certainly didn’t stomp down stairs wondering when she could see him again. Stupid fleabag probably messed up her sleep schedule or something, because she only just realized half-way down that she’d slept half of her Saturday away.

That was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing wrong with cereal for lunch, after all. She repeated this to herself as she drudged across the apartment level of the building and slipped into the kitchen. Slight pause came when she observed that the kitchen seemed to be a bit of a mess, with her dad’s reserve ingredients being laid out haphazardly across the table. She shrugged it off, he must be getting one of those requests for his ‘special’ eclairs again; the sort where the recipe was top secret even from her.

Advancing upon the fridge, she found her rhythm in some random pop beat in her head, knowing none of the lyrics but getting by on just the instrumental. At the very least, she knew that there were moments where she could interrupt with a ‘yeah!’ or ‘alright!’. It carried her through the fridge, carried her through sorting through the regular milk and the semi-skimmed milk, and carried her through almost bumping into Adrien as she turned back to the table.

“Ooof, sorry, Mari,” he said sweetly, but hurriedly, slipping past her to rifle through the drawers. “Where do you keep the whisk? The third one, your Dad specified ‘the third good one’.”

Marinette rubbed her eyes, suppressing a yawn before replying, “Drawer near the window, it’s the one that has all the indents on it and a fading red logo.”

He shot her a thumbs up, shuffling over to the drawer. “Thanks, Mari,” he said, beaming at her. “You’re the best.”

She simple shrugged it off as she made her way over to the cereal. “Duh, I’m always the best.”

She held the cereal up to her eye, the light burning her vision this close to her waking up. She had to make sure it was the right one, otherwise her mother would kill her, because that woman-

Wait.

Wait…

Adrien… was…

The cereal was thrown skyward, raining coloured flakes over the kitchen to the tune of Marinette screaming, “ADRIEN!?”

Adrien reeled back, his eyes wide with panic and confusion, watching as Marinette stumbled back. Her mouth laid agape, communicating only by wordlessly thrusting her finger towards him.

He was here. Adrien was in her house. Adrien was in her kitchen! And she was sure that this wasn’t one of her Adrien dreams where they’re married and makes her breakfast in bed, because none of those dreams would include her parents being anywhere in hearing range.

This was an invasion, a plot, an illusion. Hawkmoth akumatized Adrien or somebody made to look like Adrien to sneak into her house and give her the mother of all heart attacks. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her pyjamas in that moment, she dropped down behind the table feeling like she was naked under Adrien’s worried gaze.

He slowly approached her, which to her registered as the enemy advancing upon her. “M-Marinette,” he called, “what’s wrong?!”

She wasn’t going to sit there helpless no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were. Marinette flew into action against whatever scheme was going on here, ripping a wooden spoon off the counter and launching it in ‘Adrien’s (if that is his real name) direction. Not wasting time for him to react, she flew from the kitchen to the living room, throwing herself over the sofa and dropping down to slam her back into her new piece of cover.

“You. Here. House. Mine? What?” she belted out, peering over the edge of the sofa to watch Adrien curiously stare down at the spoon that bounced harmlessly off his chest.

He learned the error of his ways this time and did not advance upon her position, merely picking the spoon up and dropping it in the sink. Then, he sat on the corner of the kitchen table, throwing his hands up to show that he was unarmed.

“You’re not making any sense here…” Adrien told her.

She threw her head back and laughed. She wouldn’t fall for this dull routine. Hawkmoth was obviously banking on her being too weak to fake Adrien’s charms to even function, and he’d be right to do so, but so long as she squinted and his form was just a blur of sexy pixles on the computer screen of her mind; his ploy wasn’t going to work.

“I’m not making any sense!? I’m the only one making sense here.” Pulling herself up onto the balls of her feet, she levelled an accusatory finger towards him, huffing, “W-What are you doing in my kitchen!?”

He squinted, slowly turning his head of his shoulder to check something, then shaking his head. “Getting your Dad’s whisk?” Adrien exclaimed, exasperated and a little slow. “We literally just discussed it.”

There was no time to shoot back the obvious flaw in his flawless, basic logic, as the door was kicked open backed by the sound a freight train ploughing through a wall. Her father emerged from the doorway, a rolling pin in one hand and a broom in the other. Her mother backed him with a kitchen knife… that Marinette really hoped was coated in jam.

Tom charged over to her, nearly knocking the sofa out of the way as his body darted about trying to spot the source of his daughter’s terror. “Sweetheart,” he cried, “we heard the scream, what happened!?”

It took a moment for her mouth to start working, struck silent by the sheer audacity at her parents not noticing the obvious intruder standing there with a sheepish perfect grin in the middle of their kitchen.

Eventually, she summoned the breath to aggressively point at Adrien. “T-This boy has broken into our house!” she barely breathed between words, throwing her arms around her father’s waist and belting muffled screams into his stomach. “We’re being burgled by another blond boy with a questionable parent; it’s an epidemic!”

Sabine shook her head, her body language immediately deflating; almost disappointed. “Marinette, sweetie, calm down.” She continued to sigh, patting Marinette on the shoulder, “We’re not being robbed.”

Tom, on the other hand, was cracking up, slapping Sabine on the back. “Heh, heh, I told you that she’d be surprised.”

After a minute of giving the matter some thought, and calming down her fight or flight reflexes, Marinette came to the conclusion that it sort of, maybe, a little bit, made sense that Adrien wasn’t here to rob them. Or that Hawkmoth would use Adrien to scare her

Okay, maybe she overreacted. But only a little! She’s allowed to be scared when caught by surprise, especially by pretty boys.

“Dad,” Marinette groaned, slumping into the sofa while Adrien carefully took the knife away from Sabine, “why is Adrien getting you cooking equipment?”

Tom scratched the back of his neck, gesturing Adrien to come over to him, where Tom proceeded to bring Marinette’s attention to the apron she hadn’t noticed Adrien wearing.

“You know how I was talking about putting out an ad for some help in the bakery?” He explained, clapping his hands together in a half-hearted drum beat before opening them wide to present Adrien. “Meet our new bakery assistant… in training.”

Marinette pouted, “And you didn’t think to tell me about this!?”

Her mother and father shared a look, then turned back.

Her father started, “Oh, we did think about it.”

Her mother finished with a teasing grin, “But we thought it’d be much funnier as a surprise.”

Marinette dug her nails into the sofa cushions, looking more like a cat getting ready to pounce as she hissed, “You two are evil!”

“Is there something wrong with me working here, Mari?”

She hated how much wistful sadness he managed to convey with that one sentence, his voice practically shaking. And part of her suspected that he was doing it on purpose when she turned around to find his cute kitten eyes practically bulging from their sockets to really play on the heart strings.

“W-Well… I mean… I just…”

There was everything wrong with him working here. Seeing him at school, seeing him on group outings, that was hard enough on her poor little heart; she could not take this much Agreste at her home. She couldn’t have Adrien prowling around her apartment, or God forbid get close to her bedroom. Gah, what if her parents told him about Chat Noir’s visits? What if next time he caught her in even dumber pyjamas? What if they told him about her crush? What if they started discussing grand hamsters with him!?

What if she saw him covered in flour and making dumb jokes with her dad?

No, no, this is a disaster. She couldn’t let Adrien work here. She’d implode.

All of her brain agreed that she needed to convince Adrien to give up this madness, or give him the impression that her dad was the worst boss ever. But as is the case with the fall of many heroes; her body was a damn traitor. And looking back at Adrien’s pleading stare, all her body could do was buckle and give in, dragging her mind along with it.

She cleared her throat, turning her head to the side. “I’m just really scared of you getting to know how embarrassing my parents are up close and personal, that’s all. Heh heh heh.”

The smile that he shot back was evil incarnate as far as she was concerned.

“Gosh, look at the time,” Sabine exclaimed, looking down at her watch. “How long have you been sleeping in, Dear?”

Marinette crossed her arms and pulled her knees up to her chest, slumping in the sofa. “It’s the weekend, I’m allowed to sleep in,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, but this is a little ridiculous…”

Before she could shoot back, Adrien came to her rescue, though suddenly she swore she could feel his eyes remaining on her. He sat down beside her, just an inch close enough to make her aware of his almost touch, and his smile wrapped into an almost cheshire cat grin.

“Hey, you can’t blame her. It looks to me like she had a really good sleep, doesn’t even have those bags under her eyes anymore,” he hummed, leaning in closer and lightly tapping her on the shoulder. “Must have been one fine pillow she was sleeping with.”

Suddenly, she felt the head rising in the room. With it, it wafted the smell of her shirt up to her nose, noting how it had a new, thick odour of mint and confusing cheese that Chat had left on her in their embrace. For a moment, it almost felt like Adrien could smell it too, like he could see just where Chat’s fingers pressed wrinkles into her shirt, where her nose rubbed raw on his chest.

She blushed, she stuttered, and she desperately hoped that Adrien was just being clueless as usual.

“Y-You could say that…”

---

The hours Adrien spent at the bakery truly tested the resolve of his secret identity. He’d thought it would be easy to separate Adrien and Chat Noir, that slipping out of Marinette’s bedroom only to return a few hours later as Adrien would be a simple matter, just the same as seeing Marinette and the rest of his friends at school and keeping Chat Noir stuffed in his ring.

He was wrong. Oh so wrong. Because Marinette made everything harder.

If he’d just bumped into her later in the day, if she hadn’t slept in long after Chat departed, it would have been smooth sailing. But catching her just as she woke up with a dreamy look and Chat’s presence still fresh in her mind? It was impossible not to be a cheeky little cat about it and tease her mercilessly.

Dropping passive puns and innuendos about a cat-related gentleman with a innocent grin on his face just to watch her splutter to explain away any lingering connection. Inserting Chat’s name or the idea of Marinette having a nightly visitor into random conversation, only to correct himself that he was saying something else completely and then ask the blushing Marinette what she thought he was saying. Joking about Marinette being defensive about her room like she was hiding somebody up there.

It was cathartic. In a way, he considered it karma for how she reduced him to jelly with that near blatant flirting at school. Or how she mercilessly teased him as Chat Noir the night prior. He could still remember her pulling him up by his collar while she called him kitty. Her kitty. Just thinking about it made him want to pump his fist into the air and do an embarrassing dance.

The sucky part was that he couldn’t even brag about it with anyone. Plagg didn’t count, that cat couldn’t enjoy good romance if it was dipped in cheese. His father would never accept him being ‘ungentlemanly’ towards a girl, Nathalie would just be awkward to talk with about it, and none of his friends could know that he was Chat Noir.

He was this close to having the most wonderful girl in the world admit that she liked him, and he couldn’t tell anyone about it.

It became even harder, he realized, when he met up with Nino later that day. At first, he was stoked because it was the first time ever that his father allowed anyone else to enter the house. Sure, his father basically implied that Nino’s body would never be found if he found anything so much as an inch out of place and G was on stand by for an emergency throw; but he let Nino through the front door.

However, as he and Nino sat down to talk about their day, it struck Adrien just how badly he wanted to tell Nino everything. Like every fifth word, Chat Noir scratched at Adrien’s lips, desperate to yell ‘I made Marinette blush!’, and Adrien had to fight to keep his mouth shut to such an intensity that Nino asked if he was constipated.

All in all, Adrien was pretty impressed with himself when an hour had passed and he was calmly sipping hot chocolate, giving his opinion on Nino’s latest musical project without exposing his father’s entire operation.

“Honestly,” he said, placing the mug down on the coffee table, “I don’t know why you’re so worried. This track rocks.”

Nino lips wobbled, gazing down at his phone crestfallen. He murmured, “But what if does suck and you don’t know because all you listen to is that fancy smancy classical stuff?”

Adrien raised his brow. “Then I’d wonder why you’re asking me for my opinion at all.”

“I’ve just been working on this for a while now, and I need it to be perfect,” Nino groaned, throwing his hands over his head and sinking his elbows into his knees.

“Perfection is overrated,” Adrien told him, shrugging. He paused for a moment to look Nino over, seeing the bunched up body language and weighted drag to his joints; something he’d seen tugging a Nino every since he returned to greet Nino in person. Was this all really over a music track? “Are you okay, man? You’ve looked really tense for a while now.”

Nino froze up, every joint of a boy Adrien knew as the definition of chill locked into place with hackles standing at full attention. Adrien gave Nino a moment to breathe, mulling over what he wanted to tell Adrien, and whether or not he even understood enough to tell Adrien. Eventually, Nino sighed and shuffled closer to Adrien, leaning in with a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder.

“Okay, Dude,” he whispered, “you know that thing I wanted to tell you earlier?”

Adrien glanced over his own shoulder before nodding along, quietly asking, “The super secret thing that you couldn’t tell Alya and Marinette?”

“The bro-only thing,” Nino slowly turned himself to press his hip to Adrien’s, their eyes covering all bases except each other, almost like they were criminals about to do a hand off in public. “I’m serious, man, this stays between us. If the girls got a whiff of this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

And by ‘girls’, Nino mostly meant Alya. Love the girl to bits, but Adrien knew that if you wanted something kept on the down low, you do not let the eager reporter get a whiff of the scoop because it will eventually reach a broadcast.

Adrien held up one hand, another closed into a fist and beating against his chest. “I solemnly swear as your bestest bro that my lips are sealed,” he swore.

Nino nodded solemnly, then took a deep breath. He looked like he was about to confess to a murder, staring down the man who’d report him to the police. He hesitated, fingers tapping against his knee, then looked over at Adrien.

“Okay, you know this whole Heartbreaker thing?”

Adrien nodded slowly. “Yeah?”

“Well, while I was under the spell, I got akumatized. And I was out of it, man. Like... the world’s worst headache, but also the relief from after the world’s worst headache, at the same time.”

“DJ Disaster, right?” Adrien winced. “Sounds like a… well, a disaster. Good thing Hawkmoth got you out of it when he did.”

“That’s the thing,” Nino said, leaning in. “Hawkmoth wasn’t the one that snapped me out of it.”

Adrien’s brows pulled together. “Then who did?”

Nino exhaled. “It was Chloe.”

Adrien sat up straighter. “Chloe was there? Why?”

“Beats me,” Nino said, throwing his hands up. “All I know is she came in like a bat out of hell, jumped on my spaceship, and made me crash!”

“…Chloe did all that?” Adrien echoed. “The same girl who uses any excuse she can to get out of running laps because anything past a stylish saunter makes her stinky and sweaty?”

“I know, right? It’s so weird, but that isn’t even the weirdest part.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “What, was she wearing non-branded clothes too?”

“No, no, listen, listen…” Nino leaned in, his voice dropping low. “This is gonna sound crazy, but just before we crashed—”

“Nino?”

“Well… it’s hard to say…”

Adrien gave him a steady look. “I’m here for you, bro. No matter what.”

Nino took a breath. “She kissed me.”

Adrien blinked. “Okay, you were right. That is crazy.”

“She really did! And that’s what broke Heartbreaker’s spell,” Nino said, voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “Chloe saved my ass, man.”

Adrien regarded Nino with a serious expression of consideration. Brows furrowed, lips locked, eyes narrowed, fingers stroking away; the perfect image of a mind at work. It was almost intense as he stared at Nino from across their hot chocolates, making Nino nervous that the elder Agreste was going to barge in any moment and throw him out.

“…are you sure, Nino?” Adrien breathed out the question on shaky air, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair.

Nino nodded vigorously, “I’m sure.”

“So,” Adrien fixed his finger to his chin, hardly able to believe it, “Chloe has magic kisses?”

Nino clapped his hands together, “That’s what I thought!”

No wonder Nino was so tense, that sounded like the grand central station of awkwardness. Adrien’s double-identity dance with Marinette was a bit dodgy, but it made sense, it was still good. Getting a weird, brainwash breaking kiss from the local bully who’d rather die than come into contact with the poor people? That was so many levels of ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“Damn, that had to be awkward on the ride back,” Adrien whistled, leaning back. “Was she vomiting in the police car?”

Eye narrowed in offence, followed by Nino’s high-pitched whine, “Hey, my kisses can’t be that bad.”

Gently, Adrien patted Nino on the shoulder. With his free hand he grasped Nino by the nose, like any bro would, and turned that face away from him. “Dude, no offence, but your breath can get real bad sometimes,” Adrien admitted softly. “If Chloe has magic kisses, you have the kiss of death.”

That sent Nino spluttering with anger that had no good argument to rage against Adrien’s statement. Instead, Nino scrambled to the side of the sofa, huffing and puffing as he pulled his limbs inward on himself. “Well, for your information, no; she did not vomit in the car,” he said.

And then his anger faded, replaced with something more nervous, more hesitant. He added quietly, “In fact, I’d say she looked kind of pleased with herself.”

Adrien was stuck blinking away the confusion for a minute. The words were weird on his ears, the sudden bashfulness left a bad taste in his mouth. It almost sounded like Nino was saying… No. No, that wouldn’t make any sense.

“What are you getting at, Nino?”

“Chloé’s been acting strange for a while now,” Nino began, fidgeting with the string on his hoodie. “We’ve all seen it and joked about it.”

Adrien nodded slowly.

“I’ve just been thinking that maybe she…” Nino hesitated, then braced himself. “You know.”

Adrien blinked. “She’s having trouble at school?”

“No.”

“She’s shaken up by Bustier getting targeted by Heartbreaker?”

“Adrien!”

“What?” Adrien held up his hands, trying not to grin.

“I think Chloé likes me.”

There was a pause.

“…Nino.”

“I’m serious! Look, it all adds up!”

“Nino.”

“She’s only been acting like this around me.”

“Nino!”

“And when we were at the club, we had this moment, and I swear she was kind of flirting with me—”

“Nino!”

“What?” Nino threw his arms out. “It could happen!”

Adrien let out a long breath, sitting forward with a look of practiced care. And he had to. Nino was clearly caught up in something delicate, and that meant that Adrien had to be delicate in his approach. He didn’t want to insult Nino, or make Nino feel bad, but… Nino had to know how delusional this sounded, right?

Chloe hated Nino. She barely tolerated him under the prospect of making Nino’s week as her servant a living hell. Nino ruined her plans just by being patient and sucking all the fun out of it, and he deserved major respect for that. But Chloe developing feelings because of it? Either Nino was delusional, or all this time with Chloe calling him king gave him a giant ego.

“Dude,” Adrien said gently, “I respect you way too much to give you the runaround… I think you’re looking too deeply into this.”

Nino deflated instantly, slouching back against the couch like Adrien had just physically popped his balloon of hope. “But—”

The resident Chloe expert tries to let Nino down gently, carefully pushing his hands together and bringing them to his lips. “Chloe’s taste in guys starts with owning a castle, you’re a little out of her budget.”

Chloe wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a dress out of season, she’d never be able to survive the ‘embarrassment’ of being attracted to someone below her station no matter how cool Nino was. Again, that wasn’t a knock against Nino; Adrien was sure everyone in their group would say that Nino’s too good for Chloe, that was simply just how shallow Chloe was. That was all Chloe would ever talk about when it came to boys growing up.

Nino shifted in his seat, almost looking uncomfortable. Was he this invested in the idea of getting someone like Chloe to look twice?

“Her tastes could change… for the right guy.”

Adrien snorted, “Trust me, some things never change. And Chloe’s love for the good life and the status symbols is one of those things.”

“I guess you’d know.”

Nino’s voice dropped to a low, melancholy rattle, following the rest of his body in trying to merge into the corner of the sofa. He was really taking this hard, though Adrien couldn’t guess why. He sort of got Nino being interested in the idea as some sort of prestige, in the confidence boost of making even the worst person he knew turn their head; but that was nothing the get down about. Nino should be reacting to this the same way he reacted to Adrien calling out his breath.

Was Nino worried that Adrien thought less of him? Maybe Adrien had been thoughtless in explaining his reasoning. He never meant to make Nino think he wasn’t dating material. Nino had to know that Adrien would never diss him like that; so what could it-

Adrien froze, stuck on the familiar emotion that escaped Nino’s gaze. One that Adrien knew flooded himself when trying and failing to win Marinette over as Chat.

Was Nino really… No way.

“Nino, are you saying you like Chloe?”

Nino looked like he wanted to disappear. His mouth opened. Closed. Then he groaned and shoved a pillow over his face. “I don’t know? Maybe?”

He slowly peeled the pillow away from his face, revealing a frustrated scowl and a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’m confused. Like, really confused. I knew when I liked Alya, even if I was too chicken to confess, but I don’t get this.”

Nino exhaled hard, fingers dragging down his face, speaking in a strangled groan, “Chloe’s always been a bombshell, nobody could deny that; she puts a hell of a lot of work into looking good, but I never felt like this towards her until the kiss.”

He got that lost look in his eye again, and Adrien already knew that boy was replaying that moment in his head over and over again. “It’s like I just got a switch in my brain that got flipped, and suddenly she looks… I dunno, like someone upped the brightness filter.”

Adrien stayed quiet for a long moment, studying his best friend. It was hard to see Nino of all people rattled. Adrien could see it in the way he kept picking at his sleeves, trying to pull himself out of his own thoughts.

“Maybe that’s it,” Adrien said finally, gentle but direct. “You’re down about Alya, feeling lonely… and you got attached to the first girl who kissed you. Even if it was just to save you.”

It suddenly dawned on him why Nino would be nervous about the Marinette side of the equation. Chloe liking him would be one thing, but Nino liking Chloe, the girl who bullied both of them? It would probably feel like a betrayal to Marinette. Adrien’s reaction was surprise and support, maybe even Alya’s reaction would be mostly teasing, but Marinette’s would probably have some bite to it.

“Or he just has delayed repression.”

Both Nino and Adrien experienced a split second of looking to one another to retort, only to realize that none of them had a voice that old, dragging their gazes to just behind the sofa where Gabriel Agreste’s form towered over them, wrapped in the shadows

There was nothing else they could do but jump, reeling back from the sudden intrusion that evaded their watchful gazes.

“Gah! Father!?” Adrien cried.

“Mr. A!?” Nino spluttered, gripping the edge of the sofa for dear life. “When did you get here?”

There was no hesitation, Adrien threw himself in the way of Nino, his father a grenade and Nino his fellow soldier. He stared up at his father, meeting the cold gaze with his soldering indignation.

“Were you eaves dropping?” he hissed.

There was a flicker of dry irritation on Gabriel’s face, barely a muscle moved, but it was there; a twitch in his brow, a slight sigh in his nose. And then he spoke with all the enthusiasm of a man asked to do literally anything involving human emotion.

“Not intentionally,” Gabriel grumbled, rolling his eyes and dismissively waving his hand at them as he moved about the room. “I was searching for some important papers; I left them lying around here somewhere.”

Gabriel proceeded to ignore them and began sifting through a stack of sketchbooks near the far table.

Nino swallowed and cleared his throat. “Uh… Mr. Agreste?”

Gabriel paused mid-paper shuffle, lifting an unimpressed brow without looking over. “Yes?”

“What… what did you mean by ‘delayed repression’?”

There was a beat of silence. Adrien almost thought Gabriel wouldn’t answer, or that his father would dismiss the petty query as teenager nonsense Nino should be growing past. Then Gabriel straightened slowly, folding his arms into the lecturer pose Adrien had seen all too many times.

“Sometimes we convince ourselves so completely that something is impossible that our minds repress the feelings related to that supposed impossibility,” he began, voice cool and clinical, “Thus, when the sentiment is unravelled and you start to suspect, maybe even hope, that said possibility could be reality; all those locked away desires come flooding out.”

There was a long, breathless pause.

“So…” Nino said slowly, brow furrowed as he pointed at himself, “what you’re saying is that I already convinced myself that Chloe would never like a guy like me and so I buried having the hots for her to spare myself the heart break?”

Nino’s face brightened up, his arms uncoiling and his legs loosening up to kick themselves up on the coffee table. He let loose a deep, shaky breath, giving him room to breathe in this new air, this new information. “And now that she’s acting weird, I suddenly think I have a chance and let myself feel my crush again!”

Adrien, who had been entirely silent up until now, trying to reconcile the fact that his emotionally constipated father had just out-therapied him and Nino in a single monologue, finally broke.

“Huh.” Adrien scratched his head. “That kind of makes sense.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, “Why do you say it like this is a surprise?”

“Father, no offence,” Adrien said, holding his hands up defensively, “but you’ve never liked talking about emotional stuff.”

Gabriel opened his mouth, but paused upon finding that he had no adequate counter.

“…Be that as it may,” he cleared his throat. “This is a matter I have experience in. After all, your mother and I’s relationship started out on quite an antagonistic foundation. I was used to cruel pranks and such from her social circle. Took me a while to believe that she was genuinely interested in me and to stop behaving like an ape towards her.”

First, his father dropped unsolicited advice on Nino, the friend Gabriel liked the least. Then, he freely offered Adrien a tidbit about his long buried past with Adrien’s mother.

Maybe King Pigeon did get to Chat after all, and this was all the result of some major brain trauma.

“Wow, thanks, Mr. Agreste,” Nino said, sitting up a little straighter. “This actually helps me a lot!”

He beamed, totally sincere, and added brightly, “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re a heartless psycho with women trapped in your basement.”

Gabriel froze mid-step. Adrien, who had just taken a sip of his hot chocolate, did a full spit-take. For a moment, they had to collectively remind themselves that Nino had no idea about what they truly kept in their basement.

“…Mr. Lahiffe,” Gabriel said slowly, turning his full, frosty gaze back onto Nino. Immediately the air felt dangerous.

“Uh, yeah?” Nino blinked, already regretting everything.

“Remind me…” Gabriel's voice dropped an octave, silk-wrapped steel. “Would you describe your feet as decoration?”

Nino glanced down, confused. “No?”

Gabriel took a step closer. “Are they mugs to store liquids?”

“Uh… no, sir?”

“Are they mats upon which such things could be placed?”

“No, sir!”

“Then would you mind telling me,” Gabriel hissed, voice rising ever so slightly as he produced a cane from behind his back, a cane he brought down on Nino’s leg with a vengeance, “why they are currently dirtying my priceless, mahogany coffee table!?”

Nino yelped, tumbling off the sofa desperately gripping the struck leg, and rolling straight into G’s feet. Gabriel snapped his fingers, pointing down at Nino and then to the front door,

“Placide. Kindly take out the trash.”

G did not need to be told twice, hoisting the boy up over his broad shoulders, taking Nino to the entrance way.

“I’ll see you at school, Bro! Thanks agaaaaaaaain-”

The doors opened, G took Nino into his arms, and Nino’s farewell was interrupted by G launching the boy out of the manor and through the front gate. With that done, G dusted off his hands, turned back to Gabriel to nod and then vanished into the rest of the house.

Adrien watched this all unfold with only mild surprise. He glanced up at his father, uncertain. “Throwing him out aside, it was nice of you to help Nino out.”

Gabriel was naturally quick to stomp out any notion of him intentionally doing something good, shaking his head. “Bah, I just wanted to intercede before he buried his dirty face into my cushions to sob. I don’t care about his pitiful love story.”

“Love story?” Adrien scoffed, “Father, I’m an optimist, but Chloe would never go for a guy like Nino,”

And then Gabriel had the gall to look at Adrien like he was the weird one.

“It surprised how little imagination you have sometimes, Son,” Gabriel hummed. “After all, no one thought your mother would care for me either.”

Adrien sighed, finding himself watching the entrance where Nino was just ejected from, imagining Nino making his merry way down the street, fuelled by new vigour from Gabriel’s words. “I just don’t want Nino to get hurt. Chloe can be real nasty when she wants to.”

Gabriel shrugged, “I don’t see the issue; if he gets hurt, we can just akumatized him and let him get his revenge.”

Only to be immediately met with Adrien’s scowl that perfectly mimicked his own. “Father, what did me and Nathalie say about akumatizing my friends?”

“…It’d be for a good cause,” Gabriel grumbled, looking away from Adrien. “Anyway, how was your first day at your ‘real’ job.”

“Oh, it was amazing! Mr. Dupain Cheng taught me all about baking,” Adrien beamed, the earlier awkwardness gone in a flash. “He even let me try kneading dough. I mean, I got flour everywhere, and my baguette came out kind of like a fossil, but he said I had good instincts!”

Gabriel stared.

“I won’t be able to make anything good yet,” Adrien admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But I’m gonna get there real soon.”

There was a pause. Gabriel’s expression didn’t change, still stone cold and regal, but his voice was gentler when he replied. “That sounds marvellous, Son.”

Adrien blinked. “Wait… did you just say something nice about me working with non-company people without adding an insult after? You don’t want to sneer about baking being below me or something?”

Gabriel cleared his throat and adjusted his cuffs. “I complimented the concept of progress. Don’t make it weird.”

Adrien snorted. “Right. Of course. Heaven forbid we ruin your reputation for being emotionally stunted.”

Gabriel gave him a sidelong glare but said nothing. It was the kind of silence that might have included a smile if Gabriel had access to the relevant facial muscles.

After a beat, Adrien softened. “Thanks, though. For the ‘marvellous,’ I mean.”

Gabriel nodded once. Then, almost as an afterthought: “Just don’t poison the clientele with raw dough. You have your mother’s eyes. I’d prefer not to see them printed on a health violation notice.”

Adrien laughed. “I’ll do my best, chef.”

---

It was only after adjusting the painting for the twentieth time that Lila concluded that she may be acting a little nervous. Enough so that Trixx was shooting her that pitiful and confused look that only served to piss Lila off. She did not need her kwami looking down on her, not right now.

“You’re getting stiff sitting like that, Doll,” he hummed, floating over Lila’s shoulder. “You’re not in front of a camera, ya know.”

“Not yet,” Lila replied with ice in her voice, glancing over to where the laptop was set on the table across from her, stuck on a white window with ‘No current calls’ written in the middle.

Before her was a canvas ravaged by colours; which was a fancy way of saying that there were desperate, spiralling slashes of paint staining it, vaguely resembling the shape of a woman. At this stage in the process there was no detail to be found, no face, no accessories, no wrinkles, no telltale signs of character; just a mannequin sitting in a rainbow salon, waiting to be given life.

“Art is pain, Trixx,” she explained, her voice dull and her eyes refusing to leave the painting. “You need to take whatever shape you need to in order to give it colour. Dump whatever bucket of paint you want on a canvas, it will still look black and white if you don’t have a little life to make it shine.”

Trixx didn’t look convinced, moving in front of her to squint at the painting, “All I see is stress.” He turned to her, pawing softly at her nose, “You should get some rest instead of getting your big beautiful brain in a mix thinking about whatever.”

“That’s not how life works,” Lila snapped, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t just choose not to think about the things that stress you out.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna talk to me about it?”

“I have nothing to talk about,” she growled. “If I did, I’d talk about it. Do you think that I’m an idiot?”

“No, I don’t.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“Doesn’t change my answer.”

Lila opened her mouth to bark out something against Trixx being a smart ass, but the words were swallowed by the urgent chime from her laptop. Feverishly, Lila kicked off from the painting, shuffling the wheel-bound chair over to the desk. For the last time, she quickly went over her appearance in the mirror, smoothing out her hair, doing up her lip gloss, patting down her modest blazer.

All for the moment she clicked the ‘accept call’ button and a woman popped up on her screen.

It was an older woman, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the wonders expensive skin cream had done for her plump cheeks and puffed-up brown hair tightened into a youthful bun. She was settled into a large desk, flanked by a wine glass and stacks of paper, backed by three strips of glass that almost took up the entire wall to let sunlight bore down on her.

“Lila! How are you?” the woman greeted curtly, folding her hands over her lap like she was still in a meeting with her peers.

This was Clarissa Bervona; she is one of Lila’s possible mothers. Probably one of the more prominent connections as a legitimate political figure, an Italian ambassador who had very good reason to avoid a scandal and hide the potential proof that she had a one night affair with some drunk criminal who tore up Italy as his death bed celebration.

This meant that, from a grim sort of perspective, she was the potential mother that had the most reason to stay in contact with Lila. Most of them were one and done sort of deals, just a pay off for her to be quiet and a message to never contact them again; but Clarissa had to keep tabs on Lila to make sure she wasn’t bringing any bad attention to her delicate position.

Lila knew this, and yet… a part of her ignored it.

“Mother! Almost thought you wouldn’t call; I was about to fall asleep,” Lila lightly giggled, trying to make it out as some small little joke or whatever for the sake of small talk. Clarissa did not smile or laugh along with her.

“Oh, sorry dear, but you know my work; top priority!” the woman said bluntly, her eyes narrowing to betray the softness of her voice. “A representative from Germany was assassinated today by some Russian pest right in front of me; which absolutely ruined my night.”

She didn’t say it like she was traumatised or horrified by such a brutal scene, merely inconvenienced by the matter. Lila guessed that it made sense; politics was always a bloodbath when you get down to it. That must have been what the mountain of paperwork was about.

“That’s terrible,” Lila hummed in agreement. It wasn’t like she was much better, the news that some pencil pusher from the land of sausages and yodelling bit the bullet barely registered in her mind. She was only pretending to be the model hero, after all.

Clarissa leaned back, pulling a cigarette free from her coat and fitting it between her lips. She swung her hand forward. “But enough about me, what about you? What do you want, dear? You already received your allowance last month.”

Lila pulled her hands up, soft and defensive. Honestly, in her mind she didn’t know why she bothered with the ‘sickly sweet’ act with Clarissa, who didn’t care one way or another if her supposed daughter was behaved so long as she was quiet about it. Maybe it just made her feel that little bit similar to Clarissa, putting on the same act she did.

“No, Mom, I’m not that greedy,” she said. “At least, not today. Can’t a girl just want to say hi to their mom?”

That managed to get a laugh out of the woman. “You are so funny, Lils. I know how you kids are, you want something.”

“Well, if you really want to know…”

The moment of truth arrived on a delay. It was easy to think about the words, but hard to get her lips to open and breathe life into them. That sensation of air stuck at the base of her throat pushed her to turn away from the camera, eyes darting around the room, looking for anything to bolster her confidence.

Her eyes found Trixx, her mind found Volpina, and with a shaky breath, she could do this,

“You’re busy, so I don’t expect you to have remembered; but my birthday’s coming up soon.”

Every year it was the same. The day of her birth, which was only backed by a dodgy certificate with smudged ink, came to ahead; and with it came a sense of unease. It was suppose to be a celebration of the day she was brought into this world, but all too easily it became a crushing reminder of how uncertain that day was. That despite how far she had come, that painting, that faceless mannequin with no identity, was still the perfect representation of her.

“And you want an amazing present, right?” her mother’s bubbly voice broke through the dreariness with a haughty laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Lila shook her head, annoyed at the feeling of her cheeks burning bright red. “N-No, it’s not that.”

Clarissa pressed a finger to her chin, taking a long drag of her cigarette. Her sigh came out strained, pushing back something underneath to make room for that chipper tone, “Don’t tell me you’re feeling old already? You have at least ten more years before you start worrying about thirty being the end.”

In moments like this, if Lila let herself get suckered in, if she closed off the part of her that schemed and lied, she could almost believe that Clarissa was being genuine with her. She could tell herself that Clarissa’s bubbly cadence was 100% honest, that it wasn’t the same mask that Lila herself used to convince people that she cared, that none of this was just a curtesy, another game being played.

The greatest illusion of all was convincing herself that her own illusions were real.

Lila stared into her lap, desperate to avoid Clarissa’s eyes where the truth would be revealed in that dull stare. She fiddled with her fingers, trying not to think about how pathetic she looked, how easily she was allowing such stupid things to affect her.

“I was just sort of wondering if there was any chance you’d want to come and visit me,” she continued, breathlessly. “I-I heard you’re flying in to Paris for that week anyway, so I thought it’d be the perfect time.”

The words burned her throat on the way out. Her inner Volpina was by her side, snarling with disgust at the despicable display. This is what had been throwing Lila off her game all week? This had been worth getting worked up over? She was supposed to be more than such petty little things, soaring high above them because she was too great to need anything other than the adoration of her fans.

At this point, Lila didn’t dare look to Trixx, chastising herself for letting him see her like this when she could have told him to spend the meeting under the bed. Stupid, stupid girl didn’t think through how this would make her look as a holder. Appearances were everything, and now her kwami was getting a look at her ugliness; the kind that mattered to her.

There was a sharp inhale as Clarissa tried to continue with that false sympathy, letting out a little hiss like she was physically wounded. “Oh. Wow. Kiddo, I’d love to.” Her lips came apart in a choked out growl, tapping her knuckles against her forehead, “Buuuuut gah, work! It’s terrible, I can’t even get a moment to myself. Let alone time to go out.”

She hated this yearly reminder, because it always ripped away her image and made her look like some dumb little girl again. She was sat in her chair, rubbing her arm awkwardly, trying not to express too much disappointment, like there was something to care about. They’d been through this day. This conversation, so many times already; and yet she still deluded herself enough to ask.

“I mean, you don’t have to be here physically. We could have, like, a dinner over our laptops.” She leaned back, murmuring, “Just thought it’d be nice to spend some time together.”

Clarissa clicked her tongue, another exaggerated groan following. “That sounds amazing, I know, but… it’s just not in the cards, girl.”

“Are you sure you can’t-”

And just like that, Clarissa’s patience cracked, the cheery faced ripped away to set Lila straight in that brief moment.

“Why don’t you ask any of the other mothers you’re scamming?”

She still used that sickly sweet tone, only now the performance was laid on thick, a mockery to drive the point home. It shouldn’t have registered as an attack, if anyone else had said it Lila would have been coy about it and laughed, but today Lila seemingly decided this was a sore spot and flinched.

Truthfully, she had asked some of the others who actually answered her calls. First one had bombarded the call with technical issues the moment the request came, the next one swore that she was getting her cat dissected every day for the next few months; even the deaf one suddenly found herself unable to understand ‘French’ sign language.

You’d think with a big roster of women pretending to be your mom that, statically at least, one would agree to a simple visit for your birthday. Or maybe, you’d only think that if somewhere deep under lies you tell others, there’s a delusional hope that, despite the con you’ve been running for years, that something resembling a loving connection had been forged.

Lila couldn’t expose that wound, not now, not ever, not in front of Trixx, so she instead let herself focus on the attack against her pride.

“…Scam feels like underselling it,” she grumbled. Scam was small-time, this was a long running operation that kept her set for life. The only reason that it wasn’t supervillain tier was because it didn’t involve poisoning the city’s water supply or whatever.

Clarissa's gaze had already wandered elsewhere, flicking through a file of reports just out of view from the webcam, Lila’s presence background noise to her real work. The cigarette dangled limply from her lips, ashes falling onto some government memo.

“Oh. Alright. That’s fine,” Lila murmured, doing her best impression of a shrug even as something twisted in her chest.

“You don’t want an old bag like me around anyway, not when you’re partying hard with all those friends you’ve made in Paris.”

Friends. A mocking edge was pushed with that emphasis, knowing full well that Lila Rossi had no real friends, just like she had no real mother. It was all just a scam, a façade to look like she was living a more fulfilling life than she was.

Volpina had Ladybug, maybe even Alya, and in some twisted way those other miraculous jerks; but Volpina wasn’t real. Volpina was another role, a mascot, a marketing stunt. Nothing she had was real, not for Lila.

Lila smiled, small and practiced. “You’re right, you’d just crowd us…”

“Exactly!” Clarissa clapped once, a hollow pop of finality. “The last thing a girl wants at their party is their mom embarrassing them. I’m so glad you understand, Sweetie. I’ve got to go now, but I love you sooooo much. Kisses!”

The call ended before Lila could say anything back.

Her monitor went dark, leaving her face faintly reflected in the black screen — empty, flat. Trixx was still curled at her shoulder, tail gently swaying, watching her with quiet sympathy.

Lila didn’t cry. She just stared. Then exhaled, slow and mechanical. Calmly, she removed herself from the seat and strode across the room to return to the painting. She plucked the discarded pain brush and, without much thought, moved to slash at the canvas with the brush.

Steady, aggressive, stabbing motions nearly saw her fist go through the canvas; instead she tore the mannequin apart with red pain, creating cracks and fissures that took the smooth surface away and revealed the brutal, tangled mess underneath.

It ended with the paint brush dropping unceremoniously from her fingers. She rocked on the back of her heel for a moment, listless as she scanned the painting, now spoiled and ruined by splatters of her controlled tantrum. Then, wordlessly, she stumbled over to the bed. She didn’t wash her hands, she didn’t change her clothes, she just let herself fall into her pillows, desperately trying to breathe in their calming scent.

It was the most pathetic state to be in, to be pained by the obvious result of your actions like you were sincerely surprised. Her entire relationship with these women was a con where she practically extorted them under an implied threat of making trouble with her very existence, of hurting their reputation; and she was somehow hurt that this didn’t make any of them want to see her as an actual daughter.

“Lila?”

She didn’t reply straight away, knowing that if she did her pain would leak into her voice and she’d look even more like a loser. Her body slowly shuffled along, stirring to tur onto her side and look up towards her kwami hovering over her.

“I’m trying to sleep, Trixx.”

“That’s the problem, I can’t sleep.” Trixx spoke dully, making an overdramatic sigh that saw him putting his paw to his head and whining, “I’m very sad about something, and I don’t want to be alone.”

With forced little sniffles, he approached her, dropping from the air to bounce on the mattress with played up painful moans with every bounce. He eventually ended up rolling over to meet her nose, mirroring her own pose.

“So, can I sleep with you tonight?”

Lila barely stopped herself from sniffling herself.

Clever little bastard.

Instead, she forced out a sigh and made the arduous journey of picking Trick up and bringing him close to her chest. Honestly, his fur, so soft and welcoming, paired with his presence, so warmth and gentle, came together to be superior to the quilt underneath her.

“…Fine.”

---

The cold wasn’t kind on Dutch’s skin. It was a bad memory clawing at his mind, taking him back to the night the big boss took the tumble and Dutch’s promotion to criminal royalty along with it. He preferred the weather scorching, where all the evidence of the past could be burned away by the sun, and all the red on his life could be explained by the heat.

Of course, in either situation, he still had to deal with his brother’s nagging voice over the phone.

“Lou, you know the sound of your voice is honey on my ears,” he drew out the sarcasm as thick as he could, “But I actually have a life, you know. Can’t just drop everything and come running to your call.”

He stood at the corner of an abandoned street, the crumbling ruins of a bar at his back, caught off-guard by his brother’s call in the midst of waiting. It was a dangerous place to be at night, with every shadow hiding a potential thug looking to change their luck with whatever was in Dutch’s pocket. He kept his gaze switching to either end of the street, and couldn’t escape the whispers of danger on thew ind.

All in all, he was not in the mood for Lou’s whining.

“Don’t give me lip now, this is important!” Lou growled through the phone, rough enough to make Dutch pull it away from his ear and grimace.

Dutch framed a smile over gritted teeth, asking, “Did you lose your teddy bear again?”

Something got punted off of Lou’s desk to stop the man from screaming ragged at Dutch’s jab. It was almost amusing enough to offset Dutch’s mood, anybody who got his brother up and steamed had his gratitude, but also his spite for making it his problem.

Calming down only slightly, Lou snarled, “Lost a lot more than that; the Velenci got mugged in broad daylight.”

Dutch froze; eyes narrowed at the receiver. “What do you mean?”

“The bank,” Lou heaved, “our bank, it got hit up by some punks in King masks,”

Ah, the bank. The story had been in the papers, a small article squeezed into the page just after the naked women; bank robberies were just so mundane now that Paris faced miraculous threats. However, Dutch hadn’t realized which specific bank had been hit. That piece of information unleashed a wild mix of emotions

First, there was bile rising in Dutch’s throat in the face of Lou’s incompetence. Incompetence that Dutch wouldn’t have repeated if he’d been made the big boss instead. Such disrespect couldn’t be tolerated. “You let some nobodies pilfer from the Velecni’s personal fortune!?” he roared.

And then, of course, came the laughter to drown out the professional rage. His brother had been humiliated by some has-bins in tacky masks and put Lou in hot water; if this went well enough, that big boss spot might be open soon enough.

“Oh. Oh hoho, you are so dead.” There was a series of tuts loose on his tongue as he paced about the spot, idly running his fingers along the side of the aged wooden support beams of the bar. He hummed, “Pops’ word ain’t gonna mean anything when the other bosses find out all their money was lost on your watch.”

The good boys, both old and new, were loyal to the Velenci head; but they were loyal to their wallets more. And if they caught wind of getting screwed over because the boss couldn’t defend his own vault, they tended to get a little rebellious; and bloodthirsty.

“Hey! It wasn’t all the money,” Lou hissed, though Dutch revelled in the desperate edge to his voice. “We put down all of the robbers, all except one bastard who got away with a hefty chunk.”

“Your boys really dropped the ball.”

“The little rat got lucky, that’s all!” A few loud muffled bangs, presumably from Lou hitting his own desk repeatedly, before he continued, “One of my guys would have had him dead to rights if Ladybug and her freakshows didn’t stampede through ‘em.”

Once again, those miraculous idiots had stumbled into disrupting the criminal underworld’s finely laid out structure. It was funny that once that Dutch’s fellow criminal minds had been confident that Ladybug and Hawkmoth were an unintentional boon for the common hoodlum. After all, if everyone’s attention was on these miraculous threats to the city, then who was left to pay attention to the moves of the comparatively small time crooks?

Now, even without possessing even a crumb of knowledge about what was going down behind the closed doors and back alleys of this city, the war between Ladybug and Hawkmoth have consistently gotten in their way. It only strengthened Dutch’s resolve that getting involved with the Demons, people who had the means to deal with these little problems, who kept appraised of Ladybug and co’s activities, had been the right move.

These miraculous menaces would clear the board, and that staging ground would be where the reign of Dutch begins.

In the mean time, Dutch would have to tolerate his inferior brother, and play errand boy for the Mastermind. He placed his hand over his chest, wielding a mockingly sweet voice, “As much as my heart goes out to you, Bro; I have this niggling question in my head.” He pretended to gasp, “What does this have to do with me?”

He heard Lou gulp over the line, suddenly realizing that that Dutch was gonna need some serious convincing to care about his plight.

“The guy’s name is… uh…” Paper was shuffled, breaths were cut short. “Harry or something. Spindly dude, dumb face, giant pompadour,” Lou continued to ramble. When Dutch didn’t repoly immediately, Lou let out a short gasp of breath, the phone loudly clattering in his grip. “You’re free to take half of what he stole if he happens to wonder around your turf.”

That was a major haul, even if the Mastermind was paying Dutch well enough.

“Huh,” Dutch said thoughtfully, tapping his chin, “I’m surprised you were perceptive enough to realize he’d probably hide out near the Freedom Fighters.”

If you were on the run from the Velenci, it was obvious that the hiding spot with good enough protection would be their enemies, their enemies that have been advertised as the lovable, protective band of rebels out to keep the streets clean.

“Come on, Dutch. I’m begging yah here,” Lou moaned. “This is more than just me, you know. If word gets out that a little shit like this can get away with disrespecting us, the Velenci’s rep is toast.”

In the long term, there was a benefit to just letting things play out. Dutch wanted Lou out of the picture, and allowing Lou’s mistakes to bury the man would clear the way to the forsaken throne without Dutch risking himself being labelled a traitor. However, it wasn’t so clean cut. As much as it pained Dutch to admit, having Lou on the throne kept things in order. The moment Lou was gone, then the other crime bosses would be first in line to fight for his spot, a chaotic storm of powerplays that would be in Dutch’s way.

While Loue was still in power, Dutch had room to breathe and time to scheme. If he was going to become the new boss, he wanted it to be in a way that left as little drama to clean up as possible. That meant he needed to be patient, and keep Lou alive, for now.

“Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

His attention was ripped from the call with Darcy tapping him on the shoulder, pointing to the digital clock on her phone.

“Dutch, it’s time,” she said between fighting off a yawn.

“Oooo, is that Darcy?” Lou squealed, his entire tone changing to a lighter, eager note that made Dutch roll his eyes. “Tell her I said ‘hey’, would ya?”

“Trust me, Lou,” Dutch scoffed, “As childish as you are; you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

The phone was off before a reply could be made and Dutch mentally readied himself before making the turn around the corner. He found Darcy by the bar’s entrance, pacing back and forth whilst vigorously rubbing her arms in competition with the harsh winds. He’d told her to bring a thicker coat, but she insisted that her body couldn’t function with so many heavy layers on top. Personally, he thought it was because any piece of clothing that tugged on her shoulders made her feel fat.

“Where is he?” she cried out, missing her late-night coffee doing nothing to offset her mood. “Mastermind said the guy would be here by now.”

Dutch rolled his eyes, catching her by the arm as she passed by him and holding her in place. “Have some patience, Darce,” he grumbled. “How many people arrive on the dot?”

She was indignant, ripping her arm out of his grip and glaring up at him while her other hand busied itself combing through her wild mane. “Hey, you drag me into some creepy old bug bar in the middle of the night, you better be on time.”

Darcy huffed and crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she paced. “You know, for someone who acts like they’ve got it all figured out, you’re really bad at logistics.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow. “I got you here on time, didn’t I?”

Darcy opened her mouth to fire back but was cut off by Dutch raising a hand and turning his head slightly, something tugging at the edge of his attention. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his chin up toward the sky.

“…What now?” Darcy asked, half-exasperated.

“Shut up for a second.”

She blinked at his tone—low, unfamiliar, laced with something close to confusion. Then she followed his gaze skyward.

Dutch stared hard into the moonlight, his jaw slackening slightly. A twinkle – no, not a star, too fast, too focused – crossed his vision. It shimmered with silver glints, trailing streaks of energy. As it neared, it grew in size. Its outline sharpened from vague gleam to mechanical silhouette.

“What the hell…?”

It moved like a bird of prey cutting through the night sky. No engine roar, no exhaust smoke. Just a low electric hum and the soft hiss of wind displaced by speed. The glow beneath it pulsed in rhythm with every subtle shift of movement.

Darcy shielded her eyes. “Is that… a motorcycle?”

Dutch squinted harder. The hovering machine dipped, twisting slightly in mid-air as though scanning the ground. It was sleek and angular, with a matte black finish broken only by streaks of pulsing blue light tracing its contours. Two thrusters on the underside flared briefly as it slowed, beginning a slow descent right toward them.

The hover-bike came to a stop a few meters above the cracked concrete, suspended in a lazy float. Then it tilted downward, nose lowering, until the rider was visible. He struck a lanky figure, his arms looking far too even, too long compared to the rest of his body.

A long dark coat was laid over a black and blue collard shirt, all leading up to a head of sharpened edges. Pale face, lips you could tell were dry as a desert even from a distance, beady eyes hidden behind tiny blue-lensed goggles and red hair slicked back with a V-shaped fringe; almost looking like it led up to devil horns that never materialized.

Every movement, from stepping off the bike, to approaching them with a thick case hanging by his side, was wrong. They were consistent, too consistent for a human, the way he walked with perfect synchronicity with that blank, expressionless face, was almost robotic.

When he came to stand in front of them, he spoke, and his voice was caught between the monotone drone of a machine, and a breathless whisper.

“The wonders of science are so vast that to the average man, even the most simple feats are like acts of God,” he said, both figuratively and literally looking down on them and their stunned faces.

Darcy frowned, scratching her head. “I don’t get it.”

“The nice man just called us idiots,” Dutch explained with another eye roll, lighting smacking Darcy on the shoulder to make her shape up. With her standing straighter, Dutch crossed the distance, holding out his hand with a smooth grin. “Cool ride there, Slick. When do I get me one of those?”

He tried to peer passed the man to the bike, but the man’s arm came up to block his path.

“Ah, careful now,” he somehow murmured without being quiet, “greed can be oh-so poisonous.”

Then his arm came down, revealing something new behind it. Something that buzzed and screamed with a  series of electrical beeps. It hovered in the air, a large spherical shape that had been cut in two and hollowed out around a central core of wires and tubes. The upper side was fitted with an indent that opened up into one shining blue light in place of an eye; an eye that seemed to stare right through Dutch.

“Gah!” Darcy cried out in horror at the strange drone, stumbling back and falling straight on her ass. “Keep that thing away from me!”

“Mhm…” The man groaned, inclining his head ever so slightly towards the drone. It beeped at him with a slow, lost cadence. Eventually, he nodded. “Yes, Mother, you’re right. I’m envious too. They get to play with an even better toy. Maybe if they displease the Master, I’ll be allowed to take it from their corpses.”

The only acknowledgement he gave to Darcy’s reaction was a small glance spared to her fallen form before he turned on his heel, pushing passed Dutch without a second look. The drone’s eye changed to an angry red hue, the beeps coming out as distorted, bit-crunched screams.

Once more, the man paused, as if listening to the drone, and then gestured towards the bar entrance. “Father doesn’t want you to get wet; it’s going to rain soon. The inside is a superior meeting point.”

He didn’t wait for a reply to his dulled, almost sleepy tone. He just pushed his way into the bar, the creepy drone following him closely. The moment he was out of sight, Dutch felt Darcy’s hands snag his shirt, desperately clinging to him, pulling him down to look into her fearful, flushed face.

“Dutch, what the hell have you gotten us into?” she hissed, yanking on his shirt for good measure. “This wacko thinks a floating testicle is his parents!”

The guy walked and talked like he’d gotten his mind stuck in slow motion, no argument there, but Dutch knew that there were more things to be afraid of than a weirdo. Like a weirdo who was angry with them for not going along with the Mastermind’s plans. The way forward was clear, and even without the threat to his life, Dutch wasn’t gonna curb his ambitions just because things got dicey.

So, he yanked Darcy fully to her feet, took a firm hold of her shoulders and shook some sense into her.

“We live in weird times, Darcy.” He pulled her close, until her eyes could make out his gritted teeth as if they were fangs, “We either face ‘em or get trampled under ‘em, and I don’t intend to be roadkill.”

The inside was about what they would expect, a series of dusty and broken chairs strewn across a cobweb infested foundation of rotted wood. Ahead of them, where the drone released air down on the bar to disperse the dust, the man set down the thick metal case with his back to them.

“Father tells me that I’ve been terribly rude and not even introduced myself,” he groaned, his tone somehow both amused and bored.  “My sincere apologies. You may call me, Baudelaire.”

Dutch cleared his throat, once again trying for a handshake. “I’d like to get straight to the point, Slick.”

Baudelaire still didn’t turn to face them, only getting as far as glancing up at the drone, the red eye still glaring down at him.

“How unfortunate, Father.” Baudelaire shook his head. “The poor man’s ears are so defective that they can’t distinguish between ‘Baudelaire’ and ‘Slick’.”

Dutch gritted his teeth and pushed on, noting to himself that he was going to make it a point to not call this weirdo by his name. He considered it the closest he could get to a power move in this situation. “Why are we here and what’s with the funky looking case?”

“The Master has graciously decided to make use of you, of course,” Baudelaire hummed, twisting his torso back to make a show of raising his hand; gesturing to an invisible audience. “An exciting plot, a mad invention, and a shot at the big butterfly man himself.”

The only lighting in the bar was the moonlight streaking through the boarded up windows, leaving Baudelaire’s face shrouded in darkness. All that could be made out was the blue hue of his goggles piercing the darkness with their glow. And, of course, the drill-like implement he removed from his coat, brandishing a long, thick needle that Dutch couldn’t help but imagine going through his skull.

His voice dropped to a whisper, and his lips twitched, almost attempting a smile. “All we need is a guinea pig.”

Dutch tried to back away, a sudden flight-or-fight response surging in response to the gaze he felt boring into him. When he heard guinea pig, all he could picture was Heartbreaker, and her heartless corpse being found headfirst in a puddle. Unfortunately, he only found himself able to make a few inches before he backed into Darcy, who’d instantly scrambled to hide behind him to escape Baudelaire’s gaze.

Baudelaire’s head tilted to the side, the drone dropping down beside him, now fading back into the calm blue.

“Look mother, the pigs are scared of going under the butcher’s knife,” he drew his hand back, tapping his chin and making with the idle chatter. “Don’t worry, you get to stay on the farm; today’s meat is being imported from Russia.”

“Then would you kindly stop aiming that needle at me?” Dutch growled.

Baudelaire’s eyes lazily turned down towards the drill, a flicker of amusement passing over him. He shook his head. “Ah, I see the confusion, silly me.” He gestured to the case, tapping a strangely shaped hole over the point where both sides of the case met. “This is merely a key for the case. Regular locks bore me.”

He left the ‘key’ on the case’s dexter side, moving out of the way and allowing Dutch and Darcy to creep closer to it. It was ominous as all hell, but also had that alluring mystery of a kid finding a present under the Christmas tree. What was in the box? And what made it better than a hover-bike?

However, just as Dutch’s fingers grazed the lock, Baudelaire decided to speak up again as an afterthought.

“The Master advises against opening it early, the prototype inside is best left… contained.”

“Shit, it’s radioactive, isn’t it?!” Darcy moaned, jumping behind the bar and crouching low, as if a couple of inches of rotting wood would protect her from radiation. She continued in a whispered choked out by his cries, “We’re carrying like a mini-nuke or something, I just know it.”

Baudelaire snapped his fingers, nodding to the drone. “A wonderful idea, Mother will note it down.”

He let them marinate in their tepid fears for a moment longer. Despite his lack of emoting, Dutch could tell the bastard was enjoying every second of this; man was at the zoo, and the everyday joes of society were his apes throwing dung at each other.

“The prototype deals with unstable energies, without the case dampening it’s output, it could fall apart so easily,” he told them, wagging his finger. “The Master would be displeased if you broke our hard work before the big day tomorrow.”

“I get it, it’s a one-time use situation,” Dutch summarized, already tired of this dude’s attitude problem. “What do we do?”

“You wait until I say the magic word, then you push the big red button.” Baudelaire leaned closer, adding, “And if you’re lucky, the energy field doesn’t scramble your brain matter into paste.”

He closed his finger into his hand and then pressed that hand to his chest. “Isn’t that fun?”

“I do like big red buttons…” Darcy murmured, peering over the bar.

Dutch groaned, “Darcy, not now.”

“A message with all the juicy details should reach your phone soon enough,” Baudelaire continued.

Dutch crossed his arms. “This feels like a conversation that could have been had over the phone.”

Baudelaire tilted his head in a slow, jerky motion like a malfunctioning animatronic. “Ah, but it has been so long since I’ve had the chance to leave the sanctity of the lab,” he droned, dragging his fingers across the dusty countertops. “I do adore this violent, dirty world you live in.”

He let out a slow exhale, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh before his fingers waggled in a mock wave over his shoulder.

“Run along now, little pigs,” he coo’d. “Quickly, or the big bad wolf might come for your straw houses.”

Unsettled, Dutch slipped the case off the table and stuffed the key in his pocket. With Darcy, they retreated from the bar and back towards the entrance.

“Creepy bastard,” Darcy muttered as they left.

The drone pulsed red again, briefly, almost like a wink, watching their exit intently. Baudelaire didn’t reply immediately, just nodding along softly, almost as if he were nodding off.

“You’re absolutely right, Father,” he admitted thoughtfully, reaching up to pat the drone on the head. “They would look perfect on my dissection table.”

Notes:

Nathalie stopped mid-sentence, catching a glimpse of Gabriel over her tablet. Immeditaely, she set the tablet down in her lap and fized the back of Gabriel's head with a stern gaze.

"Gabriel," she uttered his name like a mother catching her child shop lifting, and Gabriel stood at attention as such.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding so innocent as he turned around and-

Nope. She wasn't crazy. It was there. She saw it. The abomination hanging from his lip.

"Sir," she tried to keep herself from falling apart cringing from it all, steadily holding herself together, "Why are you wearing a fake moustache?"

Gabriel had the gall to look at her like she was asking an incerdibly stupid question, all while stroking the tufts of artifical hair clinging to his upper lip. After concluding that she, somehow, wasn't joking about such an obvious and plain as day answer staring her in the face, he simply replied, "It's a disguise."

Chapter 56: Turtle Calamity: School Spirit

Summary:

Gabriel is faced with the most arduous task ever laid before him; socializing.

The problem with relatives is how often they felt like they could drop by unannounced. Uncle Larry, on the other hand, was never a surprise. Not because he sent notice in advance, but because you could smell jars-worth of his funky hair gel from a mile away. And when he was crashing on your dad’s sofa for a few days, it wasn’t long before your house smelled like a glue factory.

In other words, it was making it really hard for Alix to eat her damn Miraculous Lucky Charms (legally distinct from Lucky Charms) without her tastebuds imagining something rank was getting pushed on her tongue. It didn’t help that Larry was currently getting lost in his own reflection in his hand mirror while his free hand fondled the inappropriately shaped hair piece.

Alix shivered, biting down hard on her spoon just to keep the bile from barfing up her breakfast as she briefly imagined Larry trying to kiss his own reflection. Her parents would swear that her uncle came out of the womb carrying a comb, he was utterly obsessed with his hair to the point she was sure that his heart could burst out of his chest and he’d still be checking that none of the blood got in his hair.

“You know,” she mused, kicking back in a revolving kitchen seat that was taller than her, “I feel like you’d be rich if you ditched that rocket hair.”

“Ditch the due?!” Larry screeched, clutching the mirror to his chest and falling back against the support of the sink. “This ain’t just a fashion statement, kiddo; it’s a lifestyle.”

“And that lifestyle is ruining my morning,” she groaned, pinching her nose shut.

He, hesitantly, snapped his mirror shut and replaced it with a fresh mug of coffee before sliding across the counter towards her. Alix wasn’t a coffee drinker, tasted and looked like mud to her, but she sure as hell would take the aroma of coffee over the stench of hair gel.

“Ah, but it’s waking you up, isn’t it?” He came to a stop right next to her, his head resting awkwardly on a cupboard’s door handle and his legs dangling over the kitchen floor. He gestured to her smarmily with the mug and took a sip, only to hiss in pain as the heat and rip it away.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, “Can’t have you going all zombie for your big game today.”

Alix rolled her eyes. It wasn’t a ‘big’ game. It was just some friendly competition to make some starving whosits over in wherever get a mountain dew well or something. Sure, she’d totally be obliterating everyone in her way ‘cus she was just that awesome, but it wasn’t a serious game with stakes.

Besides, as she looked down at the half-shell bracelet snugly braced over her wrist, she knew that knocking around some balls with her friends was gonna be little league compared to what she and Kim were gonna get up to afterwards. Yeah, the little not-genie – Wayzz or something – had been on silent mode since they broke his magic lamp, but she knew he was still there. She’d catch him hovering around her sometimes, zipping out of sight the moment her gaze shifted towards him.

It was agonizing to wait all this time before testing out the miracle whatever; they got the transformation phrase sorted out and all, but they swore they’d try it out together when they had time and that doing it on their own for the first time would be a major dick move. She couldn’t count how many times she’d been so tempted to try going for a round of turtle magic between classes and family dinners.

She didn’t know how any of this would turn out, all she knew was that it was gonna be awesome; and she was gonna be even more awesome.

Turning her attention back to Larry she made a disgusted face, accompanied by gagging noises, “I’d rather you just dump an ice bucket on me.”

That got a nostalgic chuckle from Larry, tipping his head back with a wistful sigh. “Heh, I used to pull that one on your mom all the time when I was your age.”

Alix cocked her head to the side. “How’d that turn out for you?”

Larry’s shoulder sunk, bringing a fist up to his lips to cover his sheepish flinch. His voice went quiet, “Well, maybe she got a little rowdy about it…”

In turn, Alix sniggered, reaching up to flick the tip of his nose. “Ah, that’s how you got that crooked nose.”

“Hey!” He exclaimed, sinking into a childish pout. “It’s not crooked, it’s just… polite.”

She returned to her sugary, but not too sugary, cereal fighting a grin. Her smirk lingered for a moment before slipping away, her gaze falling to the bowl in front of her. The milk had gone cloudy, the marshmallows sagging into lumpy pastel islands. She stirred them lazily with her spoon, the clinking against the ceramic suddenly too loud in the quiet.

“…Have you heard from Mom lately?”

Larry froze mid-step on his way out of the kitchen. “Oh! Well… Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, his mug tilting in his hand. “N-No? I mean, not much! I caught her a month back, but she didn’t stay long enough for a good sit down.”

He gave a laugh that was too quick, too light. “Y-You know your old lady, kiddo. A wild mare taking the world by storm, that one! Ain’t no one who can tie her down.”

Alix didn’t look up, but she could hear the way he tried to turn it into a compliment – hear the little wobble in his voice when he added, “You two got the same spirit, ya know?”

The spoon stilled in her hand. She let out a small breath through her nose. “Geez, thanks.”

Detecting that not enough cheer had been restored, Larry fell over himself rushing back to Alix’s side, his coffee laying forgotten by the table. He clapped his hands together, crouching down to Alix’s level with a nervous grin.

“Believe me, if she could drop by for a visit, she would,” he assured her, his face growing beat red and his voice slipping into spluttering, rushed excused. “But she has some business in Morocco, and then her and that friend of hers, Gina Bianchi I think, are biking around America, and-”

Alix grabbed hold of his nose and lightly shoved him away with a groan, masking her frown with nonchalant annoyance. “Okay, okay; I was asking if she was still alive, not her summer schedule. Geez.”

Suddenly, she became very interested in scarfing down her food and getting out of this inexplicitly grey house as quickly as possible. It had the fortunate side effect of hiding her face as she buried it in the bowel, even if it splashed her face with sticky milk and left a mess around the bowl. When she emerged from it she still kept her face low, her disappointment drowned out.

It wasn’t like this was a surprise at all. Her mother spent half of Alix’s life off on trips across the globe, living life to the fullest, pushing herself to the limit – a bad bitch doesn’t let herself get tied down. The few times she crashed at home, she had amazing stories to tell that, for a few hours, made it easy to forget that she was only there until the call to adventure beckoned her.

And Alix was okay with that. She always admired her mother and her lively escapades, it made her cool, and Alix even cooler to brag about to her classmates. It didn’t mean that Alix didn’t wa- It didn’t mean anything. Alix was fine with it.

“Dad will probably be bummed though,” she murmured, turning her head away. “H-He takes all of this too seriously.”

That, Alix was less cool with. She wasn’t a history obsessive, but she loved her dad, and she didn’t like seeing him upset. Jalil too. And even if her mom was awesome, he was allowed to be heartbroken that he wasn’t going to get to see how awesome she was in person more often.

Larry pulled her from her thoughts by reaching down, raking his fingers through her locks and ruffling her hair while she groaned as slapped at his arm.

“I know I’m not the best consolation prize, but you guys still go Uncle Larry here,” Larry chuckled as she batted his arm away, the sound just a bit softer than his usual booming laugh. “And I’m in the mood for a fancy family dinner, all of us, my treat. We can go right after you cream all those losers on the pitch.”

Alix shot him a half-hearted glare, wiping at her hair. “You might have to reschedule that, nothing’s gonna get dad and Jalil to put down the magnifying glasses now that they got that new exhibit at the Louve.”

“Oh.” Larry’s shoulders dropped, an uneven discomfort tugging on his twisted smile. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s fine, we’ll find a better day…”

For a few beats, the kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and Alix’s determined chewing. Larry hovered near the doorway, pretending to check his phone but sneaking glances at her the whole time. She didn’t meet his eyes, and he didn’t push it.

Once more, she glanced at her bracelet, at all the ultra-cool shenanigans pacing back and forth in her mind, rearing to go. Once more, she thought of all the fun she and Kim could have. Once more, she wondered what could be more important than extreme, super powered fun.

She was totally ready to just get up and walk out, but her stupid feelings wouldn’t stop giving her the ice treatment until she did the right thing.

“I mean, you can still treat me,” she suggested offhandedly, looking away with a light blush to her cheeks.

“Really?” Larry lit up, almost jumping for joy, but catching himself just as his knees went down. He offered a sheepish smile, trying and failing to adopt a softer face. “Uh, that’s fine by me, obviously.”

He went in for a hug, but Alix expertly dodged the attack, her bowl hoisted under her arms before she deposited it in the sink. Hugging was for wimps and losers and… and… girly girls who powder their noses or something. Alix was too hardcore for that junk.

“What joint were you thinking?” she asked as she plunged the dish into the boiling hot water.

“Trés Bien,” Larry told her proudly.

Alix’s eyes narrowed, “Sounds expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that, Larry’s got it covered,” he said with a smug little tap of his chest.

Alix raised a brow. “Where’s all this cash coming from?”

Larry looked pleased with himself. Too pleased with himself. “I’ve just had a little windfall, that’s all.”

Yeah, like Larry would ever get that lucky.

“Who’d yah scam it off of?” she asked, blowing past the accusation just to get to the truth.

“It wasn’t a scam!” he exclaimed. “It was a job.”

She gave him a long, flat look. “…You have a job now?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s in… banking.”

She stared at him blankly.

“And I got to meet Ladybug?”

---

In Nathalie’s humble, and mostly right, opinion; Gabriel was taking the word ‘inconspicuous’ a little too far. She understood him not wanting to draw attention to himself at the event, he was never one for crowds or public interaction – and as far as the company knew he was still in his office working hard on those designs he finished days ago. It was just that some of the lengths he was going to were ridiculous.

A certain rich blond might call it a ridiculousness of the utter kind.

They did not need to rent a pick-up truck in leu of Gabriel’s normal car. They did not need to park a ten-minute walk away from the event. They did not need to keep their heads low. And why in gods name did she need to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap in doors? Who was going to recognise her!? Honestly, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that Gabriel was just looking for an excuse to goof off. He certainly looked like a kid who just entered Narnia when he clambered aboard the truck.

Eventually, they ended up shuffling into Dupont, taking point by a side gate whilst gazing into the bustling crowd around the entrance. The charity event was being set up in courtyard, and featured a lot of volunteers huffing and puffing their way through the crowd to grab extra equipment.

While Gabriel busied himself with something Nathalie couldn’t see whilst his back was turned, Nathalie brought up her tablet, going over the charity schedule one more time. The event was pretty simple, a sequence of activities that each classmate has signed up for, both as teams and individuals. Adrien had put himself up for fencing and dodgeball, which had made Gabriel almost yelp at imagining Adrien getting pummelled with rubber balls. Whichever class has the most wins by the end gets to brag about it.

An extra special treat was that, following the kids’ competition, there would be a series of demonstrations with adult professionals. Though Nathalie doubted that Gabriel was at all interested in people who weren’t Adrien pulling off professional stunts.

“I assume we’ll be heading out once the juvenile portion of the event is wrapped up, Sir.” she asked.

“You’re so eager to leave, Nathalie?” he murmured, letting out grunts of effort, fingers fiddling with something on his face.

What in the world was he doing?

“I’m eager to get you back to work before anyone realizes that you’re playing hookie,” she grumbled, swiping down the digital clock on her tablet. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell the company that you were taking the day off and already finished your work. You do know that you’re allowed to do that, right?”

“I didn’t want to draw any attention and make a big deal of it.”

“You’re being ridiculous, S-”

Nathalie stopped mid-sentence, catching a glimpse of Gabriel over her tablet. Immediately, she set the tablet down in her lap and fixed the back of Gabriel's head with a stern gaze.

"Gabriel," she uttered his name like a mother catching her child shop lifting, and Gabriel stood at attention as such.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding so innocent as he turned around and-

Nope. She wasn't crazy. It was there. She saw it. The abomination hanging from his lip.

"Sir," she tried to keep herself from falling apart cringing from it all, steadily holding herself together, "Why are you wearing a fake moustache?"

Gabriel had the gall to look at her like she was asking an incredibly stupid question, all while stroking the tufts of artificial hair clinging to his upper lip. After concluding that she, somehow, wasn't joking about such an obvious and plain as day answer staring her in the face, he simply replied, "It's a disguise."

Nathalie squinted at him, her arms crossed. She braced herself with a sigh.

"Alright," she said slowly, "I have to ask. Do you honestly think no one will recognize you just because you’ve stuck… what even is that? Cat hair? To your upper lip?"

Gabriel gave her a look of indignation, huffing as he… fondled the fake facial hair. "Of course not," he barked, moving his finger to circle around his face. "No one will recognize me because the moustache will be all they look at. It’s foolproof."

She opened her mouth to explain, in detail, how catastrophically dumb that logic was – how it was the kind of thing that got people caught in cartoons – but before she could get a word out, a voice cut through the street noise.

"Excuse me!" A woman was rushing up to them, clutching a shopping bag. "I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you-"

She got close enough to see his face. Her smile faltered. Her entire expression dropped into awkward apology. "Oh… never mind. For a second there, I thought you might’ve been Gabriel Agreste, but you’re just some guy with a moustache."

She gave an embarrassed laugh, muttered something about needing to get back to her errands, and scurried away. Gabriel stood a little taller, smugness radiating off him almost as thick as his cologne. Nathalie could feel her blood pressure spike.

"Foolproof," he said, giving off the satisfied pop of his lips that suggested the taste of victory was fresh on his tongue.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "This. Proves. Nothing."

“It’s okay to admit you made a misjudgement,” Gabriel pulled his arms behind his back, cracking his back as an excuse to lean over to her. “I won’t rub it in.”

“How kind of you.”

“I have my moments.”

Nathalie clicked her tongue, tapping her finger against her chin. “You know, now that I think about it, that moustache looks and awful lot like Colt’s.”

“W-What!?” Gabriel’s voice hit a squeaky pitch as he stood up straight. “It’s nothing like that unrefined bush!”

“I’m just saying,” Nathalie continued wistfully, turning her head as a frustrated growl bubbled in Gabriel’s throat. “I’m sure he’d have been so proud to know you finally got some facial hair after all his urging; even if it’s fake.”

What was it Colt used to say? That Gabriel had a face like a hairless cat? That he needed something to balance out that old man’s widows peak?

Gabriel crossed his arms, kept his head low and grumbled, “Let’s just go already…” Before snatching up Nathalie’s hand and tugging her along to the entrance.

They carried on inside, Gabriel striding with that purposeful gait that screamed “important man on a mission,” though the teacher manning the entrance seemed utterly unimpressed. The woman gave him a flat look over the top of her clipboard.

“And you are…?” she asked.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I’m here to watch the competition.”

“Yes, but which student are you related to?”

“Well, technically-”

The teacher cut him off with a prim smile. “I’m afraid early admittance is reserved for immediate family, guardians, and invited guests.” Her tone had that edge of polite authority teachers cultivated for back-talking children and pushy parents alike.

Gabriel’s eye twitched. “I assure you, I am-”

Before he could get truly irate, a booming voice cut through the crowd. “Gabe! Nat!”

They both turned just in time to see Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng practically bulldozing their way across the hall, smiling like they’d just spotted long-lost relatives. Horrified at the mere concept of socializing, Gabriel stiffened and tried to avert his gaze.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” he said, lowering his voice into what he must have thought was a convincing growl. “I’m… Gerald. Gerald… uh… Baguette.”

Tom slowed just enough to squint at him. “Huh. Really? Sorry there, I thought you looked like my good friend Gabe.”

It was hard not to laugh at the infuriated scowl of offence that took over Gabriel’s face. Nathalie could practically hear him thinking ‘I did not consent to being anyone’s ‘good friend’!’.

“Oh no, it’s him,” Nathalie cut in with bright, treacherous cheer. “Disguise and all.”

Gabriel shot her a look of pure betrayal. “Traitor!” he hissed under his breath.

He didn’t get a chance to plot revenge – Tom had already scooped him into a bear hug from which there was no escape. He was going to be made to socialize with his fellow parents no matter how much he kicked and screamed.

“Ha! Good one, the moustache completely fooled me,” Tom laughed, practically spinning him around. “C’mon! You have no idea how many of the other parents have been itching to meet you!”

And before Gabriel could dig in his heels, Tom was already dragging him through the entrance like a prized showpiece, chattering excitedly about introductions, while Nathalie followed at a safe distance, smirking behind her hand.

“I’m sure Adrien will be so happy that you two could make it,” Sabine hummed, clapping her hands together.

“I know I am,” Nathalie said right back.

---

Alya had to wonder what mad man decided Marinette needed a megaphone. That girl was already ¼ foghorn on a normal day, she did not need any amplification when she was squealing over Adrien. Alya was all for supporting her best friend’s ship, but she never thought she’d need to sacrifice her ear drums for the cause.

“Aren’t you excited, Alya?” Marinette bounded over to her from the judge’s table, skidding to a halt just beside her. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pumped with school spirit.”

“This is the fifth time you’ve said that,” Akya huffed, reaching up to catch Marinette by the shoulder before she zipped off again. “If I keep listening to you, I’m gonna be filling up on spirits alright; the alcoholic kind.”

“Harsh,” Marinette pouted. “I thought at least my best friend would be ready to support me.”

Alya held up her hand. “Hey, I’m the commentator; I can’t play favourites.”

“I can’t believe they made you one of the commentators. Has none of the teachers heard how you talk online?”

“What can I say? Me and Alix’s expert work with you and Hawkmoth’s ‘Whatever Ball’ game was inspiring.”

Marinette groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

Alya threw her arm around Marinette’s shoulders, pulling the girl into a sway as she adopted a cheeky look. “Are you still holding a grudge about the rematch with Hawky and Chat?” she asked teasingly, drilling one finger into Marinette’s cheek.

Naturally, after Chat Noir had come out of his grounding, Hawkmoth akumatized the same guy once more, declared the last ‘Whatever Ball’ game a sham, and demanded a rematch. Still sponsored by Popsi, though this time they had to include a whole opening ceremony with the miraculous menaces all downing the latest flavours.

The finger was caught between Marinette’s knuckles, squeezing in sync with the flare of irritation in her eyes. “You called me a, and I quote, ‘cheating pokadotted rat’. Right into the mic,” she grumbled in a harsh whisper. “That hurt, Alys.”

“Hey, I was just speaking the truth.” Alya shook her head, patting Marinette on the back. “Chat Noir had you dead to rights and you flagrantly disregarded the rules to get the upper hand, I can’t believe the ref let that fly.”

“You do realize that if they won that match, they’d get my miraculous, right?”

“Maybe Hawkmoth would have wished for a hero who didn’t cheat at sports games.”

With a pout, Marinette shoved a giggling Alya back. “Why am I getting the third degree, anyway? Volpina was playing even more dirty than me!”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

Alya would have remembered that; she was watching Volpina the entire game after all. Very closely. For several legitimate journalistic reasons, she kept her eyes locked on the fox-themed trickster for a solid forty-five minutes. Studying Volpina’s tactics, anticipating her plays, making sure she wasn’t pulling any illegal moves without the crowd noticing, appreciating her athletic form.

And throughout that thorough observation, Alya didn’t once catch her cheating. After all, Volpina didn’t need to cheat, or lie; Alya was a human lie detector, and she could say for certain that those hips don’t lie.

“Boo. I call favouritism!” Marinette roared, throwing out her arm to vigorously point at Alya. “I’m your best friend; I should get ignorance benefits over my other best friend!”

Her arms came back to wrap around her, hissing, “Or does she get a pass just because she hits on you?”

Alya gasped, bringing her hands over her heart. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I ain’t calling you a truther.”

Alya snorted, holding her hands over her mouth to cover up the laughter. She had a sneaking suspicion that word didn’t mean what Marinette thought it meant.

“You’re not calling me a conspiracy theorist?”

Marinette spluttered for a moment before ripping herself away from the conversation and spinning on her heel, sending Alya some serious side-eye from over her shoulder. “I’m a superhero, I’m allowed to make up words and their meanings,” she grumbled. “For example, the new word for ‘betrayal’ is Alya.”

Alya didn’t let up, bending over to lean in closer with that big fat grin on her face. “What’s your word for ‘loudmouth’? ‘cus my ears are starting to ache.”

Immediately, Marinette answered, “Chloe. Obviously.”

Alya nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

A small commotion at the entrance caught Alya’s attention, bringing her to peer over the bobbing heads of her peers to see Marinette’s dad barging in with some poor sucker trapped in an arm lock. Mr. Dupain looked absolutely thrilled as he dragged the man to the corner where all the other parents had claimed their seats, while the man he held captive was clearly struggling every step trying to break free from his prison.

“Hey, who’s that with your dad over there?”

The two girls paused for a second, scrutinizing the strangely familiar looking man. Had they met him before? They didn’t know many people with moustaches, and Damocles was on the upper level, so who could it be? Marinette in particular seemed to have an odd look in her eye, scrunching up her face trying to clamp down on a stray thought.

Suddenly, she clapped her hands together, opened her mouth wide and-

“…I have no idea,” she admitted, shoulders deflating into a shrug. “Whoever he is, I feel sorry for him. My dad can get really physical with new people.”

Alya let out a sharp whistle, throwing her arms behind her head. “I still remember the cast my dad was in after yours accidentally broke his back mid-greeting.”

“Hey, Alya! Marinette!”

At the voice’s prompting, the two found Ivan weaving through the crowd toward them, a large hand-held camera clutched limply in one hand. Alya’s stomach dropped at the sight – not because of Ivan himself, but because he was swinging around her camera without a care in the world. The poor thing looked like it could slip out of his hands and smash on the floor at any moment. Alya felt her eye twitch.

“Hey, Alya, where do you want me?” Ivan greeted cheerfully once he reached them.

Alya plastered on a strained smile, the kind that was battling the urge to scold him, and immediately reached out to correct his grip, holding it steady and pushing his fingers firmly over it.

“Let’s not kill the baby before the match even starts, big guy.” She eased his fingers into the proper position. “There. Now… head up to the second floor, over there.” She pointed to the walkway that overlooked the courtyard. “I think you’ll get the best angle from up there. Hopefully the crowd won’t box you in too much.”

“Wait, Ivan, you’re not gonna be in any of the matches?” Marinette asked, her voice carrying over the growing noise of the event.

Almost all of the class had signed up to one event or the other, even Marinette was battling her stage fright to show off her gymnastics. Ivan’s size made him quite the contender, and Alix and Kim were bummed to know they weren’t getting him on their dodgeball team, but hey, the games weren’t the only way to participate. Alya herself was doing her part by covering the event.

Then again, they shouldn’t have been surprised. Despite his appearance, and his heritage, Ivan had always been the gentle giant sort

Ivan gave a small shrug and an equally small smile, as though embarrassed by the question. “Nah, I’m not interested in playing. I don’t like hurting people, even when they agree to it.” He jerked his head toward Alya. “Alya’s got me getting footage of everything for the Ladyblog instead.”

True, the charity event had nothing to do with Ladybug or Volpina (aside from the fact that Ladybug was technically participating), but Alya liked to think of the Ladyblog of celebrating good deeds in Paris in general; and a nice little charity event surrounding the triumph of the human spirit in her fellow juveniles was headline worthy to her.

“That’s awesome!” Marinette cheered, hoisting her megaphone up and into his face; the teenage equivalent of a child presenting their crayon drawing to go on the fridge. “Make sure to get a good shot of me with the megaphone; I’ll be giving all sorts of motivation today.”

Ivan winced, trying his best not to sound too harsh as he gently spoke, “Pretty sure your screaming is gonna break my phone if I get too close.”

“Hey!” Marinette squeaked.

“Marinette, accept it, it’s true.” Alya sighed, using the guise of patting Marinette’s back as an excuse to lean in close and whisper, “There’s a reason Ladybug managed to scream Heartbreaker into submission, remember?”

Before her best friend could be allowed to snarl back with an offended rebuke, another voice cut into their conversation, one that was followed by Lila’s chin finding it’s resting spot on Alya’s shoulder.

“Are we talking about Marinette’s tinnitus-inducing voice?”

A groan roared from Marinette’s throat, the girl throwing her arms up. “Great, now we’re doing this.”

Lila easily snaked her way in between the two girls, Alya complete unphased by the action while Marinette looked about ready to puke. It was hard for Alya to see that Marinette still seemed to have an issue with Lila, she loved them both, but ever since that derby hat competition there had been some tension in the air. Marinette had said she forgave Lila for that terrible mistake of forgetting whose hat was whose, but sometimes Alya started to doubt that acceptance had been sincere.

“Relax, Marinette,” Lila cooed with that sugary smile. “I’m just teasing. Your voice is, uh… powerful. That’s a compliment!”

“Sure it is,” Marinette muttered, narrowing her eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me it could shatter glass if I just believed in myself.”

Lila gasped. “Oh, come on. I would never insult you like that. Besides…” She clasped her hand over her heart just as Alya had. “We both know it’s not your voice that’s dangerous – it’s that glare. One look from you and I swear my soul leaves my body.”

Alya snorted before she could stop herself. “She’s not wrong. You’ve got that whole ‘I’m smiling but I’m also planning your funeral’ thing down to an art.”

Marinette tried – tried – to keep her composure, but a little smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, folding her arms.

“That’s the spirit,” Lila said brightly, giving Marinette a little pat on the shoulder like they were best friends. “Anyway, Alya, when you post the footage, make sure you get my good side.”

“You think I’m just filming you?” Alya arched a brow. “You’re not even participating.”

“Well, if you’re not, you should be,” Lila said with a wink. “Charity events love a good poster girl.”

Ivan, still holding the camera, raised a hand awkwardly. “Uh… should I be… writing this down? Or…”

“Don’t you dare,” Marinette growled.

Lila leaned in closer to Alya, dropping to a whisper, yet still loud enough for Ivan and Marinette to overhear. “Please tell me that megaphones for show,” she pleaded, getting a small giggle from Alya.

Marinette stomped her feet, huffing out, “I’m doing a nice, cool thing; and you guys are all bullying me for it!”

Lila pushed out a smile that stretched just wide enough to be exaggerated. “I call it community service; some things just have to be shot down for the greater good.”

Alya found herself gently reaching for both girls and placing herself in between them to create some distance. Even though Alya was making the same joke earlier, it was only when Lila said it that Marinette’s teeth seemed to grit in legitimate offence, as if Lila was trespassing on their joke. But that had become the norm when Alya looked close enough, that her best friend would treat small things that Lila said in good natured jabs, similar to the ones anyone else would use, as an attack.

It was a frustrating position to be in, stuck between two people you cared for yet knowing they, silently, wanted you to pick a side.

Admittedly, Alya was made to lean more towards Lila when Marinette shot them an evil smirk, drew the megaphone upwards and squeaked into it. “Screw you guys, I’m gonna go to Kim and Adrien, they’ll back me up.”

With that, she shuffled away. She didn’t turn around, she made sure to continue to face the three with a self-satisfied grin as she moved backwards. Even when that meant her tripping over and bumping into various things.

Alya called after her, “The guy with no brains and the guy taught nothing but being polite aren’t gonna give you a straight answer, Mari.”

Somewhere in the distance, Kim and Adrien both exclaimed ‘hey!’.

“Just you watch!”

Lila tilted her head, still wearing that warm, nonchalant smile that Alya couldn’t quite read anymore. “Did she knock back an energy drink or something?” she said, voice honey-sweet, yet somehow bitter.

Alya shrugged it off, she shouldn’t look too deeply into it. If Lila had something to say, she trusted Alya enough to say it, right?

“Nah, she’s just got some nerves,” she sighed. “When Mari’s on the fritz, she either overcompensates or runs away.”

A cheeky grin grew before she pushed her elbow forward to poke at Lila’s side. “She still hasn’t recovered from bumping into Adrien in her own kitchen,” she whispered with a scandalized edge.

Lila’s brow furrowed, “What’s Adrien doing in her house if not with her?”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard? He’s working at the bakery now.”

“Mhm, that’s so nice of him,” Lila hummed, once again a little listless, a little noncommittal, a little distacted. “Shouldn’t that be Marinette’s dream come true?”

Oh, if only Marinette could ever allow her life and desires to be so simple. But no, that girl had to spin everything into some sort of conspiracy web of complications. Alya loved her BFF, but damn was it exhausting to be on the Marinette experience sometimes. Then again, Marinette lost her chance to live a simple life the day she became Ladybug.

“It would” Alya clicked her tongue, ”if she didn’t have to worry about him catching Chat Noir’s early hour visits.”

There was a pause, Lila’s brow continuing to flex, her eyes narrowing to that calculating gaze Alya only saw when the girl was staring down at her assignments. Briefly, she levelled that gaze at Marinette. Kim had swiped Marinette’s megaphone and was gleefully holding it out of her reach, forcing the pouting girl to jump up and wave her arms at it in an attempt to snag it back. Adrien was standing off to the side with Alix and Nino, him trying to disguise his laughter while Alix and Nino made no such attempt to be subtle.

“My my,” Lila said lowly, like she was breathing in the words, “Marinette sure has a lot of gentleman callers these days.”

“My girl’s really growing up,” Alya joked, resting her elbow on Lila’s shoulder.

“Hm…”

“What?”

“I don’t know…” Lila tilted her head up thoughtfully. “It’s just… playing with Luka, chasing after Adrien, and now having private time in her bedroom with Chat Noir?”

Alya stiffened, her smile falling with a look; half incredulous, half warning.

“Sounds sort of sleazy when you say it out loud,” Lila continued, her lips parting just enough to show teeth, “stringing along three separate boys at the same time.”

“Hey, Mari isn’t like that,” Alya shot back, trying to sound firm without raising her voice. “Besides, it’s not like she’s made any moves on them. They’re just her friends. If she was already with one of ’em, then it’d be weird.”

A toothy, sarcastic grin emerged. “Friends, samples; doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Mentally, Alya pulled the breaks. She liked to give the benefit of the doubt, but her reporter senses already knew where this line of thought was going, and she was disgusted that Lila would even think this for a second.

Marinette was just a nervous wreck flailing her way between different boys with no idea how to deal with their affection, she had multiple boys paying attention to her because she was just that likable, not because she was some secret sleaze ball manipulating hot guys for the cheap thrill.

Alya crossed her arms, her voice stern, “Lila, what are you talking about?”

Lila brought her fingers up to paw at her chin, softly sighing, her face scrunching up; a flinch in the face of a thought too unsavoury for her. “I don’t like repeating abhorrent rumours, but…”

She snapped her fingers, turning towards the larger boy. “Ivan, what was it that you told me the other day?”

The sudden inclusion in the conversation seemed to jolt Ivan to attention, wordlessly pointing at himself in confusion, before letting out a rough, “Huh?”

“About Marinette, someone told you about Marinette.”

Ivan blinked, brows furrowing, trying to remember what she was talking about. “Uh…? Oh! Right! Well, none of my business what she does in her free time-”

“Ivan.”

He waved a dismissive hand, an uneasy eye sent towards Alya, trying to reassure her that nothing he was saying was coming from him.  “I heard from Mylène, who heard from Sabrina, who heard from Aurore, who heard from a bunch of other kids that Marinette’s been… you know.” He tugged on his collar, clearing his throat. “Keeping busy.”

The disappointment and disgust in Alya’s glare was enough to make Ivan shrink, muttering to himself that it was just a stupid rumour and he didn’t believe it or anything. Truly, he wasn’t the target of Alya’s ire, but she had no idea who the total tool who started this rumour was, so she had to express her anger towards the two messengers. Lila was a little more deserving, but Lila was also unaffected by Alya’s scowl.

Lila should know better than this. Whatever issue was going on between Mari and Lila couldn’t possibly justify thinking Marinette would be… that kind of girl.

“This is ridiculous, you both know Mari ain’t like that,” she spat, the ‘you should be ashamed of yourselves’ being added on in silence. “She couldn’t even say ‘sex’ without burying her face in her hands and squealing, let alone be a village bicycle.”

Lila was unphased, clicking her tongue and casting another glance towards Marinette, now somehow ending up being thrown over Adrien’s shoulder, rapidly pounding her fist against his back. “You’ve said it yourself that she’s changing into a more confident person.”

There was a brief, pleasant smile sent to Ivan before Alya grabbed Lila by the arm and dragged her to a more private corner. “Lila,” she exclaimed in a hushed whisper, “I don’t know what’s been bugging you recently, but that’s no excuse to be spew disgusting crap like this about Marinette.”

The other girl held up her hands defensively, but her voice was half-hearted. “I didn’t say it; I just told you what everyone else was saying.”

“What has gotten into-”

It was the first time Alya noticed the cup in Lila’s hand, mostly because it was the first time Lila brought it close enough for the rancid odour to hit Alya’s nose.

For a second, Alya gave Lila the benefit of the doubt and pretended not to know exactly what it was. “Lila, what are you drinking?”

Lila gave a lopsided grin, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

It took all of Alya’s willpower not to loudly groan, snatching the cup from Lila’s fingers. She hurriedly glanced around to make sure no one was looking at them, before leaning in. “You snuck booze onto school grounds?” she hissed.

“No,” Lila said simply with a shrug, “I swiped this from one of the adult refreshment tables.”

Alya let her jaw hang loose at the brazen attitude shift. Sure, swiping some booze long before you were the legal drinking age was just one of the many stupid things teenagers did because they were young, rebellious and wanted to feel like an adult. But Lila wasn’t just some teenager, she was better than this; Alya had to believe that.

Part of her wanted to be mad at Lila, but another part overwhelmingly wanted to be mad at herself. Lila was her friend, and this obviously hadn’t happened over night. Alya should have been paying more attention, she should have noticed this earlier, she should have been there to help Lila shoulder whatever nonsense was dragging her down. She could only vainly hope that Lila was only dipping her toes in the water and this hadn’t spiralled into a full on drinking problem.

In the fight between scorn and compassion, Alya’s compassion won out.

She said softly, “You shouldn’t be drinking this junk.”

“Don’t be a moral busybody, Cesaire; it’s a really dull look on you.” Lila swirled the liquid lazily in her cup, taking another small sip. “I know how to pace myself, obviously.”

Alya was a journalist, it was her job and her passion to be good at spinning words in her favour, to inform and convince others. Yet, faced with one her of friends obviously undergoing a crisis, nothing came to mind that could solve it.

“Lila…”

“What?” Lila growled, baring her teeth. “You gonna snitch on me?”

Action was the only thing Alya could muster in that moment, snatching the cup from Lila’s hand, scrunching it up and chucking it in the nearest bin. It made her feel like a lame strict mom, but she was willing to face that in order to make a point.

“If you’d just tell us what’s wrong,” she pleaded, taking Lila gently by the shoulders, “we could help.”

Lila did not take kindly to the approach, smacking Alya’s arm away. “How?” she snarled. “By publishing an article about it? I like being on the front page, but not like that.”

Alya didn’t know which thought was worse; that Lila would lash out at her with such a low accusation about her writings, or that Lila really might have thought that little of Alya’s journalistic integrity. She was left holding the smacked limb like it was too limp to hold up its own weight.

Still, she pushed on. “By talking it out and figuring out how to kick whatever this is in the ass.”

“Why?”

Honestly, it broke Alya’s heart a little to see how incredulous an expression Lila wore when asking that question. How something that seemed so simple and obvious, in Alya’s mind, for a friend to want to do came as such a conundrum to Lila.

“Because we care about you, Lila?” Alya insisted, jerking her thumb up to point at herself. “I care about you.”

The moment held for a second, heavy with palpable tension. Only for Lila to break through it all with a mad cackle.

“Pffft, you don’t even know me,” she howled, gripping her stomach from laughing too hard.

“I think I do,” Alya said firmly, not allowing her stern face to falter even in the face of Lila’s condemnation. “But I’m happy to learn more, if you’d let me.”

Lila wiped the pained tears from the corner of her eye, her usual smile returning, only now it was all teeth, all sharp, with none of the sweetness. “You really are a sucker, Alya.”

---

It might have surprised many to know that Darcy was a sports fan, even used to be a soccer player before the gambling debt killed her career. Well, that and her meltdown on the set of that sports-themed Maribo’s commercial. But that wasn’t her fault, anyway. It was that dumb blonde actress, Emily Adjust or something, trying to find any excuse to throw out Darcy’s ‘creepy’ ass. She had it out for Darcy from the start of the shoot.

She still kept active, but she never tried much to get back into the sport. It wasn’t like being a spectator was all that bad. No risk of harm, no getting all puffy and sweaty; and she loved a good view.

She even brought her binoculars.

In her opinion, it was too early for any activity except scrolling through cat videos on her phone, but she made an exception for a good competition. And, of course, their new boss probably preparing to do ‘em in like that Heartbreaker chick if they didn’t show up. She just wished they didn’t have to wait so long to get in just because they weren’t relatives.

Ridiculous. If you asked the boys back in the Freedom Fighters they’d say she was practically everyone’s mother; she should get some privileges with that.

“Darce,” Dutch grumbled next to her, “The courtyard ain’t the size of a damn stadium, you don’t need the specs.”

The worst part about being up so early for a job is that Dutch was not a morning person, especially when important junk was happening. He got so cranky when he didn’t have to put on the rebel Mr. PSA act. And she was the one who had to endure it because she, naturally, had the patience of a saint.

Kindly, she waved him off, shuffling to lean against the railing. “I just want to take a closer look! Sports are very near and dear to me, you know.”

“We’re not here to enjoy the game.”

“We’re here to wait for the right moment and look for the signal,” Darcy shot back, smugly waving the binoculars in his face. “And these bad boys make me a really good looker.”

Darcy would even go as far as to say that she had the eyes of an eagle, but she was humble enough not to brag.

Dutch, not understanding her genius, simply sighed and rolled his eyes. Instead of addressing her, he pulled his ring finger up to his lips, murmuring into the ring, “We’re wasting our damn time. Hawkmoth ain’t getting up at nine in the morning to terrorize some sponsored schoolyard playtime.”

“Ah, but hawkmoth butterflies do love to start their days in the dusk,” Baudelaire chimed in that wretched whispery voice. “Morning is their lunch time, and we have quite the Russian delicacy to offer our winged jester.”

Darcy scratched her head, “I thought we were gonna kill Hawkmoth, not serve him lunch.”

“The adults are talking, go back to sight-seeing.” Dutch’s finger lightly pushed Darcy’s head back around as she pouted.

Still, she did as she was told. Not because Dutch asked her to, but because she wanted to!

“Where is your girl anyway?”

“She will arrive precisely when she is required to,” Baudelaire tutted. “Don’t be so irate, Strawman. If the plan does not come to fruition, it means you’ll be paid for an hours’ worth of sitting in the sun.”

It seemed that the Mastermind’s creepy assistant had taken Dutch’s refusal to use his name as an invitation to pile on random nicknames on Dutch. Wasn’t Darcy’s problem, so she didn’t care. Besides, it was nice to see Dutch mad and twitching at someone else. The man was way too stuck on some nothing little girl. Just wasn’t right, in Darcy’s expert opinion. Not right at all.

Just like these uniforms, like, come on. They called these things game ready? In this weather? The sleeves were too long, the shorts could barely be called shorts, and the fabric was much too thick. Why, Adrien was probably gonna die of heatstroke before they get to the end of the first match! Darcy should look into an advisory position or something, her expert opinion would help all these mooks along. There’d be one hell of a payday once people realize how invaluable her advice would be.

Ooo, advice column! She should write an advice column. Didn’t know what it’d be about, but she’d be amazing at it. God, she was having so many good ideas today. Maybe she should get active in the mornings more often, it was getting the brain pumping and the vibes… vibing.

“Darcy,” Dutch grumbled, lightly shaking her shoulder.

She spied the paternal group on one end of the courtyard, mingling and looking all old and gross and middle-aged. Her body practically shivered thinking about all the dad jokes probably being thrown out down there. There were a few of interest, one guy that was gigantic, who seemed to be holding another dude prisoner.

Wait, was that-

No, no, her mistake. Obviously, Gabriel Agreste didn’t have a moustache.

“Not now, Dutch. I’m visualizing.”

Moving on, there was another guy who was giving way too hard a hand shake to everyone in the group. Though, it was hard to focus on that instead of the giant wobbling phallic symbol on his head.

“Pft, who even has pompadours anymore? Didn’t they go out of style when Elvis died?”

“Darce!”

Well, she was back to observing now. She just then stumbled upon the Adrien’s little group of misbehaving punks. They were a little on the bland side compared to the picture-perfect model that was the Agreste kid. One was some big, dirty-looking lug with the dopiest look on his face. Probably high on something. Then there some screeching red gremlin bouncing about, she looked exhausting. That Marinette brat was there, Darcy didn’t really care, all she noted about that kid was that she could bake some damn fine pastries.

Oh, and some other dorky kid who kept staring at the Bourgeois brat. He tried to hide it, but he was being so obvious with the adoring looks. Yeah, that guy didn’t stand a chance of getting the attention of the mayor’s daughter. Almost made Darcy feel bad for him. Almost.

“Darcy, will you listen to me?”

And, of course, Darcy went straight back to Adrien. Even if the uniform wasn’t as fitting as she thought it should be, this guy was a model; he was made to look good in anything. In fact, maybe if she shuffled over to the corner, she could get a better view of-

The next second, Darcy was face up on the floor, a searing pain shooting through her. Mostly in the facial region where the binoculars, after being hammered in by a stray dodge ball from the kids doing warm up exercises, had inserted themselves into her eye sockets.

Dutch sighed, “I tried to warn yah that those balls were getting close…”

---

Gabriel was sure that he had a good case for kidnapping. He did not consent to his current capture, he did not consent to being touched like this, and he didn’t consent to suffering this gaggle of lesser parents. The moment this lumbering oaf relinquished his hold Gabriel would make his escape, maybe drive his knee into the family jewels and make a b line for a safe spot for his phone. He’d call his lawyer, get the police down here; there would be hell to pay!

Sorry Marinette, you had a bright future ahead of you, but the rest of your life is going to go down the toilet when your parents are locked away in the slammer.

Okay.

Okay…

Gabriel took a breath, tried to calm the raging pounding in his head. He was here for Adrien, to support Adrien. He couldn’t support Adrien if he started an incident now. It would be far more prudent to wait until after the event to make trouble.

Alright, maybe Gabriel was overreacting a little.

Overreacting a lot.

It was just he had this thing about crowds, he hated them, especially when it wasn’t one that he stepped into willingly. They was a sea of moving walls that closed in on him, blocking off any and all avenues of escape. And Tom didn’t have to rip him from the entrance like he was a sack to be thrown over his shoulder.

An irritation flooded his body, like a full-on rash erupting and battering his skin a bright, unbecoming red. He despised this feeling. Weak. Pathetic. Like some frail, trembling creature rattling around in a gilded cage. He despised that he could feel Nooroo, hiding inside his miraculous, gently soothing him through their emotional connection.

Crowds shouldn’t get to him – not him. He’d faced boardrooms full of ravenous competitors, journalists foaming for scandal, and Parisians with the audacity to wear his designs wrong. And yet here he was, pulse racing like a cornered animal because some baker with forearms like tree trunks had hauled him into a corner with the other parents.

From across the way, he caught Nathalie’s gaze. She had been watching, of course she had, and the faint, amused curl of her lips told him she’d been enjoying every moment of his humiliation. Her expression was maddeningly subtle, but the smirk was there, hidden just enough to ensure only he noticed it.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice as smooth and measured as ever, though the ghost of her smirk didn’t leave.

“I need some water,” Gabriel replied, clipped and prickly.

Logic would dictate that he directly tell her that this wasn’t funny to him, that it was an issue for him. That was how you made people not repeat the things that make you uncomfortable, you tell them. Yet, his pride would not allow it.

Inwardly, Gabriel nursed the pettiest thought he could summon: perhaps it was time to ‘reassign’ her. Mayura seemed competent enough – if she could fight superheroes in heels, surely she could handle a few schedules and phone calls and defend him from unwanted social kidnappings. Yes, perhaps he’d float the suggestion just to watch Nathalie’s face. A harmless revenge but deliciously satisfying all the same.

He stuffed it down as Nathalie easily produced a water bottle from under her jacket. Naturally, she was always prepared. Damn her and her efficiency; he was trying to stay mad at her.

Tom released him and it was like he was breathing for the first time, allowing him to down a few gallons of ice-cold relief that shake him from this pathetic state. For now, there was no escaping this, he had to grit his teeth and bear it. So, he gulped down however much liquid non-alcoholic courage as he could and faced this social ambush head on.

He could do this. He was Gabriel God Damn Agreste. Why, Emilie did this all the time. She was so good with people. She was so good at many things. God, he wished that she was her-

Focus!

Tom patting him on the back felt like someone was driving a pickaxe into his spine. “Hey, look who finally decided to show up!” the giant nudged Gabriel forward, presenting him to the other parents. “Ignore the stash for now, but this is Gabriel Agreste.”

Gabriel did not like the wave of ‘ooo’s and ‘ah’s that passed over the group, many differently people peering up at him like he was a zoo animal. Is this what Adrien felt like being a model? Gabriel had no idea. He imagined this was what it was like for kids who actually went to school, who get dropped off on their first day and wave their parents goodbye, left to mingle with their fellow delinquents.

One woman in a turtleneck whispered something to her neighbour while giving him a once-over that felt both judgmental and intrusive. A man in a polo shirt grinned in that overly familiar way. Gabriel already wanted to fake a phone call and vanish.

“I guess Adrien got all his looks and charm from his mother,” said the man Gabriel only recognised as the former akuma ‘Mime’.

“Fred, come on,” groaned the woman who was almost ‘Startrain’. Even if he never had the chance to akumatized her, that was still what he remembered her by.

Animan offered a brief glance that Gabriel couldn’t get a read on, it was either a flicker of a smile to greet Gabriel, or a flinch of irritation that reflected Gabriel’s own desire not to be apart of this conversation. The woman next to him who Gabriel assumed was his wife was unrecognisable to Gabriel, so the first non-akuma in sight.

Over the course of what felt like an eternity, Gabriel was forced to under threat of humiliation to converse with these strangers and retain information about them.

The mother of Bubbler, Amina Lahiffe, was an exercise instructor who immediately tried to push her business card on Gabriel, all while Nathalie silently laughed in the back.

Dark Cupid’s father, Nam, was a repairman who appreciated Gabriel’s choice of moustache and even recommended some moustache cream brands.

Startrain was a conductor with dreams of being an astronaught, and apparent her son, Gamer, was on the path to being the next Tsuguri,

Mime was the most pleasant. Mostly because Mime was an actor, rightly complimented Hawkmoth’s theatrical flair, and was coincidentally a big fan of Emilie; she was even going to perform with him once before the peacock’s damage left her bed bound.

And then there was-

SLAP

Gabriel’s introduction to Time Breaker’s uncle was that ridiculous fortress of hair and gel shaped into a walking war crime smacking Gabriel upside the head. Then came the misfortune of the man, Larry or whatever, clamping his grubby, grease slicked fingers over Gabriel’s hands and subjecting the poor man to a ridiculously vigorous handshake. The smell didn’t even register until the man shined those pearly whites.

“Sick stash, man!” Larry exclaimed, still refusing to let go of Gabriel’s hand. “I’m Larry, but you can call me Lawrence if you wanna be all fancy like.”

Then the sick son of a bitch had the audacity to slide in, clap Gabriel over the shoulder and continue to talk. “Don’t be intimidated, dude, I’m in the same boat as you. We’re both the newbies around here.”

He glanced over Gabriel’s shoulder, and Gabriel never thought he’d feel so offended to know that someone noticed Nathalie.

“Well, me, you, and your…?”

“Assistant,” Sabine giggled, giving Gabriel that strange, sly look like she was making a joke he wasn’t in on. “Just an assistant, right?”

“So…” Larry’s grin widened. “She’s single?”

Larry’s grin then broke when Gabriel broke his hand.

…Okay, not literally, but from the way Larry yelped and jumped away, you’d think a bone just got shattered.

“W-Wow, Bro,” Larry wheezes, blowing on his now bright red hand. “You… uh… got quite the grip there.”

Gabriel pushed out that polite, false smile, wiping his hand on his coat. “It seems that I don’t know my own strength.”

“It’s cool, it’s cool.”

Nathalie cleared her throat, and once more a wry smile was hidden behind that professional façade. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you either way. Though I must say that I am never single, I am always engaged… with my work.”

And just like that, Nathalie made a crucial mistake. That being drawing attention to herself. In an instant, the relentless social predators piled on her, tearing her apart with incessant, polite questions that badgered the soul. In that moment, Gabriel was not alone, and he soaked it in whilst watching her helplessly flail trying to answer.

Amina leaned in, asking where Nathalie bought her jacket. Nam wanted to know if she knew what product she used for her hair. Startrain began a rambling story about how she’d once been offered an “assistant” role on a film set, but had turned it down to “stay true to the rails.” Mime wanted to know how much mischief she got up to as the assistant of such a big-time fashion designer.

It was divine. The sight of her trying to keep up polite nods while her eyes silently screamed for rescue was like an expensive glass of cranberry juice after a long day; rare, intoxicating, and not to be rushed. He allowed himself to lean slightly against the refreshment table, sip his water, and watch her squirm.

Oh, she’d smirked earlier. She’d smirked at him – and now here she was, verbally cornered by the same rabid, handshaking mob that had been gnawing on his sanity for the past twenty minutes.

Nathalie shot him a subtle, dagger-like glance, the kind that promised a price to be paid later. He responded with the faintest lift of an eyebrow. Barely enough to be seen, but just enough to say, Revenge is sweet, isn’t it?

“Tsk, is this hen clucking hour still going on?”

The voice that interrupted Gabriel’s enjoyment was roaring, heralded by the ground quaking in anticipation; and yet Gabriel was sure that it was the man’s inside voice. It was enough to bring all heads turning to the approach of the large, muscular man whose size competed with even Tom’s. Wearing a mean, bearded face that was all sneers, the type of face that made you imagine a close up of an animal constantly sniffing the air. All topped off by a mix of grey and black into a hairline that swept up into little cone shaped tips like bull horns.

The man pushed through the group with little in the way of curtesy, giving a wolfish grin to Nam before snatching a beer out of the man’s hand and downing it. Judging by Nam’s lack of reaction, this was a usual thing. He clapped his hands together, looking over the group, unimpressed.

“When are the bulls gonna start stomping?!”

Nathalie leaned in between Gabriel and Tom, murmuring, “Someone left their manners at the door.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Tom was quick to say, his smile a little strained and sheepish, “that’s just Ivan’s dad; Raul.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, inspecting the man all over again. There was something his mind was recognising, but what was it?

Sabine added in, dryly, “He’s been in and out of prison a few times.”

Tom laughed awkwardly, sending his wife pleading looks. “B-But that’s okay, we’re not judging him for it.”

Sabine only crossed her arms and, for the first time, her tranquil, warm face was stained with a scowl. “Some of us aren’t.”

The head cones. The horns. The accent. That was it!

“Wait a minute…” Gabriel shuffled back, catching Nathalie by the shirt and pulling her close for a quiet chat whilst Sabine and Tom had a mini-passive aggressive argument of their own.

“Nathalie!” Gabriel exclaimed, almost giddy. “Do you know who that is?”

Nathalie sighed, adjusting her glasses, “Ivan is Stoneheart.”

“No, not him, the father,” Gabriel grunted, sending Nathalie a disappointed, exasperated look before pointing at the large man again. “That’s El Toro!”

It took a good minute of Nathalie blankly staring back at him for her pipe up.

“…This is the part where you give me context, Sir.”

Gabriel’s jaw dropped. She works for a supervillain, how could she not know anything about the other possible threats to Hawkmoth’s reign of terror?

“You’re kidding?” When she shot him back an unimpressed glowering stare, he sighed, “Scourge of the Spanish streets? Terror of the range? Robs banks by literally ramming through the walls on a herd of bulls?”

Nathalie’s expression didn’t change. “Mhm. Yes. How could I possibly forget the famous… livestock-themed felon.”

Gabriel scowled. “Don’t mock him. The man once held the entire Madrid financial district hostage by penning everyone into the plaza with twelve bulls. Twelve. Do you know how much coordination that takes?”

“Yes. I imagine it’s just like running a photoshoot – only with more dung.”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked back to Raul, who was laughing at something Nam had said, slapping the man on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. Every movement was big, loud, and designed to take up space – he was a bull let loose in the china shop.

“Are you sure, Sir?” Nathalie’s voice was neutral, but her questioning gaze searched his.

“Positive!” Gabriel hissed back, lowering his voice only enough to avoid drawing Raul’s attention. “I have a great instinct about stuff like this when quantum masking isn’t involved.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “What is he doing here? Do you think he’s trying to challenge Hawkmoth’s turf?”

“I think he’s here to see his son participate,” she replied, her tone maddeningly even.

“Pft, like a supervillain would be caught doing that.”

Nathalie rubbed her temples with an overwhelming sigh.

“I’m going to give you a second to really think about what you just said.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened. She was enjoying this.

“Honestly, Sir,” Nathalie continued, “I think you’re just being paranoid about having a normal day out. There’s no scheme afoot, just a bunch of people wanting to enjoy some friendly competition between their kids.”

He sniffed, straightening his jacket. “Fine, fine, I’ll relax.”

“That’s all I’ll ask of you.”

Of course, “relax” in Gabriel’s mind meant standing unnaturally stiff, arms folded, eyes tracking Raul like a sniper lining up a target. He watched every casual sip of stolen beer, every swaggering step, every booming laugh, cataloguing it all. If Raul was here for anything shady, Gabriel would be ready. And if not… well, he could still spend the rest of the day feeling smug about how wrong Nathalie was.

Notes:

Clark Kent ain't got shit on Metal Gear Gabriel.

Next Time: Grab The Bull By The Horns

Dutch found it hard to focus on the man who’d just ran headfirst into his stomach, nor the ring that slipped from Dutch’s fingers. The smell was too thick, enough to make Dutch gag right then and there. He found himself falling against the wall pinching his nose just to cope, watching the scrawny man who was 50% ridiculous hair – because seriously, who the hell had a pompadour these days – stumble trying to regain his balance.

Eventually, the man snatched the ring off the ground, grinning up at Dutch sheepishly. “Oh man, sorry ‘bout that. I forget how powerful my hair can be when I’m not paying attention.”

“Can you even see with that thing in your way?”

“Kind of?” the man shrugged. “Name’s Larry, by the way.”

Larry? What an unimportant and irrelevant sounding name.

Chapter 57: Turtle Calamity: Grab The Bull By The Horns

Summary:

Dutch has a small revelation, Alix and Kim have a miraculous game, and Gabriel finds some common ground with Marinette's parents.

Gabriel felt awkward huddled together in this crowd, weakly trying to cry out support to his son only to be easily drowned out by Sabine and Tom’s roars. He wasn’t a yeller, he was a projector, he was a stern quiet word of authority that let the atmosphere take care of the volume. As it turned out, he had no authority when he was squashed between a pack of energized parents (some who may or may not be tipsy) who could care less about Gabriel’s position as a fashion designer icon.

Though some of the yelling Gabriel found just downright offensive. He’d try to compliment Adrien on his posture only for Tom to yell out something like ‘That’s my boy! Go get ‘em!’. Like, what the hell? What did he mean ‘my boy’?

According to all of Adrien’s government papers, Adrien had one dad, and he wasn’t a giant baker who didn’t have cool superpowers and an amazing villainous alter ego. What, just because this buffoon gave Adrien a job, he thinks he can just try and slide into their dynamic and steal Gabriel’s place in Adrien’s life?

First Gabriel was hearing about Marinette’s untoward desires for his son, now he finds out that this Tom is not to be trusted. Whatever sinister motives was the kindly, sweet looking façade of this Sabine woman? Huh? HUH?

Ahem. His mind got a bit off track there, anyway…

He couldn’t understand how into this the other parents were. The dodgeball game had only just started and Miraculer (Sabrina, Nathalie had corrected him with a hiss) already got tossed across the court by the killer rubber fist that crack her across the jaw. That could have very well killed the poor girl! Just landed on her head and snapped her neck, and they were cheering.

The stands erupted again as another ball thundered across the field from Time Breaker’s hand, smacking a poor boy so hard in the chest he tumbled backward into the crowd. Someone whooped. Someone else yelled “GET ‘EM!” Beer sloshed onto Gabriel’s coat sleeve, and he bristled.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Gabe,” Tom chuckled, slapping him on the back.

Gabriel was not comfortable with having a nickname form these people.

“I will be seeing some ghosts if this dangerous game continues like this!” Gabriel exclaimed, throwing out his arms to gesture to where a ball narrowly missed Adrien’s nose. His voice, pitched louder than he liked, still barely carried over the cacophony of whistles, screams, and stomping feet.

“Bah, whimpering already?” Raul barked out, rearing back his fist to dig it into his open palm. “This is just warm-up! Wait till someone takes one in the gut, that’s when it gets good!”

The clueless man who called himself Adrien’s father could only pull a sneering look of confusion. “I’m confused; we want our children to get hurt?”

“We want to see our children have fun and do the best they can,” Sabine said sweetly, her gaze wondering over to where Marinette was bellowing through her megaphone; an act that caused such a shift in the people around her that you’d think she summoned a mini-hurricane.

Raul snorted, “Soft words. It’s about watching the fruits of our legacy dominate and crush their enemies underfoot for all would-be challengers to see!”

Sabine’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t sound very sportsman-like.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stroked his chin with a sage nod. “That explanation speaks to me.”

He felt Nathalie tug on his sleeve, hissing “Sir!”

“What?” Gabriel whispered back with a hushed whine, “I’m a supervillain.”

Nathalie rolled her eyes.

However, Gabriel couldn’t focus on that because the rat bastard with the world’s most obnoxious hair decided to throw his arm over Gabriel’s shoulder and once against smack Gabriel across the face with that damn pompadour.

“Come on, G-Money, what’s to understand?”

Dead. Larry was dead. If grabbing Gabriel wasn’t enough, the sensation of slime creeping through Gabriel’s ears at the misfortune of hearing that utterly inane nick name was enough to get the Hawkmoth murder blood pumping.

Larry, unaware of the murderous plots being formed in Gabriel’s mind, continued, snapping his fingers with a chuckle. “Didn’t your parents show up for your sports games when you were a kid?”

The question threw Gabriel for a loop, slapping his indignation with distracting memories that made his body flinch.

Gabbi Grassette never went to school, he was never a part of any team, that required either money or people that liked his company and his childhood found very little of that. The only sport he had back then was him and his sister playing some mashup of hockey and baseball where they smacked around tin cans with whatever they could find to use as a stick.

So no, there was no games for his parents to show up for. And even if there had been, he doubted they would ever be interested in coming. Not unless his father found a way to make a quick buck out of it, and Gabriel emphasised ‘quick’, that man had no sense of long-term planning. Hell, Gabbi and Adrian only came up with the tin can game to try and make the best out of his father using them to get money from recycling.

His mother didn’t think sports were for ‘proper’ boys and girls, much too messy and wasteful. She had a lot of opinions about what was proper for a woman who was as far as you could get from high society without literally being homeless. She thought school was a waste too, any time Gabbi floated the idea of getting an education, she’d freak out about him trying to abandon the family and that school didn’t teach you anything important about life.

Though, maybe that was just her needing a reason to bring it back to her diner, which might as well have been Gabbi’s second sibling with how much she treated it like her own child. Gabbi could never have time to waste on school, he had to help her take care of the diner. And why would he need qualifications for a different job when he already had a job at the diner?

Gabbi never realized how lucky he was that the kindly lady that was a regular at the diner, Odette, was an ex-teacher. He’d probably have never even learned how to read without her generosity towards the fourteen-year-old that was all alone during the night shifts.

There was a small sliver of warmth in the memories, remembering how Adrian won their games 90% of the time, that she was an utter menace with anything resembling a blunt object. Learning the alphabet using all of his mother’s menu items. And, of course, meeting Emilie in that very spot.

Yet, none of that warmth included his parents; just the people who were no longer with him.

It occurred to Gabriel how uncomfortable the topic made him and, for the first time, he was grateful for Tom’s sudden and boisterous interruption. Though, Gabriel didn’t quite understand why Tom was so eager to interrupt.

“Hey now, we’re here to have fun with our kids, not talk about boring days with our folks, right?”

Nor did he understand that strange, almost knowing look the man shot him as he lightly pulled Larry off of him. All he understood was that he was grateful.

Silently grateful, but still grateful.

Gabriel smoothed his coat down, trying to reclaim what little dignity hadn’t been beaten senseless by pompadour grease. He kept his chin high, lips pursed, eyes forward. He had to. If he looked at Larry again, he might very well launch an akuma from his bare hands just to shut the man up.

The game roared on – dodgeballs zipping like cannon fire, cheers rattling the walls – and Gabriel found himself zoning out again, the memory of tin cans clattering on pavement echoing too vividly. He rubbed his temple, muttering under his breath.

“Sir,” Nathalie’s voice cut through the fog, sharp but low. She leaned in so no one else could hear. “You’re scowling hard enough to curdle milk. Relax, or someone’s going to think you’re plotting.”

“I am plotting,” Gabriel hissed back, teeth clenched. “I’m plotting Larry’s downfall. First, I’ll have an akuma rip that hairpiece from his skull-”

“It’s not a hairpiece,” Nathalie said flatly.

“Then I’ll have it ripped from his skull while still attached.”

Nathalie sighed, “Sir, there’s a reason we have scheduled sessions for ‘murderous brooding’. You can’t be doing it at a school.”

“COME ON, YOU USELESS TWIGS!” Raul roared, cupping his hands around his mouth. “YOU CALL THAT A THROW? MY GRANDMOTHER COULD DO BETTER WITH HER BACK TURNED!”

Gabriel flinched at the sheer volume rattling his skull. He turned stiffly to Nathalie, who only raised an eyebrow in silent solidarity.

“HEY, BLONDIE!” Raul hollered directly at Adrien as the boy scrambled out of the path of another rubber missile. “QUIT DANCING AROUND LIKE A BALLERINA AND THROW SOME ELBOWS! YOU’RE EMBARRASSING YOURSELF!”

Gabriel jolted upright, scandal flooding him. “Is- is he heckling my son?” he demanded, pointing a trembling hand toward Raul as if expecting Nathalie to drag the man to the principal’s office at once. “Shouldn’t he be cheering for Adrien’s team?!”

“Oh no,” Sabine said sweetly, patting Gabriel’s arm. “Raul isn’t cheering against Adrien. He’s cheering for his daughter.”

“I thought Stone- I… Ivan was a boy?” Gabriel echoed, blinking.

Sabine gestured with a gentle nod toward the court, where a massive girl with twin braids hurled a dodgeball so hard it ricocheted off the floor and nearly caved in the referee’s shin. “That’s Maribel, Raul’s eldest. Ivan’s her little brother.”

Gabriel’s gaze snapped to her. The jawline. The shoulders. The terrifying gleam in her eyes. She was Raul, simply younger and with longer hair. Her arms looked like they’d been forged in the fires of Olympus and delivered exclusively for the purpose of pulverizing dodgeballs.

“I can see the resemblance,” Gabriel muttered, watching as Maribel spiked a ball so violently that poor Bubbler practically folded in half before tumbling to the ground with a strangled squeal.

Maribel wound up another throw, her sneering grin far too large for her face. Raul punched the air, his booming laughter shaking the rafters. “THAT’S MY GIRL! SMASH ‘EM! CRUSH ‘EM! BREAK THEIR BONES! SHOW THESE LITTLE CAFS HOW A REAL BULL CHARGES!”

Gabriel squinted, completely at a loss. “And this is considered… family bonding?”

Nathalie gave him some serious side-eye. “Stranger things have been called bonding. Putting on silly costumes and terrorizing Paris, for example.”

---

Marinette opted to ignore the way droves of people seemed to duck as she turned around, as if her megaphone were a gun. She opted to ignore a lot of things today for the sake of having a good time. She was allowed to do that, and she wasn’t letting stupid Lila get to her. Though maybe she’d let Alya’s stupid words get to her.

There was nothing wrong with the volume of her voice, damn it.

“Sabrina, there’s more to the court than that corner. Move your ass!”

Besides, Alix was, by far, much louder than her. Didn’t matter if she was locked in a sprint diving between a hail of rubber bullets or getting sent skidding back catching a hard throw from the other team, there was nothing stopping her from exercising her lungs on her fellow teammates.

Don’t get Marinette wrong, Alix was a damn good player and, on every other day, could be chill to be around. It was just when competition came into play… well, Kim and Alix were both competitive, but where Kim’s competitiveness translated into boundless mad lad whooping energy, Alix’s was funnelled into an explosive temper that turned every team into her personal army unit.

“Nino, stop hiding by the line, you’re a human shield, not a lawn ornament!” she howled mid-somersault, pelting a ball back at Maribel with all the fury of a grenade toss.

Marinette winced but dutifully lifted her megaphone again. “She means keep the pressure up, guys!” she translated quickly, trying to coat Alix’s battlefield shrieking with something resembling positivity. “You’re doing great!”

Adrien, the one person who clearly appreciated her hard work, glanced over to her and shot her a thumbs up. That was a man quickly moving up the friendship totem pole, and not just because she had a crush on him; at least he wasn’t her best friend drooling over her other best friend while backing up Lila.

Okay, well, she knew that he and Lila were together, but that didn’t mean Adrien would always agree with her. He was hitting his rebellious age, he had his own opinions and he wouldn’t put Marinette down just because Lila said so, right?

Marinette wrapped her knuckles against the side of her head. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts. Adrien just took a tumble and ate it big time. Positive thoughts.

Wait, that came out wrong. And Marinette felt a little bad for giggling as he slid across the floor and got nailed in the foot, but that was mostly because he had the most sheepish expression as he did so. Alix practically glowered at him as he retreated to the ‘out’ box to serve out his punishment.

Was it weird to say that, thinking about it, Adrien messing up was a positive? He wasn’t bad at dodgeball, but he was clearly on the lower end of the team; such a chaotic game was probably a major adjustment from something like fencing. And that sorta seemed to make him shine brighter in it. He was a boy placed in a box and expected to be perfect, but none of that was here, he could stumble, mess up and irritate his teammates and not have it matter.

Adrien had that perfect mask he put on when he was working, fencing might as well have been the same as studying or modelling. In those, even for things he enjoyed, he didn’t allow himself to be Adrien. Here, where winning or losing didn’t really matter, the mask was cracked open by the dodgeballs and that goofy little smile of his shone through.

In the back of her mind, her subconscious acknowledged that it was a similar spark that drew her into Chat Noir’s eyes.

Tikki didn’t give her time to ponder on her spectator sport, rumbling in the depths of Marinette’s purse trying to get her attention. Marinette withdrew from her spot under a garbled excuse of a bathroom break that no one was paying enough attention to hear, and hid herself under the shadows of the stairs.

The purse clicked open and the bulbous crimson head slowly emerged from inside, Tikki resting her chin on the edge and lazily gazing up at Marinette.

“What’s the matter?” Marinette asked. “Did you run out of macaroons.”

“Not at all, I just wondered if I could watch the game too,” Tikki explained with a strained yawn.

Marinette gave her a look somewhere between fond and exasperated. “You mean you’ve been sitting in there this whole time, listening to me shout into a megaphone, and now you want front-row seats?”

Tikki’s cheeks puffed indignantly, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a tired smile. “Well, it sounded exciting.”

“Exciting?” Marinette whispered back, biting back a grin. “You call people screaming their lungs out while Alix threatens to kill everyone who misses a ball exciting?”

“I’ve been stuck in a purse for half an hour, Marinette,” Tikki deadpanned, floating a little higher. “At this point, even a math test would sound thrilling.” Her little eyes drifted toward the gym floor. “So how does this ‘dodge-ball’ work, anyway?”

Marinette opened her mouth, but her explanation was cut off by a booming voice:

“WHO LET THE SQUEAKY GNOME ON TO THE COURT?! DOES THIS TEAM HAVE ANY REAL PLAYERS?”

The roar rattled the stairwell walls. Marinette winced. Raul. Again. His voice had carried like an airhorn ever since the game started. A glance up to the balconies treated her to the sight of Ivan sighing and trying to block his dad’s yelling out.

Marinette sighed, pressing two fingers to her temple. “Okay, uh, normally you throw the balls at the other team and try to hit them. If you get hit, you’re out. If you catch a ball, the thrower’s out and you can bring a teammate back in.”

“So…” Tikki tilted her head, blinking slowly. “The goal is… throwing things really hard until there’s no one left?”

“Basically. And yelling. Lots of yelling.” Marinette gave a helpless shrug as another insult thundered from Raul somewhere behind them, this time about Kim’s weak, girly legs. “Seriously, shouldn’t he be cheering for Adrien’s team instead of trying to put him in therapy?”

Tikki giggled faintly, but it petered out too quickly, dissolving into a thin, tired sigh. Marinette noticed, for the first time, how pale her kwami looked -- her usual bright crimson skin was a shade duller, like chalk had been dusted over her glow.

“Hey…” Marinette’s tone shifted, worry creeping into her voice. “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling okay?”

Tikki hovered unsteadily, her wings beating slower than usual. “I… I don’t know. I’ve just been so tired since the match started.” She rubbed her tiny eyes with both hands, looking smaller than Marinette had ever seen her.

Marinette pressed two fingers to Tikki’s forehead looking for heat, but Tikki felt the same as usual. “Can Kwami get sick?”

“Uh… I dunno? Never tested it.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed. “I’ll ask Master Fu about it later, but for now why don’t you just take it easy.”

Tikki limply nodded and settled into a makeshift bed of the purse as Marinette returned her attention to the game; well, mostly just physically. Mentally, her focus remained on Tikki’s predicament. She tried to tell herself that it was nothing, that either Tikki caught a cold, or Marinette had been overclocking Ladybug, but part of her couldn’t fight the question of if it could be related to Marinette’s stint with the ambrosia.

After all, she was still connected to Tikki even when she wasn’t transformed, wasn’t she?

She shook her head, knowing that she shouldn’t let her mind spiral into worst case scenarios. At least, not until she’d gotten a theory from Fu. Who knows? Maybe it could be a fluke, or something else entirely.

Sadly, that did little to stifle the dread building in her stomach.

---

Alix knew adrenaline was a hell of a thing, but she surprised herself with just how awake and full of energy she felt. She didn’t just rush across the court, she glided through it, almost feeling like she was propelling her heel off the air. Her body was pulled at the hip by invisible strings, yanked through rubber fire and leaping in perfect arcs to snatch up balls and fire them back at a rate that would make actual cannons jealous.

To the rest of the onlookers, she was practically a blur as she danced around Sabrina, dove under Adrien’s legs and flipped over Kim. They saw nothing wrong, they only saw how great she was. And God damn was it an electrifying experience. It sent shockwaves through her tensed muscles, a hundred little fingers eagerly digging into her biceps and coaxing her body to tighten just a little more into her perfect poses.

Naturally, it struck her heart the most; kicking up those pumping beats into overdrive, sending hot, boiling blood shooting through her veins dancing a conga line to her beat of her heart.

This, this was the thrill of the fight, the high of pushing her body as far as she could. Sweat wrapping around tightened flesh, squeezed by muscular tissue until it burned a passionate red. Even breathe rushing to meet a smooth, practiced cycle that, with one mistake, could cause the rest of her lungs to collapse and break her streak right then and there. The feeling, the knowledge, of every little piece of meat, of bone, of blood that made up her body was vibrating with the force of 100% determination.

They say that the body has it’s own language in how it poses itself, how much weight it threw around, how it coloured itself. Alix’s body was a living message, screaming victory and strength through a megaphone. A declaration more powerful than anything she could read in a book or hear in a speech. Actions were louder than words, and to go all out was the ultimate action, the ultimate statement.

It wasn’t just a message, it was a dare, an open invitation to the universe to try and knock her down. Because if it did, if whatever slimy little pussy that controlled the cosmos tried to swing at her, the laws of reality, the march of time, all better be ready for Alix Kubdel to kick their teeth in.

She was all focus as she touched the ground, one of the opposing kids getting dropped with a ball projectile to the gut. The crowd faded away, the room became an unimportant smudge; all that was clear in her world were her enemies and her allies.

Sabrina was a good player, forged by years of being Chloe’s go-to assistant for throwing things at people Chloe hated. When she dunked the dodgeball, it was a ballistic missile for whichever poor dude got in the way. Her problem was mentality, she easily got into her own head and freeze up, and Alix only found yelling and pressure to be good enough to light the fire under that girl’s ass. It meant early match had Sabrina getting tapped out a lot of the time, but Alix just figured that meant she’d become numb to it by the halfway point.

Alix didn’t care about whatever crap Sabrina pulled with Chloe; that blond barbie doll’s bullying tactics didn’t mean nothing to Alix, she was no wimp. As long as Sabrina could pull her weight, Alix was cool with her.

Alix didn’t hate Adrien normally. He was kind of an aloof weirdo wrapped in expensive fabric and smelled like a little girl’s dollie; but she didn’t hate him. Well, not Adrien the dude. She was absolutely ready to crack Adrien the teammate’s head open like an egg.

They should change his name from Adrien Agreste to Adrien Apology because 50% of his participation was stopping in the middle of the match to squeal out sorry’s for whoever he hit with the ball. Of course, in the time it took for him to sheepishly rub the back of his head and bow his head and make a living bullseye of himself, several balls were already hammering away at his legs and dragging him to the box.

It didn’t help that he kept stopping to make googly eyes at Marinette, distracting her from her important job of sabotaging the other team with her violent yelling. At least, that’s what Alix assumed Marinette was doing back there, she couldn’t make heads or tails of any of the words.

Though she had to give Adrien credit, he was a slippery little weirdo. You’d almost mistake him for being on skates with the way he casually slipped on by; when his head was actually in the game, he could twirl circles around any ambushes. Alix mentioned during practise that he had cat-like reflexes and, for some reason, that made him burst out laughing. She assumed it was some dumb rich people joke only idiots with a too much green could understand.

If Adrien was soap, then Nino was gravel. Dude’s style was all grit and zero polish – straight-line charges, wild arm swings, more heart than skill. Alix had to respect it. He wasn’t pretty about it, but sometimes you didn’t need pretty; you needed blunt force.

Right now, he and Adrien were tangled in a desperate scramble with two of the enemy’s better players, all four bodies lunging and tripping over each other to snatch up the loose balls rolling midcourt. It was chaos, elbows jabbing, sneakers squeaking, grunts and curses cutting sharp through the gym.

Adrien managed to snag one first, twisting clear with that freaky glide-step of his, but before he could throw, Nino cut across him – swagger plastered all over his face. He puffed his chest for the game-winning kill shot he was about to land in his head, probably imagining the slow-motion highlight reel.

He didn’t even see the incoming curveball until it smacked across his nose with the wet, meaty sound of pure humiliation.

Nino’s arms pinwheeled as he toppled straight back into Adrien, who got blindsided in the ribs by another cannonball before he could react. The two of them hit the varnish in a heap, sliding a good five feet together on the sweat-slick floor.

Both lay sprawled, dazed; wounded soldiers groaning in the aftermath of a grenade.

“I gotchu broooo…” Nino wheezed, one hand weakly patting Adrien’s shoulder.

“N-Nooo, I got… you…” Adrien rasped back, eyes crossed, lips twitching.

Alix pinched the bridge of her nose, every ounce of adrenaline in her system hissing with irritation. “Why did you do something that stupid?”

Kim shrugged as she drew closer. “Probably trying to show off for Chloe.”

That earned Alix a blink, turning her head back briefly between dodges to get a glimpse of Chloe over by crowd, her hands thrown over her eyes with her lips mouthing a groan. “Why the hell would he want to impress Chloe?”

On second thought, why was Chloe even here? The mayor wasn’t making an appearance at the event, and she could give less of a shit about sports. Maybe she just wanted to watch her classmates get beaten up.

Eh, as long as she wasn’t messing with Alix’s game, Alix didn’t care.

There was an awkward squeak from Sabrina. “Heh heh heh; I dunno. Him and her have been weird all week. Just a weird week.”

Alix’s eyes narrowed, following Nino’s pained flop back to the floor, Adrien crumpled beneath him. Weird was one word for it. Stupid, annoying, and pointless were a few others.

Whatever. They were all chumps compared to the real stars of the team anyway. As long as Alix and Kim were still in the game, they had this in the bag.

Speaking of Kim, the man was the one member of the team singled out by the enemy star player, probably because they were both the same size. Maribel really was built after her poppa, horns and all. The two were locked in a stalemate, shuffling in sync with each other’s moves, teasing the other with cheap throws that came just close enough to make a lesser player freak out. It was the unbreakable wall meeting the unbreakable wall.

The thing that Alix realized in this moment was that Kim looked odd now that she really focused on him. The world around her, even the ones she kept her eyes on, had a faded tint to it. The rest of her team had all their colours dulled, the crowd was nothing but a blur, and yet Kim almost seemed to glow. He stuck out as a beacon in her vision, and she was sure her vision alone.

It was only then that she doubled back on the comment Kim had just made to her, a comment that she shouldn’t have been able to hear over the roar of the crowd when Kim was on the other side of the court. He shouldn’t have been able to hear her either, yet he did. The two had always been connected on some level, they just had a way of understanding each other since they were kids; but this was feeling more than a little freaky.

“What’s freaky?” Kim asked just so conveniently when Alix lost sight of his face.

Alix shrugged it off, it didn’t matter, nothing to think about. “Your face if you let that walking freight train get a hit in on you,” she called back, breaking into a sprint to join Kim’s side.

“Then how about we end this together,” Kim twisted his body out of the way of the next barrage with a wry grin. “You know what I’m thinking?”

Yes, she did.

Alix grinned, ducking low and kicking off into a whirlwind of motion. It wasn’t just an extra kick to her heels this time, there was something else there; a force, some sort of gravity that plucked her from the ground and dragged her towards Kim, building up enough momentum to make the air around her quake.

There were no words spoken, no plan to be explained for this technique made up completely on the spot. The two just knew it, as if their minds were one in the same. Kim slammed his ball into the ground, lowering his body down just as Alix reached him. She had no problem turning his body into a ladder, his knee being her first rung, carful to make it a smooth, arching movement to ensure that her momentum wasn’t lost.

On his back she launched herself upwards into the air, her body spinning around, throwing her world upside down just as Kim’s bounce sent the ball shooting pass her. The last of her momentum went into one final spin, throwing it all behind her foot as her leg surged forward. For a split second, Alix became a human spin top, rapidly reducing the world to a blur of colours, stuck in the eye of a hurricane, before colliding with the ball.

The crack of her sneaker against the rubber shell was like a gunshot. The ball screamed across the court with a spin that could’ve stripped paint off the walls, whistling so hard it made the air ripple.

Maribel had just enough time to widen her eyes before the thing detonated against her arms, blasting straight through her guard. The force sent her stumbling back, heels squealing across the varnish, until she tripped over her own teammate and went down in a glorious heap.

The crowd went wild – shrieks, groans, laughter, cheers – all mashed into one noise that rattled the rafters. Alix landed hard but clean, skidding into a crouch. Her chest heaved, her legs buzzed with leftover energy, and her grin stretched ear to ear.

“Hell yeah,” she muttered, pumping her fist.

Kim straightened, slapping his thigh where her foot had kicked off, and barked out a laugh. “Teamwork, baby!” he hollered.

The two came together for a fist bump, the moment their knuckles touched, a jolt shot through Alix’s body. Watching Kim jump assured her that he too felt the strange shock. Once again, Alix didn’t think about it, she didn’t need to think about it; there was probably some nerdy explanation about static shock and all the energy they were working through.

“Dude, we are so unreal right now,” was all either said on the matter.

---

Well, if there was one bright spot in this operation, Dutch could confidently say that the dark, bruised rings around Darcy’s eyes from her recent binocular misadventure cracked him up. She looked like a dishevelled panda, huddled under the height of the railing in fear of anymore stray balls.

Darcy glared up at him and his smug little grin. “This isn’t funny. Stop looking.”

“I don’t see the problem here,” Dutch chuckled, scratching his beard. “I thought a girl like you would love the chance to take some balls.”

She made a face, shooting up to her feet with a crude sneer. “God, why do you have to be so gross?”

He moved back, taking their conversation away from the open ears of the crowd, pressing his hand over his heart. That was the burden of taking Darcy out into the public, she tended to quickly steer conversations in a direction that would attract the wrong kind of direction. You’d think someone with her proclivities would be good at avoiding the topic of their ‘controversial’ hobby.

“Oh, my apologies. I forgot that you’re as pure as a nun,” he faintly mocked through gritted teeth. Part of him was disappointed that he didn’t go for the obvious catholic priest joke. “I’m sure you were just using those specs for bird watching.”

He came to a stop, tilting his head back as he snapped his fingers. “Or should I say chick watching?”

“I was enjoying the game and appreciating the hardworking boys,” Darcy grumbled, crossing her arms.

He let out a whistle, resting his elbow on the railing in their little abandoned corner of courtyard. Down below, the crowd was going wild for whatever trick shot the little redhead was pulling off, but Dutch was barely paying attention to the sport.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I know your dirty mind is trying to make me sound like some sort of… pervert,” she said, uttering the word with such unearned disgust behind it. “That just tells me how ignorant you are.”

“Ignorant.” Dutch shook his head, caught between a bewildered sneer and a gasping, wolfish grin. “Yeah, you know what? I’m very ignorant, wilfully ignorant.” He clapped his hands together, setting on a narrowed gaze as his voice gained some gravel. “And I thank God every day for that.”

“You’re very judgemental for a drug dealer.”

Yes, he could be in some respects. He was a peddler of illicit goods poisoning the citizens of Paris, not even stopping at getting children hooked on the stuff all for the rising payouts and the control it gifted him. Even more, he masqueraded as a heroic figure to hide this sinful operation, he turned everyone in Paris into suckers, his suckers; an element that he couldn’t deny gave him an unmatched thrill.

He abused children, he was a predator too in a way, and yet he could still find a sliver of moral outrage in his black heart to be disgusted by what Darcy was. Maybe once upon a time he would have had the standards to let that disgust stop him from associating with her, but at the end of the day he was a criminal who wanted to obtain the spoils by any means necessary.

It was a funny thing about criminals, more particularly the criminal actions that most people consider obscene. You’d have serial killers who cut up their girlfriend for some sick ritualistic thrill, robbers dropping entire families over a few extra euros, and yet they’d still turn around and condemn the person who fucked with a kid.

Perhaps it was a small sense of shame that still clung to his damned soul, something inherent to being a human being – a comfort in being able to look at her and say that she was worse than him. No matter how many people he hurt, no matter how many lives he ruined, he stopped at breaking the kids. His focus on the Dupain kid was purely in the eyes of spite, not lustful intentions, and that made him morally better.

“There’s a reason why I’d be celebrated in prison,” he mused, drawing his finger across his throat, “and your kind would be the first to get shanked.”

In a way, there was a kindred spirit there. Not in her perversions, but in how, like him, she was a wolf wrapped in wool, a kindly face you could never imagine being the subject a PSA. The guys you saw Chris Hansen catch were all these ugly, awkward, uncharismatic old weirdos who clearly had their best years gone and done. It was a stereotype you looked at and instantly know what they’re up to.

Darcy was no lumpy old fossil drooling over the floor; she was an attractive woman who turned many heads and knew just the right words and pressure to apply to make the right people enamoured with her. Hell, Dutch had briefly considered her an option once back when they first met. Brief as in the period between him looking her over and hearing her talk for the first time (where she made it clear that he was ‘too hairy’ for her tastes).

It was a paradox for Dutch how one person could be both knowledgeable and yet ignorant, manipulated and yet stupid, adult and yet childish: a burden and yet an asset. That was her greatest trait, that she could be useful to him, and at the same time be easy to remove if she ever became more than she was worth. A henchman through and through.

He came out of his thoughts with her giving a dismissive wave, bearing that uptight patronizing expression of a woman high up on her horse.

“Because none of you are emotionally mature enough to confront your bigoted beliefs,” she said simply. “I’m a person, just like the rest of you. Just because my sexuality lets me get in touch with my inner child and can recognise the maturity of people younger than me doesn’t make me any less of a person.”

If he had a drink, he’d do a spit take. Alas, all he could do was snort incredulously, “Bigoted?”

“Yes.” Oh, she sounded so proud of herself. “I know we’re criminals and all, but that doesn’t mean I’m not against bigotry.”

It made for the biggest head screw of Dutch’s year, caught between wanting to viciously laugh in her face or stare blankly at the mountain of bullshit piling up before his eyes. He ended up concluding that either reaction required much more energy and cope than he had in him at this very second.

“…I need a drink. Or ten.”

He turned on his heel and left her there before he could get a response, leaving Darcy to brood over her injury for a while longer as he descended into the courtyard and made a b-line for the refreshments table.

He cut through the cluster of gawking students, ignoring the mixture of laughter, chatter, and curses as he reached the long table of refreshments. Cheap paper cups. Bowls of chips. Some questionable soda sweating under the heat. The only prize was the beer bottles.

He popped the cap off against the edge of the table with a practiced flick and took a long, throat-burning pull. The cheap lager stung, bitter and sour in all the wrong places, but at least it wasn’t that fluorescent soda. He tilted his head back, draining half the bottle in one go before letting the noise of the courtyard wash over him.

The game was still raging, bodies darting across the court like swarming insects. Shouts, gasps, and the rubbery thwack of balls hitting flesh mixed into a strange kind of rhythm. Dutch’s eyes wandered over the crowd, scanning the edges for any sign of their missing party crasher.

Still no Baudelaire, nor this agent that was supposed to help them. He turned on his heel, half distracted with his search, and-

WHAM.

“S-Sorry!”

Dutch found it hard to focus on the man who’d just ran headfirst into his stomach, nor the ring that slipped from Dutch’s fingers. The smell was too thick, enough to make Dutch gag right then and there. He found himself falling against the wall pinching his nose just to cope, watching the scrawny man who was 50% ridiculous hair – because seriously, who the hell had a pompadour these days – stumble trying to regain his balance.

Eventually, the man snatched the ring off the ground, grinning up at Dutch sheepishly. “Oh man, sorry ‘bout that. I forget how powerful my hair can be when I’m not paying attention.”

“Can you even see with that thing in your way?”

“Kind of?” the man shrugged. “Name’s Larry, by the way.”

Larry? What an unimportant and irrelevant sounding name.

Still, Dutch put on that winning smile over the grimace, pushing off the wall to offer his hand. “They call me Dutch.”

“Oh right!” Larry straightened up, snatching up Dutch’s hand with both hands and yanking it up. “I know you, you’re that guy on TV who does… uh… something with kids.”

Instinctively, Dutch’s mouth ran faster than his head. “No, no, that’s Darcy.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean!” Dutch cleared his throat, ripping his hand out of Larry’s grasp, “Yeah, me and Darcy, we help endangered youths and all that. We don’t like to make a fuss of it.”

Larry whistled, scratching the back of his neck. “Wow, you’re a real hero then, huh?” He paused, clicking his tongue with his eyes squinting into space. It took a second before he found the words he was looking for, unleashing them with a slight wheeze. “You’re like a… everyday Ladybug, dude.”

It took all Dutch’s willpower to not break out laughing at the absurdity of it all. If only simple little Larry knew just who he was comparing the city’s hero to, or if Ladybug knew. Now that would make for a priceless reaction.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t compare myself to a superhero.” Dutch moved his hand up to hide his eyes, feigning a bashfulness. “I’m sure I could never compare to such an inspiring figure.”

“Don’t shoot yourself down, man.” Larry beat his own chest with his fist and a wry grin. “I’ve met the bug, she just seems to be like everybody else.”

Dutch swirled his bottle around, making a small, attentive hum to pretend that he was interested. Usually, he’d find some excuse to ditch the pointless conversation, but he didn’t want to return to Darcy too soon; and there was something, a gut feeling, that kept him putting his attention on this random man. Almost like there was something Dutch had forgotten but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You’ve met her?”

“Yep, I got saved by the big red bug herself; and she totally thought my hair was awesome,” Larry’s fingers threaded under the folds of his coat, pushing out a toothy, self-satisfied grin. “I was outside the bank doing- uh… stuff.”

Dutch pretended not to notice the way Larry stumbled, the grin ripped away for a split second, just long enough for Larry to gather his thoughts and start covering his tracks. The very fact that he needed to pulled at Dutch’s gut suspicions.

“My job. I was doing my job. ‘Cus I like… work at a bank, man.” Larry clapped his hands together, and suddenly developed an inability to directly look at Dutch. “Anyway, there I am, not getting shot at or anything, and then suddenly the cat dude drops bug girl into the pavement.”

Why would he specify that he wasn’t- Wait, a bank?

“Which bank do you work at?”

“O-Oh, it was the… uh… t-that one near the park…”

There were more than a handful of parks in Paris, so that answer didn’t actually mean anything. Except, it brought Dutch’s attention to a bank that he knew was near a park, one that had recently been in the path of those miraculous morons’ chase through Paris; a bank that had been in the midst of dealing with a robbery before Ladybug got dropped in the middle of it and the robber escaped.

“This was when that whole King Pigeon akuma happened, right?” Dutch asked smoothly, subtly advancing upon the man before him, sizing the man up through narrowed eyes. “Must have been one hell of a day.”

Spindly dude.

Dumb face.

Giant pompadour

“I know man, can’t imagine running away from a giant bird. Sounds scary as hell.” Larry swayed back on his heels, hooting and sighing in delight. “’Course I got out of there before that. Ladybug saved me mid-chase just before that whole thing went down.”

“Really now?” Dutch took a long sip of his bottle, ever so slightly leaning in closer. “What was your name again?”

“Larry, dude. Larry Fudge.”

Dutch released a toothy grin, grasping Larry’s shoulder with his free hand and squeezing tight. It felt so good to stare down the face of ignorance knowing there was a knife in your pocket with their name on it, to bear his teeth like they were fangs knowing that all Larry saw was the sheep and not the wolf hiding underneath.

“Well, you keep keeping it cool, Larry,” he hummed, smacking Larry on the back. “Maybe I’ll see you around the bank later. I’ve got… some stuff to deposit.”

---

“¡Mira eso! Your little model boy couldn’t catch a cold! Maybe he should go back to posing for perfume bottles, eh?” Raul laughed at his own joke, a braying, sloppy sound, while nearby patrons sank lower into their seats to avoid his spray.

For the eighth time in a minute, Gabriel’s eye twitched as his ears were assaulted. And for the eighth time, Nathalie gripped his forearm and sent him a warning look. As if him bristling at the indignities being voiced towards his son was somehow him acting out of turn.

If Gabriel thought that Raul had been loud and obnoxious before, here they were an hour or so later with four bottles of alcohol downed. The man had been relentless in his heckling of the game participants, from repeatedly comparing Dark Cupid to a monkey, saying that Time Breaker would be better off being used as the ball, chastising Bubbler for looking like he was cracked in the head, crying out how any real player would eat Miraculer alive; and of course many comments about being unable to tell whether Adrien was a girl or a boy.

Now, Gabriel didn’t come to such events often, but he was sure that there was some sort of rules of conduct that banned such blatant harassment. Yet nobody did anything. There were some uncomfortable glances exchanged, but everyone just let the brute continue to verbally attack Gabriel’s little boy (and those other kids, he guessed).

Gabriel’s nails dug crescents into the fabric of his trousers. His lips pressed thin, eyes narrowing every time Raul’s grating voice rose above the cheers of the crowd. Each insult was like grit poured into Gabriel’s ear, the kind that lingered, the kind that burned. He could almost feel the hot press of blood begging to storm through his temples.

Nathalie’s hand was the only thing keeping him anchored, her thumb brushing in a calm, deliberate pattern against his sleeve as though soothing a child mid-tantrum. It was infuriating to be treated like he needed babysitting, but her quiet signal kept him from snapping. Barely.

“Breathe,” she murmured, low enough to be swallowed by Raul’s next drunken holler.

He did, if only to prove her point unnecessary. Air in, steady. Air out, through teeth he refused to unclench.

Raul leaned forward on his seat, red-faced and loud, sloshing the last drops of his drink as he jeered at Adrien dodging a ball. “Come on, rubia! Are you a ball player or a ballerina! Put a skirt on and twirl already!”

When the game concluded with Time Breaker’s killer kick, there was no shortage of satisfaction in watching Raul stomp about like, in Gabriel’s view, a big baby at Maribel getting launched out of the court.

“¡Mentira! ¿Cómo pueden ser tan ciegos? ¡Eso fue una falta!” he growled, stomping his feet so hard people’s drinks started shaking. “Estúpido estúpido estúpido!”

Raul turned his snarling glare, which so faithfully recreated the face of a bull puffing before it charges, upwards towards Ivan. He waved his arms around aggressively. “Stop recording! Your sister was cheated out of victory!”

Ivan, in return, gestured with a barely restrained smirk to suggest that he couldn’t hear Raul, no matter if the man yelled until he was red in the face.

Time passed and the dodgeball materials left the court, soon replaced with a narrow mat and fencing equipment. The shift from dodgeball to fencing brought a palpable change in the air. Soon enough, the shrieks and thumps of rubber balls gave way to the metallic song of blades clashing, the crowd settling into a quieter tension. Gabriel exhaled slowly, relieved at last to see a stage more befitting of Adrien’s talents.

But, of course, Raul had to keep running his mouth.

“Bah!” Raul snorted, waving dismissively at the fencers taking their stances. “This isn’t even a sport. Look at them, tickling each other with toothpicks! You call that fighting? Where I come from, the real men fight with horns, with fuerza. This is for calves who don’t have the bolas to face each other like bulls!”

Gabriel’s eye twitched, his hand tightening on his cane. Before he could speak, Tom leaned over with his ever-present good-natured chuckle. “Don’t mind Raul. He just gets… spirited when there’s competition. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Gabriel’s gaze was sharp enough to cut steel. “No?” he said smoothly. “Because it certainly sounds like he does.”

Nathalie’s fingers brushed his arm in silent warning again. He let it drop. For now.

The match began, and Adrien all but glided across the mat. Every step, every feint, every sudden whip-quick strike of his blade carried a rhythm too precise, too instinctive. Gabriel’s keen eyes caught it immediately – Adrien was fighting with Chat Noir’s muscle memory, sharp and unorthodox. An awkward spin became a perfect counter; a reckless leap became a devastating strike. Against all technical expectations, he carved through the competition with a dazzling mixture of grace and feral instinct.

Gabriel would normally chastise such raw disregard for form. Normally. But with every clean hit Adrien scored, every point declared in his favour, Gabriel felt his chest swell. He said nothing of the unorthodoxy. He couldn’t. Not when Adrien was winning so thoroughly.

After Adrien’s first resounding victory, Gabriel’s lips curved into something dangerous and satisfied. He leaned ever so slightly toward Raul, his voice smooth as velvet yet as jagged as rusted metal.

“Fencing is a sport for gentlemen,” he remarked, loud enough for Raul and several nearby to hear. “It requires grace, discipline, and intelligence. A shame your daughter possesses all the grace of a one-legged elephant – otherwise she might have been able to participate in such a sport.”

Raul’s face went red so fast it was a wonder steam didn’t whistle from his ears. “You wanna say that again, you walking baguette.”

“My apologies,” Gabriel cleared his throat, ignoring the way Nathalie groaned in protest. “I said that I’m surprised she can even tie her shoelaces with those clumsy, oafish movements; much less handle a ball.”

It didn’t really shut Raul up, but in lieu of an actual comeback, Raul was left to simmer for a while.

The next round came and went with disappointing results. Adrien had been caught moving sloppy, and his paid for it dearly for three decisive hits in a row, his more eccentric movements leading to reveal various openings at once. When Adrien stumbled back and fell on his ass from the latest powering strike a derisive snort exploded from Raul.

“Ha! It looks like the little dress up doll can’t handle a toothpick after all,” he gloated, pointing vigorously at the fallen Agreste. “Maybe he should make like his mother and run away before he embarrasses himself even more.”

Gabriel was up on his feet in seconds, Nathalie’s protest be damned as he ripped his arm away from her. His usually ice cold blood melted into a boiling acid ready to melt anything he came into contact with. It was one thing to mock him, another to mock his family; but it didn’t matter what sort of big time super villain you were, you do not mock a man’s son and his dead wife all in the same petty sentence.

“Oh, that is it-”

Sabine was unfortunately much stronger than her appearance would let on, easily catching Gabriel’s arm and twisting it ever-so-slightly.

“Now now, Gabriel, you mustn’t make a scene,” she advised him, lighting up with that sickly sweet smile while lightly patting Gabriel on the shoulder.  “Just let him tire his throat out, his words are meaning-”

Raul decided in the meantime that, with Gabriel dragged back by the Dupains, he should focus on someone else to bark about. He leaned past the edge of the crowd, pointing venomously at Marinette hiding her face behind the megaphone.

“And can’t someone put that rat-faced pipsqueak screeching into the megaphone out of her misery? She’s ruining everyone’s ears.”

Sabine fell silent real quick, pressing on hand to her cheek and scrunching up her nose. Tom cleared his throat nervously, moving both his hands to lightly hold her in place. For the moment, it was amusing to Gabriel to see the giant man treat his tiny wife like a bomb about to explode.

“…Honey?” Tom gently called out to her.

In the span of a second, Sabine quite easily yanked Tom’s arms off of her and ‘politely’ shoved them away, all with that same warm, motherly smile plastered to her face. Though now that it was unmoving, the smile came off as slightly more unnerving.

“Could you save our seats, dear?” Sabine asked. Without warning, she snatched up Gabriel’s hand and started to drag him along. “We need to have an adult conversation about proper manners.”

---

Marinette only noticed that no one else was clapping with her when it was too late to stop without making everything even more awkward. So, she watched Adrien stripped himself of his fencing gear and hopped towards them, all while making quiet slaps with her hands that only made her look more deranged for every passing second.

Adrien was beaming at her, so Marinette didn’t care too much.

She stopped once he reached the group, clasping her hands together and jumping, desperately hoping the energy of her voice would drown out the awkwardness. “You were great out there, Adrien!”

Adrien opened his mouth to respond only to stop when a certain brat’s elbow pushed Marinette aside, a carefully manicured finger brandished at Adrien.

“What are you talking about?” Chloe hissed, “Adrikins was terrible!”

Marinette groaned, pushing Chloe back, “Chloe, stop being terrible.”

“Me!?” Chloe gasped, scandalized, locking the two into a side-bump standoff. “Take it from someone who’s actually watched most of his fencing matches; he should have won.”

Adrien, caught between the two girls, scratched at his neck and laughed nervously, though he didn’t seem at all insulted by Chloe’s fierce ‘defence’. “There’s more to life than winning, Chlo.”

Chloe let out that haughty laugh that Marinette affectionately likened to a honking geese. “It’s so adorable that you can be so wrong, Adrikins.”

The elbow came up in full force, pushing Marinette’s head to the side and boosting Chloe up. Marinette couldn’t help but feel her eyes twitching and being converted into Chloe’s pedestal, and briefly contemplated biting the blond brat on the arm to compensate.

Fortunately for Chloe, Marinette stayed her teeth, for now, and the girl was allowed to throw up three fingers, folding them as she spoke. “The only thing more important than winning is styling and celebrating.” The now closed fist pressed against Chloe’s head as she sighed, “That’s three things you have to work on.”

She spun around Marinette, now using the girl’s back as her resting post as she threw her arms out, to encompass Sabrina hiding by Nino’s shoulder with a bashful look.

“You should take notes from Sabrina; she won, she styled,” Chloe snapped her fingers, which was the time that Marinette decided to shove the girl off her, making Chloe last few words a breathless bellowing between stumbles, “and after this we’re gonna celebrate like royalty.”

Chloe ended up catching her balance in front of Sabrina. Nino was there, but obviously Chloe didn’t want to so much an acknowledge the peasants more than she had to. Poor Nino, he looked so strained that he had to deal with Chloe at all, bearing forcing out that friendly grin as he switched his gaze between them.

Sabrina looked down at her feet, mumbling, “I-I didn’t do that good out there…”

Immediately, Chloe was in her face, pouty lips and hands on her hips. “Sabrina, what have I said about you talking crap about yourself?”

“It’s bad, ugly and is gonna give me a stomach-ache.”

“That’s right,” Chloe bellowed, snapping her fingers again and again as she pulled Sabrina up and adjusted her posture, “now stand straight and make rude motions towards the losers whose butts you kicked ‘cus you’re better than them.”

Sabrina smacked her hand over her head in salute, earnestly guided away by Chloe over towards the ‘loser’ group. “R-Right away, Chloe!”

Marinette could only shake her head and sigh as she watched them walk away. “I feel so sorry for Sabrina, at every turn Chloe’s influencing her to be worse.”

“She’s literally just telling her to be proud of herself,” Adrien pointed out, resting his headgear against his chest.

“Yeah, because it’ll affect Chloe’s reputation.”

“Not everything Chloe does has an ulterior motive,” he continued to protest.

Once more, Marinette had to shake her head, taking hold of Adrien’s shoulders and giving them a reassuring rub. “Adrien, I love you to pieces, but you’ve only ever seen ‘polite’ Chloe due to you two having rich families,” she assured him, turning one hand over to herself. “Trust me, when us peasants are involved, everything goes back to some sick ego trip.”

Adrien tilted his head, lips quirking in that uncertain half-smile of his, the one he always gave when he wasn’t sure whether to defend Chloe or let her hang herself with her own words. His fencing jacket, half-unzipped, sagged loosely on his shoulders, making him look far more boyish and vulnerable than the duel had moments ago.

She tried not to hold it against him. After all, she knew that he grew up with Chloe, that she didn’t treat him the same way she treated the other people she saw as beneath her, that it was just Adrien’s nature to see the best in everyone. Plus, they didn’t exactly interact with Chloe as much these days, just so much stuff happening, so it was easy to forget the little terrible things she tended to do.

It didn’t help Marinette that her mind, whenever it came to Chloe, tended to drift back to Bustier’s story about Pepper. A girl who, long before her psychotic and sadistic machinations manifested, was just a love struck nerd who got her hands crushed and her dream taken away from her because some other teens were just feeling petty.

Tikki would tell her that the take away from the story should be how much Bustier had obviously changed since being the teenager who’d do such a thing, but Marinette knew in her heart that Chloe was no Bustier.

With her own words failing to grip Adrien, Marinette fell back on brotherly support, pulling away from Adrien to call Nino over. “Back me up, Nino, you remember how horrible she can be.”

“W-What? Me?” Nino jumped to attention, which Marinette processed as him probably reliving some of the awful pranks Chloe had played on him. When he calmed down, he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling sheepishly. “Yeah, sure, she can be a bit much sometimes.”

Marinette snorted, “And that’s putting it lightly.”

In that moment, Adrien and Nino shared some sort of silent message spoken through narrowed eyes, limp shrugs and shaking heads. Marinette decided not to question it, as long as it got through the Adrien.

When their coded conversation ended, Adrien decided to pull both Nino and Marinette into a one-armed embrace. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that he knew she’d melt in his arms and was using this to make her easier to persuade.

“I don’t know,” Adrien clicked his tongue, “I heard you guys were all getting along at the club.”

No matter how warm his arms were and how easily he got her heart beating, nothing could stop her from derisively snorting. “Oh please, she was only there under protest and kept her distance the entire time; which I’m all for.”

Yeah, Chloe didn’t start any incidents, and yes of course Marinette jumped too her defence when that jackass was harassing her; but that didn’t change anything. Chloe hadn’t magically become a better person, she still looked at Marinette with scorn, barely tolerating most of their presence; the only thing that Chloe had gotten better at was knowing when to restrain herself. Hell, she was probably only so ‘hospitable’ that night because she’s trying to fool Nino for some upcoming prank.

“Just because a bigger asshole showed up doesn’t make Chloe good.”

She cringed at the memory of her second least favourite person, Lila, throwing her into the crowd of angry harassers as a make-shift boomerang of misfortune.

Adrien sighed, but he didn’t seem too disappointed or angry with her answer, just reflecting his own struggle with it. “I’m just saying, people are more than meets the eyes, Mari. Even Chloe.”

“Chloe has as much depth as a puddle, trust me.”

Alya and Ivan strolled toward the group from across the courtyard. Ivan was half-distracted, hunched over his phone with his thumbs tapping away. Alya, on the other hand, wasn’t her usual sharp, animated self; her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes kept narrowing in that way they did whenever she was chewing on something bigger than she wanted to admit.

Marinette straightened up at once, waving them over. “Alya! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since you dissed the megaphone.”

For a flicker of a moment, Alya’s face twisted into something uncharacteristically uncomfortable. She stopped short of the group, folding her arms and glancing at Ivan as if he might bail her out. He didn’t look up from his screen.

“Sorry,” Alya said, her voice pitched lower than usual. “I’ve just been looking into something…”

Marinette tilted her head. “Alya?”

Her best friend sighed, rubbing at her with a frustrated grumble. “Girl, I’m just gonna give you a heads up; someone’s spreading a nasty rumour about you, and I’ve been trying to find out who.”

“A rumour? About Marinette?” Adrien’s brows pinched, his protective edge slipping through without hesitation.

Marinette rolled her eyes before they could start fussing. “Is it the one about me being adopted and that my real parents are circus clowns?”

“…Is that a real possibility for people?” Adrien asked, genuinely baffled.

Marinette shot him a deadpan look. “It’s a long story, Adrien.”

One that included some yelling, some drive by pie throwing, and little Marinette wearing a big red nose as protest against her oppressive parents trying to repress her true heritage. And this was before Marinette found her father’s secret clown costume.

Alya smoothed out her hair as she sighed, moving closer to Marinette with a serious gaze that did nothing but unsettle the girl further. “People are saying that you’re…” She paused to wince, chewing over the word before muttering, “Easy.”

“Easy?” Marinette tilted her head to the side. “I mean, yeah, I’d say I’m easy to get along with.”

Gritting teeth pushed Alya’s lips apart in a grimace. “No, like… easy.”

“Repeating the word doesn’t change the meaning.”

A groan escaped Alya, her head rocking forward to sink into Marinette’s shoulder. Before Marinette could try to question it, she was slapped with the answer from out of nowhere. Literally, because she was damn sure Alix just materialized from thin air to stick her head into their talk and interrupt them.

“They’re calling you a slut who gives out sloppy party favours in the boiler room,” she explained with a teasing grin.

Alya hopped back, squeaking at the girl’s sudden appearance whilst Marinette found herself freezing up on the spot. When the shock had passed, Alya rounded on Alix with a glare. “For God’s sake, Alix, I was trying to put it nicely!”

“Oh yeah, I heard that too,” Kim added, also just popping in, slapping Marinette on the back. “Never knew you had it in ya, Marinette.”

The clap to her back jolted Marinette out of her frozen state, but not in a way she appreciated. Her body shuddered, her throat went dry, and her face burned like she’d been shoved under a spotlight.

“What?” Her voice came out thin, higher than she meant it to, as though the single word was fighting to crawl out of her lungs. She turned her wide eyes from Kim to Alix, then back to Alya, who at least had the decency to look apologetic. “That’s- That’s not- I’ve never-”

Words tangled in her throat. The harder she tried to explain herself, the more they jammed up, choking her. She hated the way it must’ve looked, hated the way her silence probably read like guilt. Her only comfort was the sudden, but welcome, intrusion of a hand grabbing a hold of hers; Adrien’s hand.

Kim held his arms up defensively. “Whoa, hey, I’m not judging. If you need more than one guy to get your fix, that’s what you need.”

Alya snapped, “There is no fix!”

“But I heard-”

“It’s a rumour, Kim; it’s not true!”

Kim looked absolutely dumbfounded. “Would someone just do that? Just lie to everybody?”

It was Alix’s turn to groan, smacking Kim across the shoulder, “God damn it, Kim…”

The words around her blurred into noise. Alya snapping at Alix for being tactless, Kim defending himself with a half-hearted “I was just joking,” Nino’s voice raising to tell them both to shut up. Even Ivan mumbled something from the sidelines. It all collided together in a storm of overlapping voices that pressed against Marinette’s ears, too loud, too sharp.

“Calm down, girl, it’s not that bad,” Alya assured her.  “I’m sure everyone knows that it’s bullshit.”

Her stomach curled in on itself, hot and sour, as if the rumour had already wrapped its claws around her reputation and dragged it into the gutter. Every time someone’s voice rose, she winced. She couldn’t tell if they were defending her or fuelling the fire. All she knew was that people were talking about her like that -- in hallways, in whispers, maybe laughing behind their hands -- and the thought made her skin crawl.

“Kim believed it!”

“Kim’s an idiot,” Nino shot back, pausing only to awkwardly turn to Kim. “No offence.”

Kim shrugged. “Hey, I’ve never cared about smarts.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. But her throat was locked, strangled by the panic spinning tighter and tighter inside her chest.

“Who could say such a-” Marinette stopped herself, spinning on her heel to cast her gaze over to Sabrina and Chloe sticking their tongues out at an enraged Maribel being held back by her team. “Chloe. Of course it’s her.”

She took off in a fierce stride. She didn’t know what she was going to do once she reached Chloe, but by God she was gonna do something, something drastic or something… well, something!

Only her quest was cut short when arms snaked around her waist and hoisted her up, bringing her up to Nino’s head. Without ground to walk on, her legs still pumped in the air, hoping that she could generate enough friction through raw effort that she’d go rocketing out of Nino’s grip.

“Whoa! Hey!” Nino exclaimed. “We don’t know that it’s Chloe.”

She reasoned that Nino was just protecting her from doing something stupid that’d get her thrown out, that Nino, of course, assumed Chloe was too stupid to get anyone to believe her dumb stories; but it still frustrated her that he was in her way.

“Of course it is! Who else would spread such a nasty rumour about me?”

Eventually, she realized that Nino’s grip was ironclad and let her body droop into a deflated funk. She was lowered to the floor where she fell back on Adrien, suddenly losing her energy. “See, Adrien? This is exactly what I mean. She’s a bully through and through and nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Marinette pressed her palms into her eyes with a groan, her voice muffled and miserable. “I can’t believe this. What if my parents hear about it? What if they start thinking I’m like that? Oh God, they’ll start having the talk with me and giving me all those uncomfortable lectures.”

Her stomach dropped further at the thought – Sabine with her serene but piercing tone, Tom fumbling through metaphors about baguettes and dough rising – it was enough to make her want to shrivel up on the spot.

But before she could spiral further, the low roar of shouting pulled all conversation to a halt. Everyone froze, the atmosphere snapping taut as Alya stiffened, her eyes locked on something behind Marinette and Adrien. Slowly, almost fearfully, she raised a hand and pointed.

“I… uh…” Alya’s voice cracked. “Don’t think your parents are in a listening mood right now.”

Marinette’s hands slipped away from her face. “What? Wh-”

She turned, Adrien following her gaze, and the sight that met them both was so absurd it short-circuited her brain.

“Oh my god.” Marinette’s gasp caught in her throat, horrified.

“Oh my god!” Adrien exclaimed again, but this time laughing.

Because before them, by the parent’s side of the courtyard, was an all-out brawl.

At the very centre stood Ivan’s father, red-faced and roaring like a bull, fists flying as he swung at anyone who got close.

“Get off me you crazy perra!”

On his back Sabine clung with the determination of a woman possessed, her fingers hooked into his horn-shaped hair as she yanked, reining in the runaway bull in human form.

“A gentleman says he’s sorry when he insults someone’s child!” the tiny bull-rider cried.

From the side, Gabriel of all people had entered the fray, tackling the hulking man around the waist in a move so graceless it looked like he’d tripped into him. His jacket was already smeared with dirt, but his expression was grim, jaw clenched as though he were facing down an akuma instead of a suburban dad.

Shouts and gasps echoed around the yard as other parents and kids scrambled to either cheer, intervene, or simply stay well clear of the chaos.

“You two are crazy! Stop!”

Raul tried in vain to swing at Gabriel, but for a man Marinette assumed spent all day long sitting in an office, Gabriel had some moves of his own, ducking under the blows and raining down his own fists on Raul’s stomach.

The most un-Gabriel Agreste voice cried out, “I didn’t hear no bell!”

Adrien grinned from ear to ear, half-doubling over with laughter. “This is the best day of my life.”

Marinette slapped a hand to her face, torn between fainting and running into the melee to drag her poor mother out. Three adults were trying to beat each other to death and everyone was just gawking, she couldn’t believe it. Quickly, Marinette turned to Ivan, the most peaceful guy she knew, but also one of the strongest; he could stop this or talk his father down.

“Ivan!” she exclaimed. “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

Ivan looked down at her blankly for a moment before his face was overtaken by a determined gaze, pulling his head into a firm nod.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

As quickly as possible, Ivan turned his phone to landscape mode and started recording.

“There.”

Marinette found herself almost wheezing from the whiplash, “Not that!”

Ivan’s brow deepened, “You want me to get popcorn?”

Off to the side, her father was caught between the crowd and the fight, his body working on autopilot to offer limp wristed thumbs up as support to his wife. His face was stained, barely holding back the nervous panic behind his wide, toothy grin.

Behind him, using his sizable arm as a hiding spot, Nathalie had fully pulled her hood up and yanked the straps until only her sunglasses were visible. Silently, she was probably screaming “I am not associated with these people!”

“I’ve got twenty on Sabine,” Kim’s father called out.

“You kidding?” Alix’s uncle whistled, “That guy’s gonna tear them apart.”

“You haven’t seen Sabine in action,” Mylene’s dad laughed. “That woman could give a bear a run for it’s money if it was rude enough.”

“How immature,” Nino’s mother tutted while discreetly slipping Max’s mom ten euros on Gabriel.

Alya’s father shook his head. “I’ve never been so happy Roger isn’t here.”

Marinette slapped her hands over her face. “Are there no actual adults here?”

The fight continued with no responsible people stepping in to put a stop to it. Whether the security couldn’t hear the fight happening or were just slow, either way they were clearly being paid more than they were worth.

Gabriel (who seemed to have something on his lip, though everything was moving too quick for Marinette to glimpse it) was knocked back, but Sabine kept the fight going strong, stabbing her heel into Raul’s back. From there, she reeled her fists back and pounded his head like he was raw dough.

Raul managed to reach up and snatch her, ready to drag her down into the ground and stomp her into dust. However, he didn’t count on Gabriel coming back with a vengeance, charging ahead, leaping up and grabbing hold of Raul’s shoulders. With his position secured, Gabriel’s knee had free reign to hammer at Raul’s stomach, causing the man to double over and toss Sabine aside.

Unfortunately, one wild strike was enough to smack Gabriel across the face and send him reeling back. Raul watched Gabriel stumble with a grin, wiping blood off his lower lip. “That does it, Fancy Fingers. It’s time you learn something.”

Raul took a stance, spreading his legs apart and bending his torso low, almost like a bow. His horns took prominence in the pose, jagged ends pointing squarely at Gabriel. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns!”

Gabriel didn’t even flinch as Raul’s guttural roar came barrelling toward him. Instead, he planted his feet, squared his shoulders, and let a slow, almost predatory grin spread across his face. Marinette’s stomach knotted at the sight – there was something in that look, something reckless and daring, that reminded her of… no, she shook it away. Hawkmoth thoughts are banned right now, she muttered to herself.

Raul charged, fists swinging, the ground trembling with each step, dust puffing around his heavy boots. The courtyard seemed to shrink under his sheer momentum, everyone frozen in a mix of awe and horror.

And then, in a move so smooth it almost looked like he’d been planning it, Gabriel dropped to the floor. His body went low and limp, sliding just as Raul reached him. Raul didn’t even have time to react – his momentum carried him forward, and he tripped over Gabriel’s unsuspecting form.

With a bone-jarring thump, Raul hit the ground, sprawling in a disgraceful heap. Arms and legs flailed, and for a moment it was hard to tell if he was trying to get up or performing some accidental interpretive dance. Dust and dirt puffed up around him as he groaned, glaring at Gabriel with pure fury – and a hint of humiliation that made Marinette stifle a small, guilty laugh.

“Strange, I’m not really feeling the horns right now,” Gabriel sneered.

“Way to go, Mr. G,” Nino whistled.

“That’s my Fat-” Adrien stopped himself, squinted and then laughed. “Is he wearing Uncle Colt’s moustache?”

Raul made an effort to clamber back to his feet, glaring daggers at Gabriel. Before anyone could blink, his arm shot out, fingers the size of baseball bats taking Gabriel by the shirt and yanking him into the air.

“When I’m done with you,” he huffed, “not even your momma’s gonna recognise you.”

Gabriel struggled against the hold, but made no progress. “She already can’t.”

Raul’s free hand drew back into a shaking fist, poised to take Gabriel’s entire head off with one might blow.

A gunshot went off.

It was big, it was loud, it spread a wave of panic across the crowd that had everyone stumbling and screaming. Gabriel was dropped, Raul knocked around as people rushed passed him, and all eyes turned to the source of the shot.

It was a woman. A purple bowl cut covered her eyes, leaving her sole expression as she held the gun up against her cheek was the straight thin line of her lips.

“Hm. Gun went off in hand,” she said thoughtfully, her thick Russian accent creating a rough growl for every word. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the man that stood next to her. “Mr. Baudelaire, they have given me faulty instrument.”

---

She was a lanky woman, holding herself at a slight incline so that her torso and arms were ever so clearly hanging from the hip. A fluffy green coat hung off her shoulders, revealing a pink sweater underneath and a scarf wrapped around her throat. It was a warm day, and she was dressed like it was winter.

Gabriel wouldn’t have paid her much mind if it hadn’t been for her firing the gun, or the fact that she was with Kagami. The girl stood unphased by the gun shot, instead focused on quickly finding Adrien through the crowd, pulling her bag ever tighter over her shoulder.

Gabriel had no inkling on Tomoe’s daughter making an appearance, especially so late into the event, and even more suspicious was her being surrounded by no one that Gabriel recognised.

It wasn’t just the shooter, but the strange man (the shooter called him Baudelaire) next to her, who stood with such rigidity that seemed impossible for a person and bore red hair that curved up in such a way that it reminded him of devil horns; or a hairless cat. A silver drone floated over his shoulder as Baudelaire turned to a spluttering Dark Owl, and Gabriel could shake the feeling that the drone was watching him.

“Oh, how unacceptable,” Baudelaire droned on, sounding almost like he was sleeping through it all. “You have her carrying a gun with a faulty trigger. The safety standards in this school have clearly gone to the dogs.”

Dark Owl looked about ready to drop to his knees, sweating enough to fill up a lake by the time he stumbled out, “I-I’m sure it was just a case of bad luck!”

The drone bleated in Baudelaire’s ear.

“Mother shudders to imagine if she hadn’t been aiming it upwards. Even for a pellet gun, a poor soul might have been hurt,” Baudelaire hummed, shaking his head. He leaned closer to Dark Owl, his eyes every so slightly twitching. Not like they were irritated, or emotion, but like a corpse in it’s final spasms. “Do you want little Timmy with his eye hanging from it’s socket? Hm?”

“W-Well make sure to double- no, quadruple check our equipment as soon as possible,” Dark Owl spluttered, clapping his hands together. The moment he pulled away from Baudelaire’s attention Dark Owl ran his fingers nervously through what little hair he had, tugging the strands straight.

After a moment he turned to the rest of the crowd, holding his hands up and pushing out a reassuring smile that no one was buying. “Everyone calm down, it was just a little accident! No one’s in any danger.”

Naturally, there was no one else in the building who could occupy Kagami’s attention, no peers here. She led her little trio over to the only people she recognised, arriving in front of Gabriel with a peculiar look on her face as she stared right through Gabriel’s masterful disguise.

“Mr. Agreste? Why are you wearing such unbecoming clothes?”

Fortunately, Gabriel was saved from the burden of explanations by Adrien jumping into view, still clad in his fencing uniform. It was only Gabriel quickly grabbing hold of Adrien’s shoulder that stopped the boy from doing something reckless like trying to embrace the girl.

“Gami!” Adrien exclaimed and, from the corner of his eye, Gabriel could spot the rest of his friends shuffling over. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, you just missed my match.”

Kagami, despite her stoic mask, did seem to light up ever so slightly at Adrien’s greeting. She bowed her head. “My apologies, we were waylaid by traffic.”

“See, Nathalie?” Gabriel grumbled over his shoulder to what he presumed to be Nathalie rolling her eyes. “This is why we came here early.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t get to see you in the fencing match, I’d love to see how much you’ve improved,” Adrien sighed.

Gabriel was curious himself, musing at how much Chat Noir’s influence would stack up against any training Kagami had been receiving in private. His pride was confident that Adrien’s slew of constant battle experience would outstrip Kagami even untransformed.

“Adrien,” Marinette chided, poking Adrien’s arm, “she can’t participate in the junior portion; she doesn’t go to this school.”

Kagami’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Actually, I am participating; in the Adult bracket.”

“Wait, what?” Bubbler gasped out, blatantly leaning on Adrien’s shoulder. “But you’re a teenager like us?”

“My skills far outpace the shackles of age,” Kagami replied evenly, her posture unwavering. She tilted her head slightly toward Adrien, a quiet challenge in her eyes. “You will see that in the coming match. I hope you watch closely, Adrien.”

The kids fell into more prattle, but Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to listen, not while his attention was gripped by those eyes, hidden behind shaded spectacles yet Gabriel could somehow tell that they were dull, trained on him. Baudelaire had that air of an omen about him, an aura that just made you feel, not like he was going to do anything, but that he was there because he knew something terrible was about to occur and he wanted to witness it.

Gabriel noted that the drone’s blinking light shifted to red.

“You’re right, Father,” Baudelaire hummed, tilting his head to listen to a language of beeps and bloops only he understood. “He doesn’t look as impressive up close.”

Gabriel’s lips curled downwards, parting slightly to revealed gritted teeth. “It’s rude to talk about someone without even introducing yourself.”

“It’s also rude to eavesdrop,” Baudelaire shot back with a twitch to his lips, a mimicry of a grin that the rest of his face couldn’t support. “I am Miss Tsuguri’s personal assistant. More important matters call to her, so her heir is in my care.”

“Mr. Baudelaire is correct,” Kagami cut in smoothly, her tone clipped but not unkind. “My mother entrusted him with my well-being while she is occupied with business matters. He speaks in her stead.”

“Oh,” Adrien gasped, “he’s like… your Nathalie!”

Gabriel resisted the urge to snort, but he could feel Nathalie’s gaze narrow at Adrien for the association.

“Occupied,” Gabriel echoed faintly, his brows narrowing at the word. The little twitch of distaste at the corner of his lip hadn’t gone unnoticed by Nathalie, who stood just behind him. She reached out and gave the faintest brush at his elbow – a silent reminder to keep his temper in check.

In the days following his last meeting with Tsuguri communication had been sparse. Their usual deal was still in place, he met his deadlines for their campaigns and so did she, but there had been little else in the way of business meetings. He knew that she wasn’t ramping to cut him out just yet, she’s make sure he knew far, far in advance if she were to ever consider that course of action. However, there was definitely tension there, familiar ground made unstable by his protest to her end goal with their children.

For now, he was sure that she was waiting for him to beg for her attention, ensure that whatever deal they make in the future, it starts on the grounds that her giving him her attention is something he chased her for, and thus started with her in a position of power.

The only thing that made Gabriel hesitate in completely thinking he could never be tempted to play into her hand was Adrien, in how happy Adrien was to see Kagami and the few times he wondered out loud when he’d next see her. He had no romantic interest in her, he’d made that clear, but she was still a dear friend of his, someone who understood him.

And in that regard, Gabriel couldn’t help but repeat Tomoe’s words in his head, words that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in his own mouth when it came down to it. Kagami would understand, would fit with Adrien more than anyone else here, wouldn’t she? It wouldn’t be wrong for Gabriel to encourage Adrien to-

No. Hawkmoth firmly told him. He didn’t know what he was saying no to in particular, but Hawmoth screamed it in his headspace. No.

“Hey, buddy,” Larry asked, his voice stuck in awe as he pointed up towards the drone, “what’s with the flying bowling ball?”

“Max is my personal pet project,” Baudelaire explained simply, raising his hand and pressing it against the drone’s temple. For the first time, the man expressed some sort of direct emotion, a tenderness towards the drone. “Details confidential, of course.”

“Hey, our friend Max has a floating robot too!” Bubbler pointed out.

Adrien and Marinette’s faces lit up at the same time, Adrien leaning towards Baudelaire with an excited grin. “Is yours as advanced as Markov?”

Baudelaire flat out ignored them, his eyes not so much as flickering to suggest he heard someone speaking to him. Instead, he turned away, towards the purple haired woman whose eyes weren’t even visible, just her lips now tightly wrapped around a cigarette.

“I’d be remiss not to introduce the woman Tsuguri Industries in sponsoring for this little event; Ivana Srootvit,” his voice returned to it’s default emptiness, making a lazy gesture to her person. “She’ll be racking up a high score in the shooting gallery.”

Ivana stared straight ahead, swaying her head back and plucking the cigarette out for a quick puff before giving off a tiny shrug.

“She’s not much of a talker,” Baudelaire continued, though a certain expectant edge insisted itself on his voice.

Rivets of wrinkles formed in her cheeks, and Gabriel got the impression that she was rolling her eyes. She spoke plainly and glumly, “I speak with bullet.” Then she jerked her head away from them, signalling that she was done with the meaningless prattle and staring up at the sky.

For a moment, Gabriel stared at the woman, finding in that moment that, despite her calm surface, his miraculous senses were picking up a juicy goldmine of emotions bubbling up underneath. There was frustration there, though Gabriel couldn’t get a good sense of the source. It was controlled, repressed, signs of a woman who had experience keeping her emotions in check even in the face of great ire. Impressive, really.

Oh, but the potential interested Gabriel, made him itchy. It had been a whole week since King Pigeon. A week without Hawkmoth, without an akuma, without a monologue. Really, he was overdue for an akuma, not akumatizing someone would make Ladybug and Volpina feel like he was ditching them. Besides, the junior section was over, Adrien wasn’t doing anything else, and Nathalie technically said he had permission to akumatized someone.

So, just maybe, he’d keep his eye on this Ivana woman.

A groan signalled to Gabriel to look to the side, spotting Raul stumbling pass the group nursing bruises on his face and holding his stomach. As he met Gabriel’s gaze, the man glowered at him, his eyes spitting out a silent message that Gabriel was dead meat.

“Such savage conduct from the man of stone,” Baudelaire added, following Gabriel’s gaze as Raul disappeared into the crowd.

Damn, Gabriel was really hoping none of them had seen the fight.

“It’s none of your business,” Gabriel said simply, arms locked behind his back so the man could see how hard he was gripping his fist.

“It’s just that the master always spoke so highly of your composure,” Baudelaire sighed, tapping his lips. “And composure is so important these days, is it not?”

His gaze moved askew, looking over all the people congregating throughout the courtyard, all the people of chaotic, diverse emotions and desires. To the normal man, it was a sea of indescribable chaos, a hundred little lives locked away in bodies one was ignorant of. To Hawkmoth, it was an ordered collection of possibilities open to him.

“We wouldn’t want to invite that mean old butterfly to the festivities after all.”

Gabriel found himself grinning as he turned away, oh-so-subtly adjusting his collar, his thumb running over Nooroo’s broach.

Yes, of course, they wouldn’t want Hawkmoth to crash the event. That would be terrible.

---

QueenBug: Hey, quick question.

QueenBug: Can Kwami get sick?

KittyPun: Hey, did yours get sick too?

QueenBug: Wait, really? You too?

QueenBug: Tikki’s been out of it. A little pale, looking drained.

Chester: Yep, I’m feeling it too…

GlitterMoth: Is this your way of asking for a cheese stock up?

Chester: Nah, I think I’m good on the cheese for today.

Chester: Maybe I finally ate too much…

GlitterMoth: …

GlitterMoth: Did Plagg just turn down cheese?

KittyPun: Plagg, you didn’t tell me that it was this serious!

QueenBug: I’ll get Master Fu on the phone as soon as I can.

FreakyTikki: My poor Plagg.

Chester: Guys, it’s not that bad.

GlitterMoth: Don’t go into the light!

FoxyLady: You know, when my phone kept going off, I dared to think this was an emergency.

GlitterBoy: Kwami are getting sick. That is an emergency.

GlitterBoy: Trixx might be next!

FoxyLady: Oh my god, you’ll be fine.

FoxyLady: You’re all going up in arms on your equivalent of stubbing your toe.

FoxyLady: Do you guys ever stop to wonder if maybe you don’t need to say every little fucking thing that comes to mind?

FoxyLady: No, of course not! You just shoot your mouth off about every little thing, hoping that if you just overwhelm people with enough bullshit, they’ll be too distracted to ever notice that you don’t have anything of worth to say.

FoxyLady: You think that just because you put on a mask, it doesn’t matter what you say? Because no one knows who you really are, or cares about who you really are?

FoxyLady: Come on, Shitmoth, why don’t you send out one of your cute little butterflies of angst out already? It’s literally the only light of our entire week.

*FoxyLady Logged Off*

GlitterMoth: So…

ShitMoth: I’m not the only one who thinks Volpina has bene a little grumpy lately, right?

KittyPun: Oh, 100%

QueenBug: Just a bit.

QueenBug: You’re not gonna release any akumas today, right?

ShitMoth: …

QueenBug: Hawky!

ShitMoth: Maybe.

ShitMoth: Wait a second…

ShitMoth: Tikki!

FreakyTikki: I thought the name was inspired.

Notes:

You know Kagami is observant because she and Marinette were the only people able to see through Gabriel's masterful disguise.

Adrien trying his best to soften the blow of Nino liking Chloe.

Fun fact, when I originally envisioned a scene of Gabriel and Sabine tag-teaming Ivan's father heckling their kids at a sports game, it was before the episode with Ivan's father released. Yet, I already had it that the person they were beating up was a bull-themed supervillain on his time off, so changing him to the canon version worked perfectly. This is like the second time I've accidentally predicted something about an episode in one of my fics.

Next Time - Hawk-Blocked:

Kagami stared down Marinette's hand like it was a weapon, eyes narrowed and full of suspicion, waiting for Marinette to reveal some trick or trap. "I don’t understand."

Marinette blinked in stunned silence, going over any possibility of a language barrier before reminding herself that Kagami spoke perfect French. “We want to know if you’d like to join us for ice cream?”

Kagami’s fingers twitched by her side, almost like they were reaching for a hilt that wasn’t there. “And,” she breathed, “if I refuse?”

Marinette glanced over towards Adrien for support, but he just shrugged. “Then you go on your merry way?”

“It’s not an order or anything, Gami,” Adrien assured her. “It’s just an offer.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna kidnap you or something,” Nino added on. Then he paused, peered over towards Marinette and sniggered, “Though Marinette might.”

“What?!” Marinette squeaked.

“He’s right,” Alya laughed, “You get real desperate when it comes to making new friends.”

Notes:

Comments and ideas are welcome. My tumblr's always open to asks or shitposting: https://drtwit.tumblr.com