Work Text:
The Last Great American Dynasty
Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train, it was sunny…
Alya let out a breath. It had been a strange day, but a good one, as she lay cuddled in her wife’s arms in their new home. She had never been happier, and she was so, so thankful for Kagami’s presence in her life. She didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky.
A small smile graced her lips. Maybe Ladybug’s luck had worn off on the city- and her- after all.
Her saltbox house on the coast took her mind off St. Louis
She didn’t know how she felt about luck, really. A year ago she would’ve laughed at the thought of ever calling herself lucky- her relationship was falling apart, her blog was crashing, her job as a reporter was unfulfilling and just earned her scorn. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
She’d given up reporting. Or, she’d partially. When she left Paris, she archived her blog, tucked away her old notebooks, and headed for a new life. She liked writing, she really did, but after every single fiasco that followed her stories in Paris… Maybe she wasn’t the one best fit for the job.
Alya knew what she was like. She chased, and she chased, and she chased, searching for sensational stories to break the world with. Sometimes, she knew, she just broke her friends instead.
"There goes the last great American dynasty… who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been…”
She didn’t want to be the villain in everyone else’s stories anymore. But the trouble was that even while she took a break, she could feel the words building up in her and threatening to tear her down. She was restless again.
Sighing heavily, she removed herself from Kagami’s arms, grabbing her robe and wrapping herself up in it. Tying the belt, she stepped out onto her balcony, inhaling the sea air. Yes, she loved it here, she really did.
“There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen. She had a marvelous time ruining everything..."
She stared out into the raging ocean. There were secrets in this town- she could feel them, humming through the air, crashing through the see, rumbling through and breaking the hearts of everyone here. But her urge to chase them, to uncover them, to dig them up wasn’t there anymore. She just wanted to write- write about her wife, about the man she’d met on the train yesterday, about the woman she saw passing their house in a bright green raincoat. She just wanted to tell stories.
Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever….
She dug out her phone from the pocket of her robe, checking the time. 2:37 am. It was later than she thought.
She weighed her options, though. Would Marinette be up? She slept late, but maybe…
Marinette picked up on the third ring.
“Hey!” Marinette sounded a little out of breath, like she’d been running somewhere. “What’s up, Al? Isn’t it late there?”
Alya sighed. “I’m restless, ‘Nette.”
“What? But you and Kagami- are you two-”
“No, no, we’re fine,” Alya said, rushing to reassure her friend. “I just…”
“You want to write again.”
“Wha- how did you-?”
"There goes the last great American dynasty. Who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been…”
From across the ocean, Marinette rolled her eyes. “I know you, Alya.”
Alya clenched her hands, frustrated. “But I don’t want to do what I did before- I don’t know how to not-”
Marinette gave a small laugh. “Before you were chasing after answers. You don’t have to be a journalist, Alya. There are other things to write about.”
Alya turned back to face the raging sea. An apt metaphor for what she was feeling, really.
“I don’t know how, Marinette.” Marinette was silent on the other end of the phone, so she went on. “I- I feel like all I know is stories. All I know how to do is chase the truth. I haven’t written in so long, and I don’t want to be a novelist, I want-”
She blew out a frustrated breath, a strand of hair dancing on the wind of her breath. She could practically see Marinette’s knowing smile from across the phone, and Alya pouted.
“Who said you have to be a novelist?”
“There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen… She had a marvelous time ruining everything."
“I mean, you don’t have to write novels to write. You could write short stories, or poems, or plays, or TV shows… you could write anything.” Alya was quiet as she considered this. “The way I see it, you like writing stories. You never- you never reported because you wanted to be on TV, or anything. The stories are what matter to you, aren’t they?”
“...You think I’d be good at that?”
Marinette laughed. “I know you would be. And, you know what?”
Alya sat down, cross-legged, on her salt-stained deck. “What?”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re good at it. Doesn’t matter if you’re great at it. Just try it, and if you like it, keep doing it! If you don’t, try something else! You’ve been confining yourself to one style your whole life, and you don’t have to. I’ll read anything you write.”
Alya smiled as a wave crashed below her, sending sea spray into her face. “How would I even start?”
“By picking up your pen.”
They say she was seen on occasion… pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea
Alya stared over the crashing waves, a small smile playing on her face. Somewhere across that ocean, her best friend was on the other end of the phone, giving her stellar advice, like always.
“Thank you, ‘Nette.”
“Actually, Alya…” Marinette paused, as if considering whether or not to say something. She yelled something to someone, presumably Adrien(they really were perfect together), before coming back to the phone.
“See, Hawkmoth’s gone, and… Well, it would be nice to have some peace, and Adrien and I have talked it over, and… Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that I think we’ve got a story for you, Alya.”
Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits...
Alya’s eyebrows shot up. “... Go on…?”
“I mean…” Marinette took a deep breath. “I mean, what if you wrote a… biography, of sorts. About you. About me. About Adrien, about Chloe, about Nino.” She paused again.
“A biography about the heroes of Paris.”
Alya was stunned silent as Marinette went on. “You don’t even have to write about the heroeing. You could just… you could tell the world our stories, you know? There’s no one that Adrien and I would rather entrust the job to.”
Alya stuttered as she regained her voice. “Y-you-?”
Marinette laughed, albeit nervously. “Yeah, me. Chat Noir and I- Adrien and I- have been talking about this for a little while now. We’re- we’re tired, see, and we’re ready to have some peace. And, if you want, we’re ready to have our stories written. And- and not just the hero part. All of it.”
Alya felt tears brimming in her eyes. “It… it makes sense,” She whispered, shaking her head. “ Of course it was you.”
Marinette just smiled. “So, are you in?”
Alya was quiet as she stared at the furious sea. What would her life be like without Marinette in it? How could she have been so lucky?
“Yes. Yes, I am. A million times yes.”
Who knows, if I never showed up, what could've been…