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A villain is overheard saying, "We are trying to take over the world! Let's make sure there's a world to take over by not blowing the place to smithereens!"
Credits: @mysnis
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“We are trying to take over the world!” Swirls of lava-esque energy billowed around a figure obscured by the shadows. Opposite that was a dark-haired man bathed in the light. Obsidian lightning flickered at his fingertips.
“Really?” he drawled. “For a second there, I thought you wanted to save it. Sugar cube.”
“…It was necessary.” The figure hid deeper into the darkness.
“They destroyed her! Second by fucking second! They made sure she felt every single damned thing they did. And then they made her break,” his voice, once loud and furious, cracked into a whisper. “She was your bug, sugar cube. Your bug. Your chosen. Your soul. And yet— And yet, you can stomach standing here doing fucking nothing?!”
“I know!” The echoes of the scream bounced against the cave walls, creating a haunted symphony. “I know, Plagg. Don’t you dare insinuate I don’t! I know it more intimately than anyone. The pain, the fear, the hope, the resignation— I knew it. I felt it. I lived it. You have no right to accuse me like that.”
“So why?! If you knew, then why! Why stop me?!” In his fury, he lost all control of his magic, streaks of lightning rushing toward the exit only to be stopped by a dense scarlet fog.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing a face marred by a spiderweb of acid green scars.
“Their souls,” she spat out, “are too light of a repentance.”
“Ti—”
“Suffer they should. It’s the least they deserve.” The fog grew darker and thicker, reminiscent of a mist of blood.
“Tik—”
“And if the world happens to be brought down with them?” she shrugs. “They deserve it for housing those scoundrels.”
“Tikki—”
She clapped, and in an instant, the mist disappeared and a cheerful smile was pasted on her face. “So Plagg, let's make sure there's a world to take over by not blowing the place to smithereens, m’kay?”
Tikki was corrupted, and there was little that can be done to reverse it.
May the heavens help a world that creation has spurned.
"A triple quad black eye but make it ristretto," Marinette mumbled with her eyes half closed, thrusting a ginormous tumbler into the hands of the aghast cashier.
She stumbled her way to a counter seat and promptly collapsed onto the marble surface. The chill of it was sharp enough to keep her on the knife-edge of lucidity while waiting for her dose of sweet, unforgivable addiction.
A chuckle rang through the vacant shop amidst the whirring of the espresso machine.
"Didn't think there'd be a free range one of you nutcases out there," a baritone voice said with undisguised mirth.
Normal Marinette would've ignored the weird voice. Normal Marinette was smart, usually. Even Sleepy Marinette knew better than to jeopardize everything. Unfortunately, the only Marinette left running the show was One-Foot-Into-A-Grave-Slash-Coma Marinette.
And this Marinette was a downright idiot.
She opened a striking blue eye for a moment before turning the other way and mumbling, "...Ngh bad stranger."
"Name's Julian. Not a stranger now, am I?"
Marinette's current slower-than-a-turtle brain took a hot second to process the words and string them together before slurring out, "Mah-ree-nettie," squinting at Julian afterward like a satisfied housecat.
"Well, Nettie, what brings you to Gotham? Secret Wayne? You have the looks for it, that's for sure." The barista couldn't help but let out a snort at that. If there was anything Gotham was known for, it must be the gaggle of black-haired blue-eyed children with wildly tragic backstories.
Marinette slow-blinked like a lagging computer at Julian before sluggishly reaching to the top of his head.
"Flatcap."
"It's Paper Boy Day, y'see."
"...Weird."
"Kid, this dude's one of the resident crazies. This," the barista gestured to all of Julian, "is what happens when you live here too long. God knows, the air here reeks of insanity."
"Don't forget the water too," Julian snickered.
He eyed her up and down before adding, "And you, kid, scream visitor. Your outfit is drab enough to pass for a gargoyle here, but your scent— It's a dead giveaway. You smell too nice to be here. All lavender and cinnamon and puppies."
Before Marinette could begin to muster up a response, the barista came back and placed her filled-to-the-brim tumbler down with practiced caution.
Marinette cared not for anything but her preferred dose of insanity, immediately gulping down the still steaming drink to the resigned and amused eyes of the duo.
"Even after all that, not even a hint of hesitation, huh? Just like that Tim kid, I swear."
"Uncannily so, indeed."
Three straight minutes of inhaling the more-caffeinated-than-should-be-legal drink later, Tired-As-All-Nine-Hells-But-Still-Pulling-Through Marinette took the stage.
With scrunched brows, she turned to look at Julian then the barista then back to Julian.
"...Wayne?"
Guffawing, Julian replied, "The growing brood of Bruce, Playboy Prince of Gotham. You one of his? Last name Wayne?"
With the caffeine charge belatedly rebooting her critical thinking skills, Semi-Dead-But-Not-Quite Marinette realized how much shit pre-coffee Marinette could have already landed herself in. Idle chatter with strangers was a privilege not granted to a newbie runaway.
"...No. And I- I think I have to go now."
Marinette rushed out of the coffee shop, tumbler clutched like it was her life, under the indecipherable gaze of the odd stranger.
"Hey, Nettie," the barista greeted, moving to make her drink the moment she walked in.
Over the course of a week, Marinette had kept running into the strange man on her coffee runs. After the second meeting, she indulged in the newfound paranoia her journey had encouraged. Under Tikki's disapproving gaze, she casted no less than thirty-seven different spells to be absolutely, beyond any doubt certain that he was in no way a threat to her. Her actions were morally ambiguous, sure, but that coffee shop was the only place in Gotham that didn't stink of corrupted energy.
Marinette could only either take the plunge or go coffee-free, and she's seen how well that would go.
"Hello again, little bean. Need another death drink already?"
Silently acquiescing to that, Marinette admired Julian's newest garb. "...National Bride Day?" she guessed.
He wore an ivory wedding gown, the skirt billowing out around his seat in heaps of tulle and lace. A white camellia rested on his right ear, pinning back part of his flowing blonde wig, pearls hanging from it like a star-lit waterfall.
"Tsk, tsk, Nettie, close but not quite." He bopped her on the head with a bouquet of fake carnations, eyes gleaming with an odd affection. "World Marriage Day, actually."
"What do you think, I'm rocking this one, aren't I?" he wiggled his eyebrows.
Marinette rolled her eyes at his antics. "Felix put it all together, didn't he? You and Mitch together can't measure up to a pinky of his fashion sense."
"How dare you speak to your father like that, young lady!" he gasped in mock offense.
"Thought you called me a Wayne, Jules," Marinette teased back, brow raised.
"You could be both," he joked. "I don't mind being called father-in-law."
"Ju-"
Her righteous indignation was interrupted by the clink of porcelain on marble and the chuckles the barista didn't bother holding back, much to her dismay.
"You- I- Just- No! You guys, no! Felix and I aren't anything even close to that," she exclaimed. But unfortunately for her, her reddening face hid nothing.
"...Sure, kid, sure. But hurry it up, will you? I've got a hundred bucks on the line."
"You bet on me?!"
"I want in. Twenty bucks Felix makes the first move." The barista held out a crisp fifty, adding, "Thirty Marinette avoids him after."
Julian grabbed the bill, pulling up a purse from his fake cleavage.
Before Marinette could protest more, a loud siren blasted from her phone speakers. Her eyes hardened instantly as if a switch was flicked, and without another word, she left like Cerberus himself was on her heels.
By the time Ladybug had arrived on the scene, half of Collège Françoise Dupont was up in flames. Chat Noir was nowhere to be found, but from a cursory glance, the students stayed a distance away from the burning building, seeming neither harmed nor controlled or otherwise affected aside from the bone-deep fright.
"Marinette! Where is Marinette!" the akuma—Manon—screeched.
"We don't know a Marinette," a student cried out in fear of the looming figure.
"Stop. Lying. To. Me!" She flung around her wand-holding arm in her rage of a tantrum.
Staunchly ignoring the rabbit hole of implications of Manon's demands, the heroine came up with her gamble of a plan. Trying to take the most efficient route, she cautiously approached a pastel pink Puppeteer, hand at the ready on her yoyo. From behind the akuma, she nabbed her wand and broke it in half on her knee.
But, nothing changed. Instead, her move only served to incense Manon, not unlike pouring water on sizzling oil.
"N-" Ladybug moved to shake her head, but the akuma was quick to cut her off. "You wouldn't lie to me, right? Not you, the perfect sweetheart of Paris, right? Our darling heroine would never lie to a little kid? Right?"
Marinette weighed her options. It was an innocent child versus the entire world. Faith against fate.
Manon stared at her with the same hope-filled gaze she had once had when she wanted her plush dolls. It plunged her into memories she once resolved to forget. It made her weak.
She bit her lip.
"No. I've never heard of a Marinette."
But not weak enough.
"LIAR," she screamed, flinging tiny pink sparks from her fingertips in all directions.
Spinning her yoyo into a shield, Ladybug managed to repel all but one, the littlest of the bunch. But that was enough to damn her.
With its landing point as the origin, it spread from the soles of her feet to the tip of her waist at an alarming speed. The heroine was protected by the magic of the suit, but even through that, she could feel the burn of the pink flame. It was beyond what words could describe. She felt like she was bathing in a hearth straight from Tartarus. She could feel the conflicting magics tearing her apart and putting her back together, tendon by tendon.
In her haze, she could hear Manon roaring out, "If you won't reveal the truth, then just go reveal everything else. Hmph!"
Manon shot out a pink beam from her index finger, but before it could hit her, someone jumped in the way.
Adrien.
Gritting her teeth, Ladybug aggressively blinked her way into focus. Her former friend was in a similar blazing state. His face was deathly pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. His brows were scrunched tight, but still, he held on.
"S-Storyteller! I- I-" he stuttered out, jaw clenched and eyes shut tight.
Looking closer at the school, the brightest flame within came not from the objects set ablaze but from a group of teenagers—her old classmates—writhing in pain on the ground yet unable to escape from the fires of akuma-delivered retribution. They were beneath a fallen column in the innermost part of the building, crawling like worms to hide from the akuma's line of sight.
"I never wanted to be a model." The confession was pulled from Adrien's throat, word by word. "But it's the only I can do to remember maman."
The heroine had seen plenty of gruesome scenes in her time. From a city drowned and silenced to the screams of young children being beheaded, there was no shortage of such scenes in Paris.
But Manon—Storyteller—was a first. She didn't kill, no. She kept everyone alive in a perpetual cycle of torture.
It was cruel.
And it was her fault that this happened at all.
"I have hundreds of pictures of Ladybug on my phone. My... friend says I'm obsessed. I imagine meeting her, dating her, kissing her." Words spilled from Adrien's mouth like air escaping a punctured balloon, and at that, the flames licking at his torso eased an inch.
A sliver of repulsion shot through her at the admission, but she put that aside at her newest theory.
"Manon!" she yelled, shielding Adrien behind her. "I have something to say."
Her eyes darted around, looking for the akumatized object, but her mouth never stopped.
"You want to hear secrets right? I'm adopted," she said, but there was no change to the pink flames.
"No, no!" Manon stomped her feet. "I don't want your secrets, I want Marinette! I'm not the liar, it's everyone else!"
"Manon..." Ladybug slowly approached, hands held out in appeasement.
"It's a consh-pirah-see," the child screamed, and the flames burned brighter at her rage.
As the child spun in her agitation, a flash of unblemished white caught the heroine's eye. It wasn't visible from the front, but a ribbon gleaming like arctic ice trailed from Manon's hair.
Ladybug's eyes flashed.
"Marinette..." she enunciated slowly, catching Manon's attention. She approached the child at a snail's pace, careful not to startle her. "Did she go to school here?"
Manon's eyes flashed brighter, "Yes, yes! Marinette is real. You believe me, right?"
The heroine inched her right hand to her side, but the motion attracted the akuma's attention.
"Liar! I hate you! Give me your miraculous!"
Faster than the beam could reach her, she moved to seize Manon's ribbon.
Ladybug felt words bubbling in her throat, but she resisted. Who knew what sorts of world-ending secrets could escape her lips? The list was far too long, and the risk, magnitudes too great.
With veins throbbing on her skin while her heart and lungs burned with the desire to reveal, she ripped the ribbon straight through the middle, releasing the akuma and leaving behind a child with stained cheeks and puffy eyes.
Gasping for breath, the heroine caught the akuma before collapsing onto the pavement. Her city burned around her, but for once, she wanted to take a small, selfish break. Even if only for a moment.
Sprawled out on the ground, her chest rising rapidly, she heard the whimpers of a child who couldn't know better. She tasted the flames of desperation in the air, smelled the burnt ashes of hope. She saw Manon's heart break, and she felt her lose her faith in the world.
Marinette closed her eyes.
Another failure.
Preventable, necessary, agonizing failure.
Later, she would get up and be the hero Paris needed her to be. Later, she would be Ladybug. Now, she just wanted to be what she was— a child.
Jason's head was spinning, and his vision was going in and out of focus. It was making his killer headache worse, and he didn't even know why. It was like how some of the people down in Crime Alley described getting high and hungover.
Jason felt like shit.
He could see something vaguely grey on his right, and he tried to lean his unstable body onto it, but just as he placed his hand down, instead of the feel of something solid, his hand phased through the structure - a gravestone, now that he'd taken a proper look at it - and all he could feel was a bone-deep chill.
"Phantom, huh? It's been a while since that one last came up," a lilting voice said with a hint of nostalgia.
"Who's there?" Jason was on guard. He was disoriented and in an unknown location. Was he kidnapped again? No, wait, the Jo-
A melodic giggle brought him out of his thoughts.
"Silly Jay, meeting you is always like this, isn't it?"
Ethereal. That was the only way Jason could describe her. A small fairy in a crimson, swishy petal-styled dress flew in front of his eyes. She was a red rose. He was starting to think she was part of his hallucinations. Maybe from an induced coma. There was no way a face so perfect existed in this world. Neither did fairies, his mind quipped.
"Then again, you never seem to remember," she teased in a light-hearted tone but Jason could hear the loneliness hidden underneath.
Jason flushed under her bright smile. To distract himself, he looked around his surroundings, and that froze whatever banter he thought of to cheer her up.
Here lies Jason Todd. A son. A brother. A friend.
The thing- The gravestone his hand phased through before the fairy flurried into his life was his own.
Jason Todd was dead. He was dead.
That was why he couldn't touch the object, why his vision was blurry and mind hazy, why he could see a fucking fairy that never should have existed. He had died at the hands of the Joker. After taking on the beating of a lifetime, he had borne the full brunt of an explosion. Batman was too late. He couldn't save his Robin. He was dea-
Yellow. The pixie flew so close to his face that that was all Jason could focus on. A shade so brilliant and godlike, it was like all the stars nested in a soup of liquid gold. Her eyes held an otherworldly beauty that gave such an elusively familiar feeling that Jason would have thought he imagined it had the fairy not alluded to knowing him.
"...Who are you?" he whispered, unwilling to break the bubble of the moment they shared.
She gave a feathery laugh at that, "You always ask the same questions, don't you, Jay?"
The fairy pressed a light kiss to his forehead before pulling back, saying, "I'm Marie the Pixie."
Marie. The name unconsciously rolled off his tongue as if it was coming home. And Jason just knew that it suited the fairy - no, pixie - perfectly.
"Hello, I'm your soulmate," she said with a mischievous grin before breaking into giggles as he gave her a blank stare. Somehow, as dubious as her words were, he trusted them.
"Sorry Jay," she tried to hold back her laughter. "Last time, you told me to try it like this."
She grinned at him so vividly that Jason almost wished that moment would never pass. It was as if his very soul missed her smile even if he couldn't remember her.
"Welcome to the world of the dead! But don't worry, Jay, this is only temporary. Someday soon, you'll come back to the living," she reassured him, but that only served to baffle the boy.
"Temporary?" he asked, mind swirling with thoughts of never wanting to leave this girl - his girl - behind.
She gave him a small smile, "Fate hasn't cut your thread just yet. Phantoms are a form meant only for the few destined to return."
"And I was one before? We've met before?" he said out loud.
She hummed, caressing his gravestone. "James, a war hero stuck in a decade-long coma. That was the longest we were ever together."
Jason wanted to ask why she couldn't come back with him, but he held his tongue. "...And the other times?"
"Sometimes a shadow, sometimes a ghost, a couple of times, a vengeful spirit. But only one time a phantom. And yet, still always my beloved Jay," she had a distant look in her eyes as if seeing something that wasn't there.
"James was special," she grinned at him, but Jason could see the loss in her eyes. He felt a twinge of jealousy at that. "And so are you, Jason."
They sat like that in comfortable silence against his gravestone. Now that he could focus on it, he was able to come into contact with objects again. It seemed that his pixie had grounded his mind.
"So..." Jason started with caution. "How did we become soulmates?"
A flash of emotion too quick for the boy to catch appeared on the pixie's face.
"Wanna watch the sunrise? I know the best spot! Living a couple of centuries does that to you," she laughed artificially in obvious avoidance.
"Sure." Jason let her; she would talk when she was ready, he knew.
Grabbing his hand, the pixie let her ladybug wings extend completely for the first time. The way the light bounced off the crystal-clear wings was magical to Jason. It struck a chord deep in his soul that he felt always happened when they met again. So familiar yet so achingly warm. Like freshly baked bread, which was how his pixie smelled like, his mind supplied unnecessarily.
"Come on!" she cheered, fluttering her wings faster than her prior casual glides. The pair ascended high above the clouds, and Jason's breath was taken away. The mix of reds, purples, pinks, yellows, and oranges from up above was a more wondrous view than he could have ever imagined. It felt like a scene straight out of a classic. Only the best prose fit to describe the sight.
Wow.
"Right?" the pixie giggled. Jason hadn't realized he spoke out loud.
She leaned her head against his shadowy shoulder before sighing, "It never gets easier telling you this."
"You don't have to," he assured her. She gave a wistful smile at that response. "You always say that."
She took a deep breath before saying, "I was a hero. I was Ladybug, Protector of Paris. The whole city relied on me, but I-"
"I failed them," her voice broke. "I was too weak. I let Hawkmoth win, and when he made his wish, the universe demanded a price."
"What was the wish?" Jason breathed lightly.
She gave a defeated, wry smile at that. "He wanted his wife back."
Jason said nothing, only placing his arm around her shoulders, giving her his silent comfort.
She rubbed circles onto his hand for a while before continuing, "But Emilie Agreste's soul was damaged by a broken miraculous, and fixing that required pure creation magic."
"But to pour in creation, one must take from creation. And I had to pay the price," she let out a deep, sardonic laugh. "I was erased from existence and from everyone's memory. I lost my soul to become a pixie only able to meddle with the world when the scales were tipping the balance."
She looked him dead in the eye, "Until I met you."
"...Me?" Jason blurted, astonished.
"Yes, you," she gave him a soft grin with clear love in her eyes.
"No matter what, fate can't help but love her ladybugs," she played around with the clouds at her fingertips, not looking at Jason.
"But you died," he said accusingly.
"But I met you," she looked at him, and to Jason, everything just felt right in the world. Even if he was dead. "In a world without soulmates, fate had let me meet my destiny. How can I hate her when she led me straight into your arms?"
They didn't talk after that, choosing instead to bask in the other's presence.
"Do we only meet when I die?" he broke the silence after a long while.
She hummed in response. "You stay until the world calls your soul back. Sometimes that's a day. Sometimes, a few weeks. Occasionally, a few years. Four at most, usually."
"It depends on how badly the universe needs you," she teased. "I had James for a decade during his coma but only an hour when he died. It was the middle of a war, and your presence was immediately demanded back."
"Why? Why me?"
She peered at him so intently that Jason felt she was seeing through his very soul in more ways than one.
"Our connection. My eyes are golden now, but they used to be blue. After fate had taken me, some of their power couldn't help but bleed over into my soul, and in turn, yours too. Our presence in the world, one in the living and one in the dead, balances the world in a core-deep sense."
"Then you'll just be stuck here forever?" he asked, incredulously. That was shitty treatment for a heroine said to be loved by the fucking world itself.
"Well-" Before she could respond, the edges of Jason's soul turned a blinding yellow like the sun.
"It's time," Marie said with a sad smile. "Goodbye, Jason. Stay safe, I hope I don't see you again for a while."
"Marie," Jason was panicking. He couldn't leave. Not yet. Not without her. But the yellow was burning him, and he could see hints of toxic green in his vision that was quickly blurring out of focus.
"I'll always be waiting for you."
That was the last Jason heard before he was engulfed back into the dark abyss with crisp lime lines swirling around him.
~
Back in Gotham, Jason was irritated at the ache he could feel deep in his soul. He wanted to blame it on the Pit, but something in the back of his mind told him he was wrong. He felt like he was missing something - someone, his soul whispers - but he didn't know what - who - and it was driving him insane.
Lost in his thoughts, he failed to dodge the girl who tripped into him. A crack in the pavement was precisely in the middle of the pair.
"I- I'm so sorry, monsieur."
She looked up at him, and Jason froze. For a moment, he could swear there was a surge of gold in her eyes, but he blinked and it was gone.
Her crimson lipstick reminded him of something. Not blood, but something more... cheerful. Valentine roses, he mused.
He held her arms as she wobbled, unsteady on her feet, and at the contact, it felt like everything clicked into place for the man.
The girl in his arms - his girl, his mind corrected - froze at that, flushing a beautifully deep red. He gave a husky laugh at that reaction. It was so innocent.
"Marinette," she breathed airily.
"Jason." The twinkle in his eyes he never knew he was missing was back. "Care to grab a coffee with me?"
---
Big thanks to @verymuchimmortalcat for being my beta!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A soft pat on his cheek broke Tim out of his thoughts.
"You meant the world to her," the ladybug kwami crooned.
"...I know," he whispered brokenly. Tikki was trying her best, Tim knew, but that changed nothing. Not when everything could never be the same, and he wouldn't even be able to explain why.
Tim caressed the words inked in white. His lips lifted faintly in the memory. She added it months after the picture was taken. In retrospect, it was a disaster of a date, indeed.
"I swear, you got more paint on my shirt than the canvas," he accused, chasing the shorter girl through the halls of the manor.
"You started it!" she yelled back as she improvised obstacles in the corridor with random chairs and side tables.
"I told you, it was an accident!"
Tim trapped her in his arms and spun her in the air as she giggled. She smiled so brightly Tim would swear all the stars in the sky paled in comparison. She said-
"Time, curious time. Has it been this long since those stars aligned?" Fluff muttered, flying around one of the instant film images.
"So..." Tim rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just you and me now, huh?"
The budding fashion designer hummed in response. "Dick dragged Damian to go fishing down the river, and the others joined in for the chaos. That's definitely going to end with at least three or maybe even all of them falling into the water," she giggled. "Really, only you Waynes would go fishing at this hour to test out new night-vision goggles."
He laughed, "It's all part of the package."
For a while, the pair settled into a comfortable silence.
"I've always loved stargazing," the girl shared, looking up into the distant sky. "Back in Paris, I'd just sit on my balcony and watch the night pass away when things got too difficult. It was a way to forget all the bad happening around me. It let me feel small and weak, and I made peace with that. It was... relaxing in a way."
"Well," she turned to Tim, "as relaxed as one can be with the fate of the world on your back."
"You're not alone anymore," Tim stared right into her eyes. "You have your new team, you have us, you have... me."
He took a deep breath. "Will you-"
"Drake better be done with it by now. I refuse to be part of this fishing farce any longer," a voice echoed in the clearing.
Tim groaned, his face falling into his hands. He could hear Cass saying something to the others before their voices faded again. This was why she was his favorite sibling.
"Okay, um, so," he paused. "Will you be m-"
Flash.
"Sorry!" Dick called out. "I swore I took the silenced one."
"I am so going to kill them when I get back." Tim knew his face was redder than a strawberry, but he couldn't back down now. Third time's the charm, right? He opened his mouth, and-
"Yes," the girl beamed at him.
"Wha-?"
"Knowing them, they'll find some way to interrupt again," she snickered. She was right.
"But really, Tim, I've been waiting for ages for you to ask," she teased.
"You owe me fifty!" a voice hollered.
"WOULD YOU ALL JUST SHUT U-"
"Ah, marigolds," Pollen settled on Tim's shoulder. "Maybe you can bring a pot of them into your room? It would make the air much brighter, yes?"
"Can I open them now?" his girlfriend whined.
"That's what, the fifth time now?" Tim said, squeezing her shoulders. "Lucky for you, we just arrived."
"I've always been a lucky one," she joked, pulling the red blindfold down to her neck.
"Wow."
The couple was standing in the middle of a vast flower field. A circle of baby blue flowers with the pair at the center was surrounded by yards of marigolds of different colors as far as the eye could see. It was the image of the last moment of sunset painted by the fruit of the earth.
"A certain someone may have told me your favorite flower," Tim whispered in her ear. "As for the other one... Well, it never fails to remind me of you."
The girl turned around and raised her hands to her lips.
Tim was down on one knee. "I love you, more than you can imagine, more than life allows, so," he inhaled deeply.
"Yes!" she squealed.
"I haven't even gotten to the question," he playfully glared at her but at the same time slid a ring onto her finger. "But anyway, you said yes so you can't take it back anymore," he said cheekily.
"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."
Tim's hand was at his chest again, rubbing the ring that hung around his neck. The sapphire gleamed in the light, maintained to be in near-perfect condition, Tim ensured. And yet, the gem still couldn't hold a candle to the sparkle in her eyes.
"I miss her," he breathed into the silence of his room.
Seeing the handwritten notes she'd leave for him made the ache in his heart all the more palpable. This was all he had left.
"Do I want to know why you're taking a picture of the coffee pot?" he groggily walked into the room.
"For proof," she stuck her tongue out at him. "You cruel, cruel human, can you sleep soundly knowing that you just finished it and then upped and left?!"
"Wouldn't you know best?" He raised a brow, smirking as her face flamed at the comment.
Tim looked at the last picture he had of her.
"This is a nice place," she yawned, leaning into his hold. Tim knew she hadn't slept in much longer than he nor the kwamis would have liked. "I think we should bring our kids here someday, you know," she mumbled.
Tim froze. A child with her eyes. Maybe with his hair and nose, but definitely with her dimples. The thought stunned him.
A family- His own little family.
He would love that. He stared at the girl sleeping carelessly in his arms with a look akin to cotton candy. He would do anything for her, he swore, unaware that this was the last he'd see of her.
"She would have wanted you to be happy," Wayzz nuzzled his cheek.
Tim thumbed the image of the spotted blue ladybugs, an impossible existence, nearly as wondrous as the girl they represented, even if only for a brief moment.
Tim was in a motel room in the middle of a long-term mission when a flash of light suddenly enveloped his surroundings.
No.
The Miracle Box lay at his feet. With shaking hands, he opened it.
"I greet the new Guardian," Tikki and Plagg said in unison.
No!
"...Why are you here?" he whispered but the tiny gods couldn't look him in the eye.
NO!
"What happened to her?!" he nearly yelled, out of control from his increasingly paranoid guesses at the cause of the kwamis appearing before him.
"She's gone, kid," the black cat kwami said in a no-nonsense but gentle tone.
"She can't." Tim fell to his knees. "No! This has to be a joke!"
But it wasn't.
Tim rushed to the manor. Mission be damned. His wife was more important.
The manor was quiet, but Tim was too single-minded to notice the oddity.
He rushed to her sewing room, hoping against every fact screaming otherwise that she would be there, lost in another bolt of fabric.
But she wasn't.
And her room was gone too. It was the same old drab sitting room from years prior. From before she came into their lives-
"Is there something you require, Master Timothy?" a figure appeared silently behind him.
"...Where's her stuff, Alfred?" Tim had a lost look in his eyes, wishing everything was a dream that he could wake up from.
"Whose stuff?" Alfred raised a neatly trimmed brow. "The room is exactly as it's always been."
Tim didn't hear the rest of his words, racing out of the manor to their apartment, praying that everything was still in place. He couldn't lose everything about her too. He refused, goddamnit!
He nearly broke the door down in his rush to get in, but it was all worth it. He carefully scanned the room, thankful that nothing appeared missing. Her Red Robin-themed scarf still lay on the couch from where she tossed it weeks before.
For hours, Tim went through each and every item in their dwelling, checking to see if even a single mitten was gone, forgoing sleep and meals. Nothing was more important to him.
Nearly at the end of his search through the apartment, only the hidden compartment for the Miracle Box remained unchecked. Tim expected it to be empty, having it with him, but instead, a small urn lay inside the hollow. A pair of blue ladybugs were perched on the tip. They flew to his nose before disappearing in a pink flash reminiscent of her Ladybug transformation in her youth.
Tim stared at the urn in silence for a long while before pleading, "Why? Why her?"
Except there was no one there to answer.
Tim accepted the cuddles of all nineteen kwamis. Taking solace in the warmth she once held in her arms. Taking responsibility for the burden she once carried. Taking time to bask in the last whisper of her that he had.
And with deep reluctance, Tim closed his scrapbook and shelved it, heart too heavy to look at it again for now.
---
I challenged myself to not use Marinette's name/nickname at all in the fic XD
Marinette was back outside The Daily Planet cafeteria with three minutes to spare.
"So, you're just okay with having ten maybe magnitude seven earthquakes rip right through the middle of Paris all in thirty minutes?" she could hear Claude's loud voice right as she opened the door.
"Yup," Mireille said, popping up the p. "Pretty much. That kind of damage happens almost every month. I'm really glad I wasn't there for this one though. Death by suffocation isn't very fun."
"It's not fun? You'd describe death as fun??" Claude asked appalled.
"Yeah, as long as it isn't permanent." Mireille shrugs. "After four years, Parisians learned to cope and see the bright side of things."
"The bright side? Of what, death?"
"Yeah, my favorites by far are death by old age or decapitation. Oh! And pain aside, dying by an arrow to the chest is kind of cool too compared to the others."
"I cannot." Claude groaned. "God, Parisians."
"That is very concerning," Allegra agrees.
"You get used to it," Marinette tiredly slides into her seat just as the cafeteria doors open again. Drowning again was not fun for her at all.
"Okay, kids, my name is James Olsen, call me Jimmy. Mr. Kent is waiting in the lounge. I'll bring you to him for the interview one by one in alphabetical order. First up, Claude Bixby," was fired off by a short, young man.
"Wish me luck!" Claude left the room with a wink, his fennec fox sashaying behind him.
Soon enough, it was Marinette's turn for the interview.
She was nervous. Doing well in this interview could mean a lot for her reputation outside of her still unrevealed brand, Muse-ique Designs. She had won a few contests after the derby hat competition, but the name Marinette Dupain-Cheng was still largely unknown in the fashion world. Muse-ique Designs had carved out a somewhat niche market for itself among bands and other performing artists, thanks to recommendations from Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. But, Marinette wanted to go further than that. She wanted to be part of the fashion elite alongside other household names like Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste, and this interview was important in getting her name out there to wider world. So, it's understandable that Marinette is nervous.
But then, her bad luck had to strike again to make things even worse.
She decided to take Tikki's advice that as Ladybug, she'd find comfort and serenity in creation. So, she tuned into Windows to the Soul, hoping to focus on the potted plant by the door and calm down. Bad idea. Did not work. Instead, Marinette realizes that her interviewer and his soul split are emitting the same non-human gem-like glow as her soul guide except it's more intense and pure.
Oh my god. Clark Kent isn't human. He's the same race as my soulmate! Ohmygodohmygodohmyg-
"So, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, what got you into fashion?"
"Well, when I was a kid, I had always found the clothes you can buy readymade to be lacking some flair. So, I first got into embroidering designs on my clothes, like apple blossoms or flowers. Then, one thing led to another, and I'd basically altered all of my clothes. And then, I realized making them from scratch could ensure that they fit me more size and personality-wise and could save me more time, effort, and money. So I took to making all of my clothes in collège..." Marinette droned on, absorbed in her memories of fashion design.
Before she knew it, time passed by and the interview was almost over.
"Last question, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, you said that you make all your clothes now, yes? So what about your outfit today, what was the inspiration for it?"
"Ah, my entire outfit is part of my original brand, Marinette's Maquette's, new casual wear line themed after the Parisian heroes. The black leather dress is a nod to my favorite hero, Chat Noir. While my mini hat headdress with the snake scale design is a reference to both Viperion and the derby hat that won me my first fashion contest. I also altered my shoes with Bunnyx in mind."
"You look up to them a lot?"
"Most Parisians do. I've been saved by them from an akuma personally a few times."
"That must be quite the story, then?"Clark questioned.
"Not really. After four years, most citizens have too."
"I see, well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng," the reporter stood up, offering a handshake.
"And I, you," Marinette said nervously, remembering her dilemma of a half-alien soulmate now that the interview was over.
Tim was banned from caffeine, and everyone knew. Alfred put his foot down. No coffee beans could be found in the manor, but Tim expected that when he hit all-nighter number fifteen. But the next day, he found that all his regular drinks in Wayne Enterprises were replaced with juice. Even the vending machines stopped supplying coffee. He made it through to the end of work with an energy drink he managed to snag off an employee's not-so-secret stash. The coffee substitute would hold him over till he could sneak over to a cafe. Right after work, however, he learned that all of the cafes in Gotham refused to sell him any caffeinated drinks. Not even tea was spared from the ban. Convenience stores were the same story. So were grocery stores. And restaurants. Even street-side stalls. Any and all establishments in Gotham wouldn't sell him his fix, and he had tried every single one in a zombie-like haze.
The same was the case for the neighboring cities. Everyone refused Tim Drake-Wayne his beloved coffee. He had no idea how Alfred pulled it off, but he would have been impressed if he wasn't so numbed out by the caffeine withdrawals.
That was how Tim found himself on a bus headed to a small town far enough from Gotham for no one to recognize him on sight. It helped that when he was deciding whether to give in to his family's demands of sleep or go out of the state, a faded-out poster of a minor, unknown coffee festival was blown by the wind towards him by chance. He was about to dodge the incoming paper, but the smell emanating from the poster made him snatch it instinctively. Coffee. The paper smelled of the heavenly drink, but somehow it was different. He didn't know how to describe it, but it just was. It was more than coffee. It was Coffee. It energized him like never before as if it was charging up his very soul. He was pumped up as if he had slept for a week straight. Tim absolutely had to get his hands on this beverage, ban be damned. If the scent alone did this, the drink had to be pure magic in his veins. If he can bring some of it home, maybe he can stay awake for a month on one cup.
On the bus, Tim blazed through his work for the next week in under an hour. It was when he was working on the next quarter's research budget for Wayne Technologies that he smelled it again - the heavenly coffee. It was only now that he realized that the hint he smelled on the poster was a mere fraction of the wonder that is its scent. Underneath the bold smell of coffee, there were hints of caramel and nuts and sugar and spice and cinnamon and apples. It was divine. There were even undertones that Tim couldn't describe as anything but liquid warmth and joy wrapped in a bow. It was the perfect scent, his perfect scent - his ambrosia. He had no other way to express it. It pulled him in like nothing ever before. One whiff and he was enslaved.
As the vehicle drew nearer to its final destination, the scent of his ambrosia only grew stronger. Once he stepped down at the bus stop, almost subconsciously, Tim made a beeline for the source of the smell, a stall with an insanely long line.
Tim kept fidgeting as he waited for the line to move, absorbed in the scent and longing to come nearer, but despite that, he couldn't ignore the obvious glances the locals threw his way. It wasn't surprising. He was a stranger in a small town. An alpha stranger and one without a pheromone isolator in a crowd at that. Nearly all alphas always had one on them, as their heightened senses can make a packed environment overwhelming to them. People's pheromones, especially, would shove themselves in their face, making them dizzy from the sensory overload. It was easier for alphas to go about their day with an isolator, but it was not unheard of for some to opt not to. Those types were usually either insane or genius. Neither was good news. Tim was part of a separate category, however. He was selectively anosmic, specifically towards secondary characteristic pheromones. It was rare but not unheard of in betas, especially. Alphas were a different story. He'd gotten pitying glances throughout his life - the poor alpha who couldn't smell pheromones, the one in a billion. Out of spite, he read all about the world of scents, saw the advertisements targetting alpha-omega pairs, and asked everyone he knew how they felt about the sense, but he could not come to a conclusion other than it was overrated and romanticized. How could you fall so hard for only a scent? How could it be so overwhelmingly divine? If anything, Tim was grateful he couldn't smell pheromones. He never had to suffer the discomfort of smelling an omega's heat scent or a fellow alpha's aggressive pheromone attack. He rarely fell prey to his more primitive instincts. His life was complete even without pheromones. He could never imagine what pheromones would smell like, but from how hyped up everyone made it out to be, maybe it would be a close second to the heavenly coffee ambrosia. That was the only way to explain everyone's fascination with it.
The line moved fairly quickly, and soon, Tim was at the front. There, the scent was the strongest it ever was. He could see a tall and slender blonde manning the register while a petite woman was at the back working the espresso machine.
"Hi, there! What size and caffeine level can I get you?" he gave a blinding beam.
"I'd like the largest cup of the strongest coffee you serve."
That made the cashier pause. "...You want the dare-spresso? An epic one at that? Are you sure?"
Tim looked him straight in the eye, "Absolutely."
"Alphas. Guess we need another ambulance," he muttered under his breath before turning to the bluenette behind him. "One epic dare-spresso, Mari!"
She groaned before looking at which idiot ordered it again. Tim was floored. Her eyes were like a wave that threatened to pull him under. There was this unexplainable magnetism pulling him to the girl, and all Tim wanted to do was surrender to the urge.
"Looks like we have another one, huh," Tim heard from behind him.
"Here's some advice, kid," an older gentleman spoke from beside the stall. "There are easier ways to impress a girl than dying of a coffee overdose."
"I'm really just here for the coffee," Tim tried to explain but the blush spreading on his cheeks and the way he had just stared at the barista made his statement doubtful.
"Sure, and I still have both arms," another man with a visible prosthetic said.
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, everyone loves Mari. Though, hopefully, you won't pass out like the last challenger," said a woman with a stylish afro.
"Challenger?"
"You didn't know? It was on the festival poster. If you can gulp the drink down straight in under five minutes and keep your heart rate in check, you get a date with the barista."
"Oh?" Tim was definitely interested now. "Can I get another cup to-go then?"
"Oh, god, there's two of them," the cashier groaned. "Mari, make it two for loverboy here."
The bluenette in the back sputtered, "A-Adrien!"
"What?" the man looked back innocently. "If he's that confident, maybe he really can sweep you off your feet."
The girl glared at him while handing over an oversized cup, but it was hardly effective with how flustered she was.
"Bottoms up," the cashier passed over the cup.
Tim smelled the coffee, but it wasn't the scent he was looking for. It was great, better than any cup he had before, but the ambrosia he longed for wasn't coming from the drink. There was a hint of it, but Tim could tell it was from an indirect scenting.
He could think about that later. First, he had a date to win over.
He started gulping the hot coffee, but his tongue was well used to the burn. It tasted just as wonderful as Tim had imagined on the way there. It was like liquid fire in his veins and tasted like a godsend. It was perfect for him. It had all the right flavors, and although the aroma couldn't hold a candle to the scent of ambrosia, it was worlds apart from anything else he had smelled before.
In under three minutes, Tim had finished the gigantic coffee, and he had never felt more alive since he was six. From the outside, however, he looked the same - composed and unaffected.
"Looks like this one has a shot, huh," another passerby commented.
The cashier clipped a pulse oximeter to his finger, and the crowd that Tim hadn’t noticed gathered around him waited with bated breath.
"Seventy!" the blonde announced.
"What a legend," someone whispered.
"Guess Mari isn't the only one who can stomach the stuff," a second voice said.
The cashier pushed the bluenette toward Tim, causing her to stumble straight into his arms, "Adrien!"
Tim knew he should be helping her up, but he relished in the warmth of the girl against his chest.
"Sorry about that," she said, looking away from him. "I'm Marinette."
"Tim," he replied. He only now noticed that the heavenly coffee scent was stronger than ever, and it was coming straight from the girl still within his arms.
"You have a coffee-scented cologne?" The scent smelled too natural for a perfume, but Tim couldn't think of any other reason for the scent if it wasn't from the coffee beans.
"N-No, those are my pheromones," she squeaked, burying her face in Tim's chest and causing his heart to skip a beat.
"Pheromones? But I can't smell those," he said, bewildered.
"Maybe it's fate, huh, bug?" the cashier grinned wildly at the two. "How lucky."
Marinette burrowed further into Tim's chest at the comment, ears turning a brighter red.
If this was fate, then maybe Tim had used up all his life's luck for this chance, and he had zero regrets.
One moment Red Hood was giving his rundown of patrol to the rest of the team, and the next, sparkling purple-blue liquid suddenly flooded into the Batcave. Jason could see most of his family sinking under the weight of their armors that they were quick to shed in response. Nightwing seemed to fare the best with his light suit. The liquid felt no different from water, but no one wanted to risk it containing any toxins. Visually, though, it felt like what would happen if a magical unicorn herd simultaneously bled out in a lake.
The liquid was rushing in quickly, already almost to the ceiling in under three minutes. Jason could see the rest of his family holding their breaths while trying to look for an escape. Dick was diving towards the exit to the manor, and the others were attempting to move elsewhere too, but the undercurrent was too strong and constantly pushing them upwards, much to the illogicality of the fluid.
The water level was only getting higher, but right as the liquid was about to push them against the ceiling, they felt themselves hit a soft surface instead. It was like moving through cotton.
Pop.
They phased through the ceiling and somehow ended up in the middle of a lake. On the banks, Jason could spot a large unmoving white mass. Swimming closer, he noticed that it was a herd of dead unicorns, as crazy as that was.
What the actual fuck?
"Where are we?" one of his siblings asked. Jason knew he shouldn't know the answer to this, but there was a niggling feeling that he did.
He looked around to see looming dark pine trees surrounding the lake, but Jason's instincts told them the trees were edible. And that they were sweet. The place was fucking with his goddamn mind.
Suddenly, a bell-like giggle rang through the air.
Jason looked up to see a blue-haired pixie in a lavender petal dress flying toward them. She had one glittering blue-green wing while the other was a translucent pale lilac.
"Hi, Jason, remember me?" she said airily.
"Who the fuck are you? Where did you bring us?" he fired off at the thumb-sized girl floating above them. His family was on guard, silently reaching for whatever weapons they had left as they emerged from the lake.
"Here's a present~" she tinkled, not paying Jason any mind despite her initial acknowledgment of the boy. At her words, three blue-purple petals, the same color as the mysterious liquid in the lake, floated towards the group.
One suddenly sped up and reached Dick before it disappeared into purple sparkles with a pop. Everyone waited with bated breath but nothing happened.
Another flew straight for Damian. He tried to dodge but it followed him as if on a tracker. He threw a birdarang at the petal, but the throwing weapon poofed into pastel blue feathers before it could make contact. The petal caught him while he was mid-air, and his entire body was enveloped in blue smoke. When the wind blew the remains away, Damian was gone.
Tweet-tweet.
Jason looked down to see a small, chubby robin. Damian, his mind supplied. It occurred to him absentmindedly that the blue smoke was the color of a robin's eggshell.
Tweet! Twee-tweet! TWEET!
The small bird tried to fly from the ground but kept falling from the unfamiliarity with his new appendages. With a huff, he circled around in search of the target of his ire, the goddamn pixie.
But she was gone.
Magically, as if they were all suggested to forget, the last petal slipped past them unseen to tap softly on Batman's lips, leaving white particles the taste of sugar in its wake.
All of a sudden, Bruce turned paler, his eyes more slitted and glowing against the dark surroundings. His canines lengthened, and his lips turned a deep, blood red.
Vampire, Jason knew.
Right after he thought that, out of nowhere, a pale purple-blue circle appeared below where they were standing, and they all promptly fell through it.
Landing in a crouch on sky blue grass, Jason observed his new surroundings. The sky was dark forest green. They were still in a forest, but compared to the light-hearted fairytale vibe of the previous woodland, this place had a doom and gloom rivaling Gotham's. It might have been the lack of proper sunlight, but all the shadows had a sinister look to them. Jason felt he should be more cautious.
TWEET!
The literal robin jumped angrily on the ground, hidden by the tall grass. Dick lifted him up on his palm, and Jason could see Damian's feathers all puffed out and ruffled. It was hilariously adorable for the stabby Robin of the crime capital. A sibling, Stephanie probably, stifled a laugh at the sight.
Jason felt called to the sound and approached slowly. In the distance, he could see a lumberjack chopping wood with a... lightsaber?
"Fuck!" he said under his breath. "I know where we are."
Everyone turned to him, waiting for an answer.
"We're in a fever dream. My fever dream. Back when I was ten."
"What the hell, Jason?"
"Twee-twee-tweet! Tweet!"
"Dead unicorns? Really, Jay?"
"Enough," Bruce silenced the bickering children. "What's important is finding an escape path."
"Red Hood, any ideas on how to leave?"
"Portals. I think. Yeah. Probably. Shit, it's been more than a decade, I don't know."
"Tell us what you do remember, Hood," Tim said.
"Magic, sci-fi, this place is just one huge mess. The petals from earlier are pixie-pops, a harmless but permanent prank. I don't know what's up with Nightwing, but Robin and B likely won't turn back until we get out."
"Shit."
"Yeah, shit."
"Is there really no way to reverse the... pixie-pop?" Barbara asked.
Jason groaned, he could barely remember this place.
"A test!" it suddenly came back to him. "There's a test to turn time back, but I don't know how to find it. It randomly moves places every hour."
Out of nowhere, a pink sun was shining brightly against the grass green sky. There was no need for sunrise or sunset in this place; time was relative and random. Everything was meant to occur as a surprise.
A hiss escaped Bruce's lips as the pink rays reached him. His pale skin turned a bruise-like purple. His red lips turned black. Jason couldn't see it, but he knew underneath the cowl, Bruce's hair was dyed a bright bubble gum pink.
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Arriving in front of Wayne Manor, Marinette hurriedly let go of the vigilante, her cheeks the same color as his suit. Lewis grinned widely at the two idiots pointedly avoiding looking at the other.
Just as the pair were about to say something, the front door opened to reveal a tall, elderly butler.
"Miss Marinette, Master Lewis, welcome back," he greeted, interrupting the ongoing awkward standoff.
"See you two around," Red Robin said quickly before zooming out of view on his bike.
The twins spent the rest of the time until dinner in Lewis' room, surrounded by the ham-bots. Carl was in the kitchen helping Alfred cook the meal.
Dinner that night was a more awkward affair than usual. The rest of the Waynes kept shooting each other looks when they thought the twins weren't looking. Their father kept staring at them and opening his mouth as if wanting to say something before cutting himself off.
Finally, before dessert was served, Bruce said with his ever-beaming smile, "So how was your day, Marinette? Lewis?"
"It was fine. We had milkshakes at a diner," Lewis said tersely.
"We're just worried," Dick tried to explain for his emotionally-stunted father. "We heard you were caught up in a robbery."
"Yeah, squirts, and we had to hear about it from someone else, too," Jason butt in.
"It was nothing. We were fine, and we told Alfred afterward."
"Indeed, they did," Alfred suddenly appeared at the doorway. "And, might I suggest, Master Bruce, that you move on to your better news, hm?"
"Right, of course, Alfred, here," their father handed over a black card to each of the twins. "All of the children have one, and these ones are yours. The password is your birthday, but feel free to change that."
"...A bank card?" Lewis asked. Marinette could see whatever faith her twin still had in their birth father rapidly fading.
"Yes," their father once again gave them that goddamn press-ready smile. "And, there's something else, but that will have to wait for after dinner."
For the rest of the meal, both twins were silent among the chatter of their siblings. Marinette grabbed her brother's hand and gave him a shaky smile in support. None of the world's greatest detectives missed this gesture, but no one moved to comment on it.
Afterward, Bruce together with Dick and Tim led the twins to the building behind the manor.
"This is the annex," Tim introduced. "There's a gym and a lounge here on the ground floor, but from the second floor up are each of our private hobby rooms."
"It took a while to get some of the items from abroad, but I can assure you, all of these are state of the art, especially yours, Lewis," Bruce smiled at them, but Lewis didn't react to his practiced grin. Marinette gave a very hollow-sounding laugh in response.
"Thank you," she gave their father the same grin back.
On the fourth floor, Dick opened the doors to two opposite rooms. On the left was a room in soft pinks and whites with several mannequins and a wide table inside. A door on the side was left ajar, showing bolts and bolts of fabrics. In the right room, various power tools were hung on the wall. Another wall was coated completely in chalkboard paint, waiting for the teen's next big idea. The connecting room revealed empty shelves ready to be filled by its future occupant.
Both rooms had a small bed in a corner next to a kitchenette with a brand new coffee machine. "The coffee was my idea," Tim smiled at the two, though his eyes kept straying to the ravenette. "You both looked like the type to live off of the stuff."
"Thank you," the twins told the young man, but this time, it was completely genuine. They could feel the co-CEO's sincere welcome for them.
Tim moved his hand to the back of his neck, but as he did that, he brushed the back of Marinette's arm, and she froze. Tim turned red and looked anywhere but at the ravenette, but Marinette stood stock still, eyes wide.
It was the first time Tim had physically touched her, but that wasn't what had the teen shocked. It was the familiarity of his life signature; it was lively and strong and had the same aura as coffee beans.
Oh.
It was something she was in contact with just a few hours earlier.
Tim Drake was Red Robin.
Lewis noticed his sister's odd reaction and pulled the attention away from her.
"I think we'll stay here for now. Thank you, we really appreciate the gifts." Immediately, he pulled Marinette into his room and slammed the door shut in the trio's face before they could reply, locking it.
"What's wrong?"
Paranoid, Marinette dragged her twin over to the inner room before whispering in as low a voice as she could manage, "Tim is Red Robin."
"What-"
"Holy crap, Lu, but wait, if Tim is Red Robin then that means he's close with the other vigilantes, but we haven't seen him with any friends from Gotham, so, that would mean that our dad is Batman, maybe! Wait, is that what everyone has been keeping from us?" Marinette said in an anxiety-fueled rapid fire.
Lewis squeezed Marinette's face, interrupting her tirade, "Mar, breathe. Now, how did you find out about Tim?"
"His life signature. It's the exact same as Red Robin."
"When he brushed against you?" Lewis said in a fact-like tone. "Well... that changes things."
"Yeah..." Marinette trailed off. That would explain why their siblings would shift the conversation whenever they enter a room. It might also explain why their father always put up a facade in front of them.
In the middle of the silence, Plagg phased out of Marinette's bag, "Why don't you get them back?"
"Ooh, yes! A prank!" Duusu popped out of Lewis' bird's nest of a hairstyle.
"No!" Tikki yelled at the two kwamis.
"Come on, sugar cube," the cat kwami spun around Marinette's head where Nooroo also popped out from. "It'll be fun. And, don't you think Nooroo and Duusu deserve some laughs after the last few years?"
The two kwamis both looked at the creation goddess pleadingly.
"Fine." After a few beats, Tikki gave in, much to the pleasure of the other three kwamis in the room. "But no going too far!"
"Please, sugar cube," Plagg drawled. "Going too far is my thing. The kids'll be fine."
Summer brought in the doom and gloom of Gotham City for the twins. The two felt conflicted about their newest family members. Their father, with the exception of the one grimace he'd shown them when handing over the Wayne baby socks, always gave a blinding, press-ready beam. Most wouldn't be able to tell, but the twins were smart enough to pick up on its insincerity. Their eldest brother, Dick seemed to be genuinely happy about their arrival in the family, but nevertheless, he'd still abruptly shift the conversation sometimes when one of them walked into a room. Jason is only at the manor for dinner occasionally, and those meals have always been awkward as if everyone was walking on eggshells around them. Tim was nice; he would smile and ask them how they were when he saw them, but he's been busy recently with work, so the two haven't seen much of him since they came a week ago. Damian clicks his tongue at them whenever they cross paths. He's made his disdain plain for everyone to see. Duke is always gone in the mornings. Cass doesn't talk to them much, but Dick assured them that was how she was with everybody. The other pseudo-siblings Barbara and Stephanie seemed nice, but they acted like Dick occasionally too. Alfred aside, the twins didn't feel very welcomed in the manor.
Which was why the two were spending the afternoon in a quiet family diner in the city. The two were jotting down ideas for new upgrades to the ham-bots: Marinette for some subtle miraculous-themed designs on their metal shells and Lewis for a new combination flight mode when three of them join forces. The twins were having a pleasant time. Quiet music was filling the restaurant, their milkshakes had just the right amount of sweetness, and they almost had the whole place to themselves, save the cashier and waitress.
But, of course, Gotham could never allow such a good day to go unruined.
A man in a skin-tight teal suit and a pickle-shaped helmet burst through the doors with condiment bottle-shaped guns in hand. "Well, well, well, I heard the big bad Bat is in a pickle someplace else. I mustard somewhere else to be, so hurry up and ketchup the money, folks!"
The young teen behind the counter opened the register, hands shaking. The waitress slowly put her hands up. Marinette and Lewis were in a corner booth, hidden from where the Condiment King's stood at the entrance.
Marinette threw the glass salt shaker from the table across the room, causing it to break on the floor with a crash, catching the villain's attention. As she did that, she ran to grab a chair and toss it in the Condiment King's face. The dressing-themed villain felt the air from the movement and turned his head just for the chair to hit him square in the nose. He fired his mustard gun at the teen girl, but she dodged at the last moment in a graceful dance-like movement, not a drop of yellow on her pristine white dress. The villain with his bleeding nose aimed fire at the floor, hoping for the small girl to slip and fall from a ketchup puddle. Unfortunately, fate seemed to be favoring the teen, as his aim was always just a little short of its target. Finally within arms reach, the Condiment King planned to whack the approaching girl with his guns, losing faith in his aim. However, Marinette used his momentum against him and threw him over her shoulder and into a pool of ketchup, staining his pants red. While he was disoriented from the heavy fall, the tiny yet mighty girl tied his hands behind him to one of the tables bolted to the floor in a tight knot using a handkerchief her brother handed her. It was five minutes since the Condiment King decided to rob the deserted diner while Batman was held up by an art museum theft, and he just had his ass thoroughly handed to him the entire time by a girl both half his size and age.
Soon, the police followed by Red Robin arrived at the scene. The first thing they saw was the Condiment King's bloodied face on the floor right next to the entrance. Chairs were strewn over the floor, one of them with bloodstains. Splashes of yellow and red dotted the walls and floor of the small diner. The two employees also had some of the condiments staining their clothes. In stark contrast to that, however, were the two teenagers sitting calmly in a booth, not a strand of hair out of place nor a speck of ketchup on their clothing, discussing whether the newest upgrade should focus on form or function. Whatever that meant.
"Just..." Officer Montoya looked at the chaos around her. "What the hell happened here?"
Condiment King spit out, "You girl mustard wait for our next meeting. I'll ketchup to you before you know it! Relish the peace while it lasts."
Another officer brought the Condiment King outside while Renee Montoya approached the two siblings.
"Hi, kids," she smiled at them. "Can you two follow me to the station to get your statements?"
"Okay," the two quickly packed up their sketchbooks and notebooks on the table.
"Are you two minors? Any family I can call?" In the distance, Red Robin stared at the siblings with an indecipherable gaze.
"We're both eighteen, and I already notified someone before you got here."
Hearing this, Red Robin asked the others on the comms if they knew the twins were at the scene, but everyone came up blank.
"Alright, don't worry, we won't hold you for long. Just some routine procedures."
Leaving the police station, Red Robin stood in front of the two teens next to a red motorcycle the two didn't see at the diner.
"Family coming to pick you up?"
"No," the twins shared a look. "We're walking."
"In Gotham? That's hardly safe," the vigilante looked oddly concerned for their safety.
"We can take care of ourselves," Lewis frowned.
"Hop on, I'll give you two a ride home," Red Robin held out two motorcycle helmets.
Lewis' frown deepened, "No thanks, we wouldn't want to impose. Gotham is a busy city, I'm sure you're needed elsewhere." Marinette nodded her agreement. It was very out of character for the vigilante to be this attentive to two random citizens.
"The Waynes asked me to see you home," the vigilante insisted, thinking the mention of their family would get the teens to relent. It didn't. Instead, the two became warier of him.
"We're not Waynes," the siblings said in unison.
"Look here," Red Robin whispered to the two, "The Waynes are a hot target for the rogues; it would be the best for everyone if I escorted you two back."
Marinette held back her brother who wanted to protest further, "Alright."
"Great, put these on," the vigilante tossed the two a helmet. Afterward, he pressed a hidden button on his bike that caused a secret compartment to open. Metal sheets folded together to add a single-seater sidecar to the motorcycle. "Let's go!"
Lewis sat on the sidecar, giving his twin a conspiratorial smirk. Marinette sent him a glare before getting in behind the vigilante. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flush. Damn brother. She could see her twin holding back his laughter at the side. She sorely regretted telling him that of Gotham's heroes, she thought Red Robin was cute.
The ride home passed by in a blink for Marinette who was too focused on looking unaffected to notice that the ears of the person she was holding on to were also steadily reddening. Unfortunately for her, the same could not be said for Lewis. His smirk widened at this observation, filing the information away for a future time.
Coming back home, Marinette was blindsided by the chaos that greeted her. Egg whites and pieces of shell were stuck to the walls. The pastry display case was covered in flour. Bread dough was hanging from the ceiling. Some of the children her birth father brought - their siblings - were circling around the counter as if in a game of chase. Others stood on the tables, throwing salt at a black blur like some antiquated demon purification ritual.
Noticing the three's entrance, Jason screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!"
"The what?" Lewis asked, taken aback.
"That! That Inspector Gadget from hell!" Dick yelled, hanging precariously on the ceiling fan.
A black blur rushed from around the counter, jumping straight into Lewis' waiting hands. It was a metal robo-hamster in a Cat Noir-styled mask and cape with a matching tiny bowler hat.
"One of you better explain what happened here," Bruce eyed each of his children.
"It was not our fault, father," Damian started. "There was a slight miscalculation."
"As much as I hate to agree with the gremlin, that little shit started it," Jason pointed aggressively at the small ham-bot nestling in Lewis' palm, the black bowler hat floating slightly above its head.
"You mean, Goob and Doris? They're the bakery mascots!" Marinette defended her brother's inventions. "They know better than to make a mess."
"Mascots?" Dick questioned, appalled. "Those demons? They attacked everyone but Tim!"
"I'll have you know, they're very friendly," Marinette shot back. "All the regulars love them, even!"
"Your parents were called away by a catering client," Tim interrupted the escalating conversation.
"Did the new people scare you two?" To the side, Lewis comforted the two robots. "Shh, it's okay, we're back." The bowler hat nuzzled his cheek while the robo-hamster cuddled his thumb. It was an adorable sight only for Bruce who did not experience firsthand the wrath of the tiny creatures.
"Regardless of who started it, you're all responsible for the mess."
When Tom and Sabine returned a few hours later, Carl, a flexible humanoid robot, was entertaining the Wayne family with stories of the siblings' childhood mishaps.
"Their English teacher had encouraged them to try saying one sentence in English every meal, and a teeny tiny Marinette was setting out the utensils one night. And then, I kid you not, she said with complete seriousness, 'The stabby fell down.' Apparently, she had thought that that was the word for a fork for months!" Carl gestured wildly, engrossed in showing more of Sabine's video hoard of the twins' childhood.
Bruce and his eldest son were leaning around Carl to see more baby pictures. A young man was napping on the chaise, surrounded by the nineteen colorful ham-bots and a floating bowler hat crowding around the twins sitting on the floor. The last four of the Wayne children were on the opposite side of the room, as far away from the robots as physically possible, watching the group for any sudden movements.
"We're back," Tom announced, breaking the wary Waynes from their staring contest with the colorful group of ham-bots. "Is everything set for dinner, Carl?"
"Sure is, dad!" Carl sent the large man two rhythmic finger guns.
"Everyone, kindly remain where you are seated," the robot gave the Waynes a wide, human-like grin. "Dinner will be served shortly."
Right as he finished his sentence, the robot's chest opened to reveal miniature versions of himself carrying plates of spaghetti and meatballs. The army of tiny robots jumped onto the floor before each running over to a different Wayne with their steaming hot pasta dish. The mini-Carl who ran to the Dupain-Chengs all settled on some part of their bodies. Lewis' hid in his hair. Marinette's sat on her shoulder. Tom and Sabine's both sat on their laps.
In the middle of this, Tim was awoken by the smell of the fresh coffee human-sized Carl was brewing in his chest.
"I'm awake!" The horde of nineteen ham-bots turned to stare the young man in the eye in unison. It would have been highly unnerving if the creatures' eyes glowed red like demons, but the tiny hero costumes each of the robo-hamsters wore made them look like a startled family of lovable meerkats; it was very deceptive. The ham-bots packed more strength than one would expect, as evidenced by the hidden bruises on some of the Wayne children from the squabble with Goob and Doris. Each adorable robo-hamster had the power to lift something fifty times an adult man's weight, enough to protect the Dupain-Chengs from most of the usual akuma damage.
At the end of dessert, Bruce stated, "I would like to invite Marinette and Lewis to spend their summer vacation in Gotham, with your permission, of course."
"Kids?" After a few beats, Tom looked at his hushed children. "That arrangement would be perfectly fine with your maman and I. We know you two may want to get to know the Waynes better."
"You were always curious little stars," Sabine smiled at the two.
"Maman," Marinette said but her mother only smiled and tilted her head in response.
"We'll go," Lewis suddenly broke his silence. "But, just for this summer."
"Great, I can show you two around all over the city!" their eldest brother grinned at them.
"It'll be fun!" The smallest Wayne tutted at that statement.
Back in Paris as Pegabug, she swung across the rooftops with a costumed Soleil flying right behind her to Chat Noir's location.
"Glad to see you, bugaboo," Chat said while vaulting over fallen debris with his soul guide. "If only it was in better circumstances."
"Not the time, Chat. Any updates on the akuma?"
"Sorry m'lady, but I'm out of luck. Looks like everyone in the immediate vicinity died right after. Still radio silence on the Akuma forum."
"Drat."
"Might be a sound akuma though, judging from the damage."
Ping.
"Your luck's right on time, huh, LB?"
Akuma Alert Forum
Posted by Markov
Name: Seismic Strength
Known powers: Super strength, (possibly) causing earthquakes
Estimated property hazard: Code RED
Estimated injury hazard: Code RED
Estimated death hazard: Code RED
Last spotted: 15th arrondissement, toppling the Tour Montparnasse
"All REDs? Level 4, indeed, bugaboo."
"Come on, chaton, let's go!"
Five minutes later the four arrive at the Tour Montparnasse, or what was once the Tour Montparnasse. It was quiet. All around the two heroes and soul guides laid unidentifiable debris and corpses with no akuma in sight. Tuning into the Windows of the Soul, all Pegabug could see was death. Just, a gloomy dark haze of the end of creation. It was horrifying. The most populous district in Paris in shambles. Not a living thing in sight. Plants, animals, humans, all dead.
Ping.
Akuma Alert Forum
New update by Markov
Last spotted: 13th arrondissement, headed towards the Seine
"It's a good thing Max just finished hooking up drones to the Akuma App, huh?" Chat Noir said weakly.
Pegabug didn't reply. The damage spoke for itself.
Pegabug left to get Viperion while Chat Noir chased the akuma throughout the city, dodging falling debris and landing on precarious ledges all the way.
It was a nightmare.
Within ten minutes, most of Paris was leveled to the ground, and most citizens dead. When she returned with the snake hero, Pegabug tuned into Windows to the Soul again after turning it off due to the overwhelming death toll. She was surprised to see that she could pinpoint what might be the akumatized object by its dark purple aura, the akuma's own boots. But that didn't mean anything when neither her nor Chat or Viperion could get close enough to destroy or take it.
Marinette was on a time crunch. She had to return to Metropolis before lunch break ended in twenty more minutes.
Pegabug called on her Lucky Charm, and a very crazy dangerous plot came to mind. It was the only plan that could work in time for her.
Pegabug signaled Viperion and started her plan. She launched herself at Seismic Strength, covering their view while discreetly launching a paint-filled balloon high up into the air. The enraged akuma threw her towards a building, but the heroine threw her yoyo around the villain at the same time. Pegabug crashed through windows, desks, and other hard furniture, as her broken ribs would agree. It hurt, but now was not the time for pain. Seismic Strength was pulled along with her, thanks to the yoyo. Further infuriated, they spun around like a top, Pegabug dragged from the force of the spin through walls and more furniture in the building.
Chat Noir was slowly sneaking close to the akuma. Pegabug could see parts of her bones jutting out from under her skin, but she had to keep the akuma's attention on herself. No matter the cost.
Seismic Strength's boots were slowly turning a brighter shade of green, and that didn't seem to be a good sign. Pegabug did not want to know if the akuma indeed had earthquake-inducing powers.
"Hey, Seismic Strength, izzat the best you got?" Pegabug slurred when the villain finally came to a stop while the world spun around her.
The akuma, infuriated by the mockery, punched Pegabug point-blank at the chest with all the strength they could muster. Their fist tore through her suit, breaking her ribs and piercing her heart.
Ladybug was dead.
"Hey, Seismic Strength, izzat the best you got?" Pegabug slurred when the akuma finally came to a stop while the world spun around her.
Right at that moment, Viperion shouted, "Yo, Seismic Strength, wanna jam?"
All three powered-up Parisians turned to the snake hero in confusion. Viperion started playing on his lyre, angering the akuma who thought he was mocking them.
Two feet. Chat Noir was so close.
Just then, the boots turned neon green and the akuma stomped on the ground, triggering a strong earthquake. Chat Noir was so close to the epicenter. Too close. He was swept off his feet into a pile of metal rods from a construction site, causing them to clash and bang and catch the akuma's attention.
Pegabug was unsteady on her feet from both the aftershocks and the dizziness of being spun around at high speed, but she launched herself at Seismic Strength again. The akuma threw her towards the Seine, and Pegabug passed out and was drowning from being thrown at the river at sonic speed without her aquatic powers. But that didn't matter anymore. At that precise moment, the paintball balloon dropped onto the akuma's face.
Chat Noir lunged at the akuma, but he was sent flying back by a punch. Seismic Strength then punched at the ground, intensifying the still present aftershocks. While the cat hero was disoriented and barely conscious, the akuma stomped towards him and powerfully stepped cleanly right through his chest.
Chat Noir was dead. Meanwhile, Pegabug's drowned form could be seen washing up on the banks of the Seine. She was dead too, and Viperion was alone. Again.
Pegabug was unsteady on her feet from both the aftershocks and the dizziness of being spun around at high speed, but she launched herself at Seismic Strength again. The akuma threw her towards the Seine, and Pegabug passed out and was drowning from being thrown at the river at sonic speed without her aquatic powers. But that didn't matter anymore. At that precise moment, the paintball balloon dropped onto the akuma's face.
"Now, Chat!" Viperion screamed, gaining everyone's attention for a split second before running towards the Seine and jumping in.
Chat Noir lunged at the akuma with his Catacylsm in hand while Viperion reached Pegabug underwater.
Three feet.
Two feet.
One.
Chat Noir was just a finger's width away from the akuma's boots when they stopped him and crushed his spine with their fist. However, a blur rushed by, and a black kitten, the cat hero's soul split, tapped the akumatized boots with its paw. Right then, Chat Noir channeled Cataclysm through the kitten, destroying the akumatized object.
Meanwhile, Viperion emerged from the river with a barely lucid Pegabug. A costumed Soleil, Spot as the Parisians call him, circled worriedly around the teen. The snake hero took her yoyo and caught the akuma himself, leaving only the most necessary work to the heroine coughing next to a paralyzed Chat Noir.
One Miraculous Ladybug, 8,657 deaths of the heroine, and 2,355 deaths of the duo later, Paris was saved and the heroes were back to tip-top shape. Viperion said nothing and hugged both of his teammates tightly.
"Sorry," Pegabug apologized to Viperion.
"It's alright, your time is almost up," and as if on cue, her earrings gave a beep. "We'll take things from here."
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Marinette had always known that her soul bond was a little out of the ordinary. Her soul guide, an adorable golden retriever she calls Soleil, would have its irises turn ice blue or fire red or grass green, among other colors, from time to time. She had thought that they only had a stronger soul connection, which manifested into an additional emotions bond. It was rare, but not unheard of. She thought wrong.
Just last night, Marinette had finally succeeded at tapping into the truest creation magic humanly possible - pure soul magic. More specifically, its first level, the Windows to the Soul. It was a power held by only the most in-tune Ladybugs. It allowed them to see the essence of the soul of any living thing around them, with or without the mask. The connection brought an intense burst of magic that promptly caused her to pass out.
Which was why she was now panicking in a flurry all over her hotel room the morning after. Marinette just can't believe what she's seeing.
"Tikki, I think I'm still dreaming." Her soul guide was surrounded by a gem-like glow that she knew instinctively signaled something non-human.
"Well, at least, he's still partially human..?" was Tikki's very unsuccessful attempt to stop Marinette's panic.
"But that still means he's part non-human! What if he hates me for just being human? Oh no, or worse, what if he hates magic? I can't give up my responsibilities as the Guardian, and what if h-"
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Marinette, we'll be late!" came a voice from across the door.
Marinette and Mireille Caquet rushed into a bus in front of the hotel. Mireille had introduced her to the Ten Youths Taking on the World essay challenge released by the Martha Wayne Foundation. Marinette had become fast friends with the students from the class next door after most of Mme. Bustier's class cut off any amicable relationship with her. Mireille and she were two of the ten finalists of the contest. The winners were to be interviewed today by the Foundation's partner newspaper, The Daily Planet, for a feature article.
"Hi, I'm Claude and this is Allegra," said a tall slender blonde with a fennec fox in his lap. "We're a prima ballerina and danseur soulmate pair from a dance company based in England."
"Hello, I'm Mireille, a weather forecaster for the local news."
"Nice to meet you! I'm Marinette, aspiring fashion designer."
"Both of your dresses look lovely," said Allegra, another willowy blonde with a hummingbird resting on her shoulder.
"Thanks, Marinette made both of our outfits herself!"
"Woah, you're very talented. Makes sense since you won, but just, wow. It looks so professional, especially for someone probably in sixth form."
"Says the youngest principal dancer ever."
"Shut up."
And just like that, the ride to the Daily Planet passed by in a blink for Marinette in between the bickering of her new acquaintances.
Stepping off the bus, Marinette marveled at the towering building topped by a giant bronze planet.
"Impressive, isn't it?" said a bespectacled man next to a pacing lion. "Welcome to the Daily Planet! I'm Clark Kent, I'll be interviewing each of you later today. But for now, we'll have a tour around the premises."
For the next two hours, the reporter brought the ten teens around the bustling newspaper company. Marinette was enjoying the trip, but of course, that meant the universe had to interrupt it somehow. For all her luck as Ladybug, she had equal misfortune as Marinette.
"BRRRIIING. BRRRIIING. AKUMA ALERT. AKUMA ALERT." loudly chimed from the phones of the two Parisians in the middle of the lunch break at the cafeteria. Everyone turned to look at them, the source of the jarring blare.
"I'm really sorry, everyone! I'll go outside to watch the live stream, Mir," Marinette shouted in a panic as she rushed off with Soleil right at her heels.
"Sorry! Paris alert, we forgot to switch on the abroad option." Mireille apologized. "We're understandably a little jittery from the Level 4 announcement mode."
"Level 4?" Clark asked the remaining Parisian in the room.
"It's a new classification the Akuma App introduced last week. Level 1 for low-danger repeat akumas. 2A for property hazard and 2B for injury hazard, evacuate from surrounding areas. 3 for new akuma, remain indoors. 4 for deadly, prepare for the worst."
"Deadly? Aren't you worried?" Allegra asked.
"Worrying is useless; it only makes you a target for Hawkmoth. No damage is permanent, in any case," she said while nuzzling her palm civet soul guide.
After four years of continuous emotional terrorism, Parisians were quite hardcore.
---
Okay so in this AU, everyone has a piece of their soul (the truest part of themselves) expressed as an animal, called their soul split. This animal doesn't stay with them. Instead, it stays with their soulmate (in which they're called soul guide) until the moment the pair physically touch wherein the soul splits will then stay with their original soul instead of the soulmate. So basically, people gradually fall in love (romantically/platonically) with their soulmate before they even meet, which would explain the easy trust between soulmates even if it seems quick.
At ten, Marinette had thought that she would become a fashion designer. She dreamed that her brand would become a regular at Paris Fashion Week, her name right next to Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois.
At thirteen, she became Ladybug, a hero who stood between Paris and its path to irreversible destruction. She had a weight placed on her shoulders that a child never should have had to bear.
At fifteen, she became the Guardian, protector of nineteen tiny gods. It was a lifelong role and shackle.
At eighteen, she defeated Hawk Moth, freeing the city at last from the magical terrorist. But in the now peaceful Paris, Marinette couldn't find her place.
So, she left.
Marinette and her twin Lewis had received scholarships to various universities after co-winning the Keep Fashion Forward competition held by Audrey Bourgeois. They had created an ethereal fae costume, complete with wings, that allowed its wearer to float half a foot above the ground via small acoustic propulsion devices in the heels.
All around the world, prestigious higher education institutions had sent the twins invitations for their fashion design and applied physics courses. They had even passed on Robinsons Academy, the most renowned college worldwide, much to the bewilderment of their family and friends, for Gotham University, located right in the center of the capital of crime. It was a mystery why the twins would want to settle there of all places.
And now, at thirty, Marinette was working at Wayne Enterprises with her brother in the Fabric Technology wing of the Applied Sciences department.
"Lu!" Marinette slammed open the door to her brother's office. "Your intern, Ellis, forgot to email us that the weight had to be increased! We have to adjust the fabric to be stiffer to compensate, but now, there's not enough time-" She paused when she noticed her twin's blank expression.
"Lu...? What's wrong?" Her brother stared at her with red eyes and the most heartbroken expression Marinette had ever seen him wear.
"Maman and Papa," Lewis took a shaky breath, as Marinette grew more concerned about what happened to rattle her ever-composed twin.
"What about maman and papa?"
"They're dead," he whispered brokenly. Marinette couldn't believe her ears. Her parents couldn't be, well, dead, right? She had just talked to them last night before bed. They had asked when she and Lewis would be flying back for Christmas. They couldn't be dead! Her twin had to be mistaken. Someone must have mixed up the news!
Her eyes widened and all she could croak out was a small, "No. No. No!" Marinette wanted to continue drowning in denial, but her twin's slight nod and dejected expression only threw the facts straight into her face. Her parents were dead. She was never going to hear them bake bread early in the morning or hear them ask her if work has been busy. She would never get to have her parents at her wedding or introduce her children to their grandparents. Her parents were dead, and she and her brother were well and truly alone now.
"The bakery burned in the middle of the night, an electrical accident. The firefighters got them out, but it was too late. They inhaled too much smoke and died on the way to the hospital," Lewis said robotically, turning to stare out the window into the gloom of Gotham.
"No! They can't, Lu," her voice cracked. "They can't be dead! They're okay! Perfectly fine! They have to be!"
"They wanted to know when we'll be back," Marinette whispered. "We were going home soon. We were going to see them again."
"No!" the woman broke into sobs on the floor, her twin pulling her in for a hug they both needed. The tiled floor was a startling chill on Marinette's bare legs, but she could barely notice the sensation over her grief.
The rest of the week passed by in a haze for Marinette. One moment she was in her brother's office, struggling to accept the news of her parents' death, the next moment, she was on a plane back to Paris for the wake.
One day blurred into the next in her numbness. The funeral was a foggy cloud of faces giving her their condolences, passing her hugs, whispering in her ear that things will get better. It was not.
Paris was as sunny as ever as if only good things could happen here, a stark contrast to the darkness of the city the twins previously called home. The world was shining in Paris, but Marinette was drowning.
Friends from Paris kept calling her phone, checking in on her and her brother, asking if they ate, if they slept, if they needed someone there. Alya and Nino were the ones the two saw the most, often visiting them with reheatable meals and forcing them out of the house for any number of reasons. Luka dropped by unannounced from time to time, dragging them to a ride down the Seine on his boat one time. Rose and Juleka would visit them too with beautiful bouquets neither of the twins had the energy to appreciate at the moment.
In contrast, communication from Gotham was silent, her co-workers blissfully unaware of how her life had suddenly turned upside down. They thought her brother and she took an early vacation; they couldn't be more wrong. They hadn't told anyone from Gotham the news, too drained to initiate any form of conversation with anyone, much less over the phone. However, soon, the city was catching up to them.
One month after their deaths, Lewis sat down with his sister in the living room of his grandfather's old house. They both had bags underneath their eyes, the past weeks had run the two ragged.
"What do we do now?" Marinette asked her older twin brother in a whisper. "It's just the two of us now."
Lewis squeezed her shoulder in support.
"Yeah, just us," his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat before saying quietly, "I want to stay. In Paris, I mean."
