#Sham's Writing

[miracle-sham]

Frigid They Froze Midst Heart Thawing Woes.

| Daminette December |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [UwU] | | [OwO] |

| Everyone always thought Ladybug was unbreakable. That she was immune to negative feelings, unlike the rest of Paris. That she would never falter, never fail, never fall. And so no one could have expected when tragedy strikes and Paris falls at the hands of her once beloved hero. |

| Now who could save them all, from the icy clutches of a devastating Akuma? |

| And would anyone even try to save the once beloved hero, over the countless suffering civilians? |

———

| Word Count: 16,172. |

| Warnings/Tags: Akumanette/akumatised/hurt Marinette, Implied/referenced character death motif, Near death experience, Temporary character death, Not really character death, Major character undeath, Past character death, Grief/Mourning motif, Mind control/Mind manipulation, Mind control aftermath, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical violence, Minor violence, Snow/ice powers and theme, Frozen apocalypse/icy wasteland, Lovers to enemies, Enemies to lovers, Some Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and angst, Slowburn, Eventual happy ending, Angst with a happy ending, Reunions, and Recovery. |

———

| A/N: It's here! It's finally posted, only took a little over a year to complete this monstrosity of a oneshot! I would like to thank everyone who read the uwu-speak apwil fowols version and the massive amount of support you all showed for it, this meant the absolute world to me and really helped keep me motivated to finish this in full! I truly hope you'll all enjoy the original version, in it's entirety just as much as the apwil fowols version! |

| I'd also like to just say thanks to Saf and Rae as well, for their moral support throughout writing this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Was it always doomed from the start? Marinette wondered hollowly, eyes flickering from frozen ruin to frozen ruin. Barely visible from within the seething flurry of snowflakes.

 Bleak.

 Blinding.

 An unending expanse of glistening and swirling snow and ice. Almost too bright and too obscuring to see anything else. Even despite the dullness of night.

 A white-out illuminated by the snowglow.

 Now, the only company she could keep were the immortalised frozen statues of the people who were unable to escape the devastation of the descending blizzard she wrought. Their silence of life was deafening.

 A chilling mockery of what had haunted her nightmares.

 Kicking her legs idly from her precariously precious position on the railings of the Eiffel Tower, the familiarity of the action almost burned as cold as the frigid city itself. Was this how Chat felt? She mused, staring at the bleached white and faded blue spots of her Ladybug?—Frozen Heart? Lady Blanc suit. Shaking her head, she couldn't help but curl her lips slightly in distaste. Maybe it's ironic that I didn't end up in black with red spots like all the false Ladybug Akumas.

 But her new colours are what she deserved. An echo of her once-partner; just as she was an echo of the hero she used to be. Especially in how the accents of her new Akuma suit echoed the old hero suit that the ice power-up had given her, with the crystalline and snowflake patterns covering the once-red-now-white parts, and the ice-blue crystals along her waist and around the yo-yo.

 Perhaps, there was some small comfort, in that the destruction she caused was little in comparison to that of Chat Blanc's. She tilted her head to the side and stared up at the night's snow glow-light clouded skies. Her moon was still intact for one, not that it was visible from here any longer, however. Though, not quite a small mercy so much as another chilling mockery, really.

 She clenched her fists so that the icicles clinging to the metal dug into her suit's gloves. For two, only her Paris had been affected this time. And for three, her death toll was significantly lower, what with only killing a huge swathe of Paris' population as opposed to, y'know how he wiped out all life except himself.

 Her Paris still had survivors lurking within the desolation. Treading tracks through bitter winds, clinging to slowly petrifying hope. Survivors that would scream and cry and yell and try ever so futilely to fight against her, whenever they saw her in her new form, reduced to a wraith of her former glory. They were the only sounds other than the crunch and crackle of ice and snow, or the tinkling of icicles in the wind.

 Not to mention, her Hawkmoth still lingered on. With his black ice glazed goadings that fractured her mind like her and Chat Noir's bones had, beneath his butterfly staff.

 A haunting reminder that she had fallen, failed them—Paris, that even their beloved little heroes weren't infallible.

 Scoffing to herself, Lady Blanc shook her head and shifted her position so that she could curl up into a ball and rest her heavy head upon her knees. Though, there was no crown to weigh her down, just the cold harsh wasteland that she had ruptured in rime.

 (It was almost ironic still, that the ice power-up suit she once wore so long ago, gave her a tiara of icicles but her Akuma form did not—the symbolism of this change, however, was not lost on her—after all what is a princess without her crown. Headless. That's what. As the suffering people decreed.)

 Nonetheless, Paris as it was and now is, had formed the freezing prison of her own making. Even with Hawkmoth's influence shattered like the ice of his statue's form, Lady Blanc was tethered—ice-bound—to Paris. A cruel twist of irony that with her frozen heart, Hawkmoth had ensured her weakness was the warmth, the heat. To make it so nothing would thaw her heart, especially not some pitifully desperate professions of love, friendship, and claims that the real her was still inside and that she just needed to fight him and his influence—control even.

 Biting back a bitter laugh, she ignored the near-silent whispers in the back of her mind crying those very same proclaims. Something that Hawkmoth hadn't anticipated. Especially seeing how her once-partner had turned out after so long in isolation. Would that be my fate too?

 In response, the creeping pernicious laugh of Hawkmoth rattled like hoar frost mantled chains in her head. It seemed to last an eternity before fading into the frore like everything else within Paris.

 Lady Blanc closed her eyes slowly in languish, thoughts drifting back to her once-partner. They might not have been meant for each other romantically, especially after she fell in love with a prince of her own. But perhaps Chat was onto something when he said we were meant for each other. Opposites in power yet our fallen fates are mirrored in white and blue and drenching loneliness.

 She sighed wearily. As if it would somehow ease the burden and the pain. Opening her eyes, she glared listlessly at the frosted-over traffic lights that would remain devoid of colour so long as her tyranny would reign. A mix of colours she wouldn't see together again unless she left Paris. Murmuring beneath her breath, “I never thought I'd miss that eyesore suit of his…” she smiled hollowly.

 Regardless of whether Hawkmoth made it so that leaving her gelid domain or destroying her Akuma object would kill her or not, it was not like going anywhere else would be viable after what she did. She'd be branded a criminal—a villain, like Hawkmoth—then locked up and be left to rot—languish—or well, melt. After all, like most Akumas, she'd become something a little less human. And in her case, a little more ice thanks to the akumatisation.

 What would her boyfriend even think of her now? A twisted reflection in the ice of the one he loved? Or perhaps just an obstacle between getting the one he loved back?

 Well, it wouldn't matter anyway.

 If Lady Blanc never strayed from within the reaches of the frost… It would be unlikely he'd see her again, especially as she was now. And at least by never drifting from the floes of Paris, she'd be able to put up a worthwhile fight against whatever self-proclaimed heroes and vigilantes would inevitably come knocking.

 Inevitably. Because an entire city had been glaciated for days, then weeks, then months with no signs of the calamity being undone. And whilst the Justice League and others had respected, that during Hawkmoth's reign she and Chat Noir held authority over who else could be active without being a potential Akuma risk; undoubtedly that respect would melt away like the snow and be soon forgotten. What with the sheer amount of destruction and a glaring absence of any heroes, temporary or permanent, really it would only be so long until someone would try to step in or investigate.

 And for all that her wretched hope was worth, she dearly hoped it wouldn't have to be Damian who would be sent to scout out and attempt to remedy the tragedy.

 After all, if other heroes or vigilantes infringe upon what is hers, then it's only fair they fall under her jurisdiction once more despite any revoking on their part. And unlucky for whoever the poor souls that would be sent to investigate turn out to be, Lady Blanc won't be allowing such a disrespect of her once-authority to stand, regardless of the current situation.

 And if he is sent… Well, then no matter how much the tiny shred of life-warmth-happiness, that is encased in layer upon layer upon layer within the ghost shell of her frozen heart, begs her not to. She will have to defend herself and her domain. Even if it means hurting him. And perhaps even killing him...

 The second Lady Blanc finished the thought, her resolve cracked under the weight of those pesky emotions of hers. Choking back a silent grieving sob, her shoulders heaved. It almost seemed as though the emotions might pass, when for the first time since the akumatisation, she genuinely burst into tears. A drowning surging wail of regret and loss and hurt and fear, all twisted together. But not even crying was spared from what she had become. For the wind howled in tandem with her wails, and the only tears she could shed were frozen ones. And as she cried her frozen tears, so too did the sky. Hail, falling from the sky and shattering onto everything in the air. Over and over and over again. Cascading shards of ice like relentless blades slashed into the surfaces. Leaving them covered in a blanket of icy caltrops.

 She scowled through the crystalline blurriness. The airborne hail shards swirled harmlessly around her whilst in the distance, faint yells and screams began to echo—a warning for those also trapped within the hailstorm to take shelter. Lady Blanc didn't need to patrol to know that bright vivid red splatters of blood would soon be painting the ice and snow. But patrol by heart she would. Any sight of bright colour amongst the white was now both a threat and a treat. As evidenced by Hawkmoth's gleefully maleficent croonings, in her mind.

 Uncurling herself from her position on the Eiffel Tower railings, Lady Blanc stretched idly before launching her yo-yo towards the sounds of screaming, and swinging over to follow where it may lead.

 It didn't take too long, despite being distant-sounding from up the Tower, the screams were actually rather close by. It was just that the sounds had been muffled by all the hail and ice wrought by the storms of her whims.

 Sticking to rooftops and balconies—not unlike how she used to—Lady Blanc arrived at the point where the screams originated from in under thirty seconds. It was almost too easy to find. Freshly glistening splatters of crimson on powdered white sparkled like a burning beacon.

 Settling softly like snow, upon a nearby roof that gave her a clear view of the painted snow, she focussed her attention on it. Not even bothering to check for the one who bled—as if Hawkmoth would allow her—she nestled on the shadowed drift beside a stone-cold chimney and stared at the rare sight. Futilely begged her hollow heart to feel something for the pain and suffering spilt.

 Even from her high perch, she could clearly see how the warmth of the blood had thawed the ice around it somewhat. The colour was already partially diluted and diluting further as more snowflakes fell. It wouldn't be long before the leeching frost claimed it and caused the colour to fade away to white like everything else that had once held vibrancy in this city.

 Another flicker of colour caught her attention, not far from the blood below. Red as well, though not the red of blood but the red of a bird raised by bats. She tilted her head to the side and listened for any sound beneath the silence of the crying cold.

 A sob pierced the air, followed by hushed whispers—promises—of safety, of help.

 That won't do, the crooning taunted.

 Lady Blanc gritted her teeth and forlornly tried to tune it out.

 The accent of the one whispering promises, was distinctly Gotham—a voice of bat wreathed in red, deep with a slight growl not unlike a cornered animal tending to an injured juvenile. Not him then, not as sharp and snappy as his accent could get. No, he was more likely to hiss than growl.

 The Bird below, most likely Jason from the voice—though Red Hood in his current attire—stepped fully into view and glanced skyward. Searching, seeking. For her.

 For but a split second, Lady Blanc felt the urge to call out in desperation, to reveal herself and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, for help...

 Your heart for power, reminded the inciting whims.

 Cold like coffin glass; she, in languish, conceded.

 Otherwise staying perfectly still like the statues she spent most of her time around these days, Lady Blanc narrowed her eyes and with the slightest will of her ghost-shelled heart, wrenched upon the lightly falling hail. And stirred the clawing blizzard.

 From hail to icicles, it rained.

 And the icicles, they wailed.

 Slashing talons of ice carved through the flurry of snow, piercing the bitter night.

 The sudden onslaught of shattering followed by cursing below did not, in fact, bring her any joy. Hawkmoth may have found it entertaining but that was all the more reason Lady Blanc hated doing it. But she couldn't let them see her, recognise her.

 A crash of bodies tumbling through a broken down door below, granted her the freedom to close her eyes and soften the storm back to a languishing lightness. But with it, revealed the blood-stained street whitewashed pristine once more.

 Scowling, Lady Blanc glared at where the colour had been. At least, she reminded herself, there will be another soon. Birds of a feather flock together.

 Yet no sooner had she thought that, a warning from her domain she heard.

 Warmth, whispered the writhing winds.

 And behind her, the familiar sound of a katana being drawn cut through the crackling silence of snow settling on ice. He was here; the verglas on the roof's metal railings hardly crunched beneath the ninja-light footsteps of him.

 “You, are not Ladybug.” Robin hissed oh so astutely. His katana raised; ready to slash at what he must clearly perceive as an imposter, a snowmelt simulacrum. Unhesitating. Still as ice not unlike his civilian-earned title. The Prince of Ice indeed.

 Lady Blanc tilted her head to one side, in mimicry of her once-partner. A billowing cloud of mist and ice burst from her blue lips in a frosty laugh. “No, no I am not.”

 He scoffed, and took another step closer. “Then who are you and where is Ladybug. Or Chat Noir.”

 “You're a detective, aren't you?” She responded noncommittally.

 “I am the son of Batman, of course I am!” Another step closer. Snarling, he added, “if you have hurt her—either of them, then I will make you pay.”

 Lady Blanc stood, swiping off the light dusting of snow that had settled on her as she had been settled in contemplation. She could tell him the truth. That she had hurt both of them dearly, froze them to the bone and stole the warmth—life—from their hearts, leaving them pale shells of frost and grief. But… that would be giving Hawkmoth what he wanted—the anguish of forcing others to hurt their loved ones, twisted and under the beck and call of a mad villain. Never mind, it was definitely already too late for those shreds of her morals to surface beneath the ice of her traitorous mind—considering not even ten seconds earlier, what she did to Red Hood. And that's not even counting what she's done to Paris.

 Turning to face him, her lips curled into a mocking smile. “So presumptuous. You don't recognise me. And yet…?” Pausing to chuckle as bitterly as the winds and shake her head slightly, she gestured sharply at him. “Some detective you are.”

 Delicately, she took a few steps back, until she was all but swaying over the ice-slick edge. Motioning to the swirling vortex of snow that reformed beneath them, her smile melted into a thin downturned sneer. “Why not take a look below. After all, I'd be more concerned about the other bird down there, than Ladybug and Chat Noir right now.”

 “Red Hood is handling the situation adequately.” Robin hissed, glowering at her with that desperately familiar expression of barely restrained violence borne from protectiveness. “What. Have. You. Done. To. Them.”

 Lady Blanc's lips curled into a wry smirk. “Mhmm, well I suppose if it's handled, then that's my cue to leave.” She teetered on the edge and swung her yo-yo idly as if in preparation to throw it. Quickly glancing back at him, her wry smirk faltered for but a fleeting moment as she briefly diverted the avalanche of languish and fear fueling her power.

 She swallowed a breath of chilling air thickly, a meagre attempt to keep the roiling emotions at bay for the fragile moment in which she offered him a silver lining of truth. “The only thing to happen to the heroes, was a fridged family reunion turned frosty. You're far too late to save them now.”

 Exhaling harshly, she tilted forwards and over the edge.

 Only for Robin to lunge after her.

 One. Second. Too. Late.

 The wind whipped around them as his fingers scarcely brushed through the space she had once occupied.

 A weightlessness cascaded over her as her feet left the roof and she began to fall. Her yo-yo, clasped closed within her hand. And distinctly, no grappling line extended.

 Faintly from the roof, she could hear Robin cursing in Arabic. He hadn't fallen with her, it seemed. How almost poetic it was.

 She was a fallen hero, and he was still stood safely atop his own heroic vigilante pedestal. Safe from being dragged down with her into the burning blizzard.

 The distance of said fall was roughly ten metres or so, and the snowdrift would cushion her landing. Harmlessly, though in no small part thanks to a side effect of her akumatised form and said snowdrift, she flopped into the snow like an ungraceful cat. Her limbs splayed in the mockery of a snow angel. Lady Blanc let herself stay as she had fallen, within the snow angel. Waiting patiently, she listened carefully for any sound that would signify where and what both the Birds could be doing. She would need the advantage on their next move in order to slip away dramatically and effectively.

 No less than half a minute passed before she once again heard the approach of Robin's steel-toed boots crushing the snow below with each furious step.

 Crunch-crackle-crunch-crunch. Crunch-crunch-crackle-crunch.

 Swish. The silver blade of the katana gleamed through the veil of white. It was easy to see that it was now aimed at her throat this time. Ready to strike should she bring him more strife, clearly.

 “Where are they?” He demanded immediately upon stepping within her sight, shoulders trembling. Whether from cold, panic, or fury, it was hard to tell.

 Lady Blanc cocked her head to one side, causing part of the snow angel surrounding her head to concave in on itself over her. Obscuring part of her vision with more snow, not that she really needed to rely on her vision anymore, what with her Akuma abilities. She bared her teeth at him, in the mockery of the smile. “Where the reunion occurred.”

 Scowling, Robin pressed the katana closer to her neck, in warning, all but hissing his next words. “And where is that?”

 “Where do you think?” She responded, raising an eyebrow behind her mask. Closing her eyes, Lady Blanc smiled wryly, a single stray tear trailed down her face, freezing and falling like lonely hail. Breathing softly, she exhaled slowly but deeply and in doing so, she began to melt back into the snow. The ribbons in her hair melted away first, causing her hair to fall from its signature pigtails. And as she became one with the snow, so too did the magic that kept her identity from being recognisable, thawing away just enough for connections to be made.

 “Stop!” Robin yelped, a brief moment of confusion and conflicted panic washed over his face as he began to piece it together; obvious in the way his eyebrows wiggled—jumping between furrowing and raising—in the way he gritted his teeth and pouted before biting at the insides of his lips then falling back into the gritted expression and then repeating the expressions again. In the way his fingers flexed in a specific pattern against his katana—a pattern that she knew he only did subconsciously when feeling conflicted or when losing his trust or faith in someone. In the way his—

 —His expression shuttered into neutrality.

 Lady Blanc couldn't help but note how it was the very same expression he would make every time him having fought family or friends was brought up in conversation. The muted flickers of determination, betrayal, grief, and reluctant resignation. The echoes of mourning the pain once more.

 A cascading avalanche of guilt slammed into her as she stared up at him with fracturing horror. And he came crashing to his knees before her, like an ungainly newborn fawn, in equal parts shock.

 Grimacing, Robin blinked slowly, clearly reassessing the situation. In a small, almost disbelieving—almost challenging voice, he whispered, “Marinette?” and winced immediately after.

 Lady Blanc would have snorted at his reaction, as he was no doubt remembering the 'no names in the field' rule but at that very moment, she was barely weathering the swirling storm of grief tearing through her mind.

 And in response, the storm outside of her howled like the shattering of her heart. The wind thrashed and flailed, ripping the fallen hail and icicles into the air once more in a deadly dance of blades and bludgeoning. The uppermost layers of snow were torn from the top and scattered into the air, blanketing Lady Blanc and Robin in the powdery pall of the blizzard.

 As if both were frozen into statues, neither moved a muscle. Eyes latched onto each other with all the desperation and dread of the too-thin cracking ice over a plunge into frozen waters; a splintering of the shards of their promises to one another unspoken.

 How long ago had it been, since they'd both whispered the words of comfort and safety to one another. Of agreeing to let the other protect them, and save them should it come to it.

 How long since she had last held him in her hands, and hugged him with all her might.

 How long...

 Another stray frozen tear fell from her eyes. Followed by another, and another, and another. Until the tears turned to streaks of ice cascading down her face. Two thin wobbly rimy lines from eyes to chin.

 Lady Blanc jerked forwards from where she was still half-melting into the snow angel, reaching one hand towards him in a frantic heart-wrenching attempt to hold him once more. To feel him beneath her grasp with the definitive evidence that he was real, that he was warm, that he was alive.

 The ghost of a smothering wail was wrenched from her throat as her fingers just barely brushed the side of his face and the bursting agony of his warmth scalded her. Her fingertips melted, dripping down into the snow. Her fingers, then hand, then wrist, then arm, swiftly followed but a second later in excruciating boiling pangs of languish. Pining in grieving love as she languished—fading and withering away—before him.

 The last thing she saw and heard, were his eyes scouring across the snow angel she had made, him swallowing thickly and choking out a near-silent heartbroken whisper. “Angel...”

 The snowdrift collapsed in on itself once more, covering up the space she had taken up and leaving it an empty snow-filled grave.

 Unbeknownst to her, Robin stared uncomprehendingly at the empty snow-filled grave—angel that she—what was left of Marinette—had just melted into. 

 “No... No-no-no-no!”  His voice dropped to scarcely a rasping raging whisper of mourning despair laid bare. “This can't be…”

 With a trembling hand and heart, he weathered the fading storm, reaching one hand to the place on his jaw where she had reached for him with her snow-light touch.

 “I will save you.” He vowed, for he had a wraith to put to rest and he would not be repeating the same mistakes again. He would follow her down this time, no matter the fall.

 ———

 Down in the depths below the Agreste manor, Lady Blanc reformed within Hawkmoth's now snow and statue-laden repository of a hidden butterfly garden. A languishing ache in her hollow heart.

 With her identity revealed, it would only be a matter of time before he and his family tracked down the lair to confront her. Now that they knew she was alive and she had failed, that she was weak even beneath the haunting frostbitten necrosis of Hawkmoth's influence.

 Pointedly ignoring the shattered and rotting remains of said villain—carelessly littered across the edge of the butterfly garden, halfway to tipping over the edge of the platform—she huffed to herself and paced the icy walkway. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours. Still, she did not relent. Though every so often… she caught her attention drifting over to the frore statue of Chat Noir, and her akumatised glacial ribbon—one that Damian had sewed for her, with delicate robins and ladybugs inexpertly stitched along it—clutched in the frozen outstretched hand. With every glance towards her object, the overwhelming urge to crush it with all her strength flittered through her mind, not unlike the Akuma within. It was a pointless urge, a snowmelt memory of what she used to do in the face of such objects. Destroy and free in order to heal.

 She's tried to, oh how she's tried. But her hands burn cold, and cataclysm could burn only in rot and rust. Neither would burn hot enough to melt the seal keeping her ice-bound in her wretched frozen form.

 A delicate chiming interrupted her thoughts. Her icicle warning system. The Birds had found her. The traps throughout the Agreste Manor, both Hawkmoth's and her own, were still active. But they wouldn't keep them from finding and entering the lair for long. And she could always deactivate her own traps for them...

 You know what you must do. Crowed Hawkmoth, in her head like the pinpricks of icicles dripping blood onto snow.

 Lady Blanc's steps faltered and she shut her eyes, tipping her head back and scrunching up her face. Letting out a heavy sigh, she gritted her teeth and continued pacing, fixing an aimless angry glare at anything and everything in sight within the lair. Reluctantly, she decided to verbalise her thoughts to herself in an attempt to help herself decide on her next course of action instead. “I… I can't let them destroy my object. It can only be destroyed by heat and if it is, then there's a good chance it will kill me. Just touching him hurt so badly… I can't… I can't go through that again. I can't...”

 Pausing for but a shallow wraith of a breath, she winced. “Furthermore, with me akumatised, the miraculous cure cannot be cast unless the earrings are stolen from me.”

 She sighed again and dropped her shoulders, one hand reaching up to brush her fingers against the miraculous within her grasp but hesitating at the last second again. Not daring to actually touch it. “If I try to remove them, like I tried with…” Her thoughts trailed off and a pained expression crossed her face. In the corner of her eye, she could see her reflection twisted and warped in the ice, the blue of her masked eyes almost glowing like her once-partner's cataclysm in the dim light.

 As she stared, a loud SNAP echoed through the lair. And one long thick crack spread across the reflecting ice. Starting from the neck of the reflection. The same place where Robin's sword had been aimed.

 A second crack shattered the silence.

 Whirling around on her heel, Lady Blanc turned to the direction it came from. Her heart dropped. Her thoughts ground to a halt. The ribbon, her akumatised ribbon, was now cracked. Just like the reflection. Just like her resolve.

 A wave of pain slammed into her. She collapsed to her knees. Head held in her hands, she stared desperately at her literal lifeline. “No, no, no, no!”

 The chimes echoed again. More urgently this time. And she knew, knew without needing to understand exactly what the chimes conveyed—one Bird caught in a trap, one Bird free and heading straight for Hawkmoth's vault where the lift to the lair was still hidden, even after all this time. And lastly, two Bats stalking and surrounding the estate—circling like owls waiting for the moment to swoop down and rip her apart with their talons.

 Time was running out.

 She could hear him, the haunting echo of Hawkmoth whispering in her mind, urging her. She needed to act. She needed to fight them. Protect her ribbon from being destroyed by them. She can't do it. Not like this.

 Lady Blanc swallowed thickly, desperation clawing at her throat. Glancing back over her shoulder at the distorted and cracked reflection, she wailed to herself. “I know, okay, I know I should've fought against this harder, I should've been able to overcome this. But it's only now that the ice is cracking. What changed? Why now? Was it because I cried today, for the first time since I failed?”

 Not unbidden, the answer comes to her mind wreathed in the malefic goading of Hawkmoth. And with it, a silent question too, one that she hadn't dared ponder in all this time.

 Bunnyx?

 It had to be. How else could the Bats and Birds have arrived within Paris without her domain warning her until she had stumbled across them by sheer luck. Why they arrived now and not sooner, not before she had started to crack and thaw. Why Robin's first reaction to her, was establishing she wasn't Ladybug—at least not anymore—and his next was asking where Ladybug was. And why Damian was so surprised by it actually being her and not yet another fake Ladybug Akuma.

 After all, it wasn't as if Bunnyx warned her that her once-partner had been akumatised when she was sent to that timeline to fix it. Just that she had to fix it.

 And now more than ever, she desolately wished she knew what truly happened to that timeline after the cure had been cast.

 Frowning, Lady Blanc threw herself to her feet. Hawkmoth's whisperings crescendoed like rupturing and shivering ice and frostbite within her mind; rotting all that remains of her.

 It didn't matter. Not anymore, she was not Ladybug, nor had she been her in such a long while. And despite the languishing guilt, she made her final decision. “I don't want to die… I can't let him kill me.”

 Her final stand.

 A shiver ran down her spine and that was her only warning that her time was up.

 He had arrived.

 Heralded by the swooshing of the lift descending into the frozen grave.

———

 The seconds passed ever so slowly as the lift moved ever closer to the walkway platform. Lady Blanc held her breath and kept her eyes shut. Held herself still as ice. Held her desperately melting plan in fracturing hands and hoped with all the frangible will she could muster. No matter how her resolve continued to waver still, under Hawkmoth's strengthened sway it was gradually refreezing. Though slower still than the lift's descent. And so she readied her yo-yo.

 She never wanted him to follow her, not now, not to here. But he did, and here he was.

 It felt as though the lift opened far too quickly; the silence shattering like the rime cracking beneath his boots as he telegraphed his steps across the walkway.

 “Marinette…” Robin's voice rang out, echoing almost hauntingly as it bounced against the ice-slick walls and ceiling of the lair.

 Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. Whispered the lair in imitation, intertwining with Hawkmoth's malevolent laughter; lancing pain crackled through her mind at the sounds.

 Lady Blanc grit her teeth. Opening her eyes, she immediately glared at him with all the hatred and animosity she could wrest. “Lady Blanc.” She corrected, like an icicle to the heart.

 His footfalls ceased, leaving behind the hollow wraith of an echo. “Lady Blanc, then”—hesitating for but a moment, he cleared his throat—“I do not wish to fight you.”

 “And I'm supposed to believe that?” Incredulity laced her tone as she snarled out the words and bared her teeth. Unable to do anything else but watch him warily as Hawkmoth's unrelenting laughter putrefied and compounded—rattling through her skull like the mockery of a heartbeat.

 Robin stilled, though not quite as still as her nor the frozen statues of Chat Noir and what remained of Hawkmoth. It was poetic again; an ice-warped reflection of their last moments before he had attacked her unprompted.

 When he made no further reaction or response—in actions or words—she cocked her head to one side and re-evaluated him, eyes narrowing and snarl wilting—languishing—into a wry grimace.

 Lady Blanc deliberated for a moment, not quite hesitating—she then opened her mouth to speak, voice almost powder snow soft, as softly as she could be in this form—but despite that her voice still carried the sharpness of black ice. “Why are you here? Why now, why wait all this time only to investigate now?”

 He took another step forwards, as if taking that for a cue to approach and gently raised his hands in a show of being unarmed and following through with his intent. “You—Ladybug and Chat Noir never responded to the Justice League's calls after Paris became frozen over for beyond a week. Nor did you or anyone on your team respond further, after the League tried and failed to reconnoitre due to the impassable surrounding blizzard.”

 And if she hadn't known him as well as she did, she never would've noticed the strain and distress underlying his words. However, through her Hawkmoth knew as well and he made her well aware of the fact with his malicious gloating—it was obvious as to how very much so he was enjoying the negative emotions that Robin was feeling at this very moment.

 Lady Blanc tightened her grip on her yo-yo, refusing to show weakness by moving towards him or away from him. “Again, then why are you here now?”

 Taking yet another step forwards, Robin lowered his voice to that calming steady voice: the one that all heroes use when talking to victims. “We were recently given permission by a miraculous holder on your team to operate within Paris in regards to matters pertaining to the miraculous.”

 She snarled, Hawkmoth's fury amplifying her own. She had delayed long enough, and that was all the confirmation she needed to know Bunnyx had indeed decided to interfere. Swinging first, her yo-yo sliced through the stalemate between them.

 He raised his arm on instinct. Wrong move. Having seemingly forgotten this wasn't just another one of their spars. As the yo-yo lashed against it. Whipping around the armour and digging in tight.

 The white-outs of his mask widened almost comically. Before she wrenched on the wire. Sending him head over heels and crashing into the glass coffin of Emilie Agreste.

 Like the shattering of Hawkmoth's statued form so long ago now, the coffin burst into thousands of glittering deadly shards. Cascading down around Robin as they began to pierce into the kevlar armour.

 Hawkmoth's languishing howl roared within her mind like the white-out outside. Lady Blanc flinched for a moment that lasted an eternity of ice, ducking her head slightly and scrunching her face up in pain on instinct. Her grip on her yo-yo loosening for no longer than Robin's heartbeat.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear the wire from his arm guards and prise himself from the broken remains.

 A thin trail of blood trickled from a deep gash on Robin's cheek, just below where the eyemask's edge could have protected him. The white-outs were now down, and a determined glint in his eyes.

 The sight of crimson red dripping down and splattering on the iridescent glass and ice surrounding the coffin caused Lady Blanc to freeze.

 Hawkmoth's howling paused too, shifting like an avalanche into contemptuous delectation. That's it, he crooned in cloying praise, make him bleed for all he's ruined.

 She could almost feel the tender disquieting glazing of the butterfly silhouette upon her face. Though a quick glance at reflecting ice still showed only the cataclysm glow in her masked eyes.

 And yet, it was distraction enough for one of Robin's birdarangs to slash into her left ribs, carving deeply. The thin gaping wound spilt gushing snowflakes and ice crystals instead of blood, that splattered against the rime-encrusted walkway. Her miraculous suit only protected her so much in her akumatised form after all, and it wasn't as if she couldn't just reform once more—should she be defeated here and now, as inconvenient and painful as that would undoubtedly be.

 With the crack of the yo-yo wire, Lady Blanc retaliated. Aiming for Robin's throat in vengeance.

 He lurched into a roll. Diving away from the coffin and glass whilst launching a birdarang at the yo-yo.

 Crack.

 The two weapons collided midair. Clattering harmlessly to the ground in between them. Only for the yo-yo to melt into the snow. And ever dutifully, the rime reformed the weapon back into her hands.

 Robin cursed in Arabic, plucking his sword from his sheath.

 Two steps forwards, two steps back. The two moved in sync. For every swipe of her yo-yo, he parried with a single slice of his katana. A slash to his right leg. A dodge to the left. A stab to her collar. A simple flip backwards.

 Their blows quickly snowballing into a flurry, neither able to quite get an edge over the other.

 “Stop!” Robin begged—demanded, dodging another of her strikes with practised ease. “This isn't you! You're akumatised. Let us destroy your object so we can fix this!”

 Oh, but how much blood was on her hands and how many lives had she froze asunder? How could she live with herself even if it all was fixed and she forgot, all the pain and suffering undone?

 Scoffing, Lady Blanc shook her head as if to dispel the thoughts; dancing forward with another spin and slash of her yo-yo. “It's a little too late for that.”

 And with that, she wrenched upon the power her akumatised form granted her. Sharp icicle blades splintered and rose from the verglas pall across the walkway.

 Robin cursed again, more heavily this time as he began to frantically drop and dive and parry and slide. Forcing all his attention on avoiding getting skewered or pushed over the edge of the walkway railings, instead of solely on her.

 Strategically, Lady Blanc pulled back, letting the blades keep him occupied as she positioned herself between him and her glacial ribbon. It was a miracle he hadn't noticed it—or rather realised what it was—yet.

 He sent a languishing look towards her, weaving between the blades like snowmelt through the cracks in the ice. Fluid and graceful but swiftly running out of space to slip away.

 Turning her attention to the coffin behind her, she quickly analysed the damage. Despite everything, the corpse remained perfectly preserved and unharmed. Not even a single shard of glass had grazed the skin within.

 Hawkmoth's preening complacency at the sight, felt like the pricking of bare skin on hoar frost; sending blighting shivers down Lady Blanc's spine. It shouldn't have been enough to distract her.

 But it was enough. Enough for him to tear his way through the blades and throw himself at her back. Pinning her to the walkway in the clingiest hug learnt from his family that he could imitate. And gripping tight as she shattered.

 Your heart for power, Hawkmoth hissed.

 “No, no, no-no-no plea—!” But the sudden scalding pain of warmth wrenched a wretched scream from her throat. Agony flared across her back at the once comforting touch. The heat rending her apart in a fractal rupturing. All too acutely was she aware of the haunting SNAP-CRACKLE of her glacial ribbon fracturing with her. As everything she held back came crashing down around her. And oh so desperately, did she try to twist and prise herself from his burning grasp.

 “Let go, please! I don't—” She wailed despondently, words wobbling from the pain. “—want to—don't want to die…”

 “I'm sorry. This is the only way I can help you. Please, forgive me for hurting you.” Robin—Damian pleaded, clinging on tight, refusing to relinquish holding her in his arms despite the pain it was causing her. He couldn't. Even as her akumatised form began to languish, not melting this time: but thawing.

 As oddly enough, the warmth was enough to keep Hawkmoth's presence at bay for the first time since she became akumatised.

 She stilled again, the fight in her deliquescing as her body did. Frozen tears thawed into liquid tears as they spilled from her eyes. She trembled, choking on her own heart-wrenching sobs cascading from her lips.

 Yet despite that, the more Lady Blanc thawed, the worse it became. She—Marinette let out a chilling keening, half-melted fingers clasping at his neck as she feebly tried to return the hug in her final moments of clarity.

 Together, they held each other in their arms as her akumatised form languished away. Until all that was left was a hollow in Damian's chest where his heart lay, the snowmelt freezing him to the bone through his armour, and two inert plain black earrings on the ground before him.

 “I'm sorry.” He whispered in languishing repetition, to all that remained of her. “Please, forgive me.”

 She didn't reform.

 Damian waited.

 And waited.

 And waited.

 Still, she didn't reform.

 She was gone. She had to be.

———

 However, unbeknownst to him, the glacial ribbon had not fully shattered. Held together by the last crystals of ice clinging to the fraying threads of the original fabric.

 And further unbeknownst to him still, Marinette—Lady Blanc reformed imperfectly—still half-melted—from the ice and snow up at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was the first place she could think of returning to that would be safe enough for her to untangle the frosty scalding flood of emotions tearing her apart at the seams. In the wake of her melting, all that was left of him were the snowmelt memories of him holding her, and a searing hollow emptiness where the connection to the storm had been boiled away by his warmth.

 Not even to mention how furthermore, that very same searing hollow emptiness was scalding her right where her miraculous had since been worn. Oddly enough, the lack of the earrings' weight felt heavier upon her ears.

 Yet again, it was almost poetic. That she had fled here to the tower in her panic after that tragedy of a confrontation. The place where the shattering had first begun.

 Gasping for shallow breath, she let the liquid tears fall like her languishing hopes as she collapsed to her knees. Dripping down her face almost in mimicry of how she had melted—was still partially melted—and carving grooves in her snow-formed skin from the tear-melt.

 It felt as though everything was conspiring against her, let alone both her body and mind thanks to whatever influence of Hawkmoth's Damian—Robin had ruptured.

 “How…” Marinette—Lady Blanc mumbled numbly, achingly so, “how did this go so horribly? I was supposed to—Why did I—Why didn't I—” choking on her words, she desperately hugged her arms around herself in a futile attempt to feel the warmth—any warmth—again. “Maybe I was right, earlier… maybe I really was doomed from the start?”

 But the only answer to her whispered words, was the silent absence of the blizzard no longer blanketing—shielding—Paris like a funerary pall.

 Hollowly, she noted that she'd need to move soon. Seek shelter not unlike how she had previously forced the surviving Parisians to do so. Because with no barrier between her and the outside world anymore, and the Bats already flocking the place. Not even to mention her miraculous forsaken from her. It would only be a matter of time until it was too late for her… for those fears of hers that she had mused upon only fleeting moments ago. Before she fell and shattered as though an icicle plummeting from the tower's railing and rupturing apart in a burst of rime upon colliding with the ground, regardless of how deep the snow drifts below were.

 The very thought only reigned to torment her further. Sobs wracking her frame, wrenched from her cracking throat as she wailed her languish, grief, and regret in a rending requiem.

 Her keening hung in the air, the tightened noose of the gallows throttling the silence until it fractured as she had.

 And though the blizzard may have melted from the sky, the silver clouds still swayed across the sky like the impatient blade of the guillotine—ready to bring the heavy blade down upon her neck in the name of justice. (As if he hadn't already silently threatened to be her executioner when he had held the katana to her frozen throat.) As if he hadn't followed through with it. As if he hadn't nearly succeeded…

 She couldn't return. Not anymore. Not to him.

 Marinette—Lady Blanc dropped her arms from around herself. “What do I do now?” She whispered to herself, staring at her hands as if they bore the answer.

 Wretchedly enough, she could hear a response in the susurration of the snow. There was only one answer left; haunting and rotting and all that remained. And though the blizzard no longer prevented those within Paris from escaping the freezing prison, Lady Blanc was still ice-bound to the donjon where her object stayed. She had no choice. No true final say.

 For the absence of any other option was deafening.

 And so, she held her head in her hands, and cried her heart apart.

———

 At some point, Damian lost track of the time, holding onto the snowmelt memory of her in his arms.

 A steadying hand grabbed onto his shivering shoulder, snapping him back to awareness.

 The first thing he noticed was the taste of iron and salt on his tongue, and the dried blood and tears on his face.

The second thing was that Black Bat and Red Hood were both now down on the walkway with him as well. Black Bat was further away than Red Hood though, investigating the broken glass coffin and corpse within.

 Red Hood, however, was squatting in front of him, helmet under one arm, his signature leather jacket missing and a look of concern engraved on his face. “You with us now?”

 Damian nodded stiffly. The faint rustle of leather against his neck gave him pause. He turned his head to look at his shoulder, only to see the missing jacket, as well as Black Bat's and Batman's capes, draped over him, though practically swaddled in the latter. The weight and warmth comforting in their familiarity. It was then, he noticed that his wet outer armour had been removed, leaving him in his dry thermal under armour.

 Red Hood pushed his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Good.”

 Humming, Black Bat sidled over to the two of them and nodded in agreement. “You gave us a scare.”

 “Yeah, when your comms and tracking beacon died and there was no response even after an hour once you went dark despite the weather clearing up outside, nearly gave B fucking heart attack.” Red Hood added, a false levity in his voice as he huffed. “Don't think I've ever seen him look that emotionally constipated.”

 Black Bat shook her head, a tenuous cheeky smile playing on her lips, then swiftly moved to boop Red Hood on the nose. “Not emotionally constipated, just scared,” then cocked her head to one side, the smile faltering slightly. “Like you.”

 “I wasn't scared for Robin.” He protested half-heartedly. Pausing to scan the repository again, he grimaced. “Especially not once we found you drenched and half frozen to death.”

 Before continuing, he took a slow breath, “fall through the ice into the water down there?” He tilted his head towards the edge of the walkway railings to indicate at the ice floe below, “or something?”

 “Or-somethin'…” Damian mumbled in languish, words slurring together slightly. He scrunched his nose up like Marinette used to, in order to show his displeasure.

 Black Bat frowned at him, her body language practically screaming concern and worry as she creased her eyebrows, curled her shoulders up and leaned towards him ever so slightly.

 Red Hood, on the other hand, narrowed his white-outs at him. “Right.” He said, tone practically dripping with suspicion and scepticism. “Well B's gone to grab you some hypothermia blankets and shit, so wanna share with the class what happened then?”

 Damian bristled, not even attempting to curb the slurring of his hiss. “Doess'it-matter?”

 “Yes,” Black Bat cut in, emphasising her words heavily so much so that they hung in the air—echoing lightly like windchimes in the ice-strewn room. Her gaze bore through the fabric encompassing him as he held her full attention. “Always, little brother.”

 Raising an eyebrow, Red Hood took a step back to give Robin more space. “Considering you look like you're gonna fucking keel over and join Chat Noir over there, yeah I agree with Black Bat and say it fucking matters.”

 At Chat Noir's name, Damian froze. He swallowed thickly and glanced up at the ice statue not far from his position on the floor, with the shattered but barely still intact ribbon in hand. Then he glanced down at the earrings—her earrings.

 “I found them…” He croaked, not taking his gaze from all that was left of her.

 “Chat Noir, and Ladybug, I can see that.” Red Hood muttered, voice softening considerably. “Did you manage to find the Akuma, the object, or Hawkmoth?”

 Damian scooped up her earrings with trembling hands. “No.” He corrected coldly, “The shattered statue isn't Ladybug.”

 Red Hood jerked back slightly, startled, then squinted at him. “What. Then what happened to her, where is she?”

 “Here…” Cradling her earrings in his hands, Damian finally looked up at Red Hood again with unshed tears shining in his slightly glazed over eyes.

 There was a pause as Red Hood stared at the earrings in Robin's hands and the surrounding puddle of snowmelt. “Shit, I'm sorry.” Stepping closer, Red Hood gently pulled him into a hug and tucked Robin's head under his chin.

 Black Bat quietly joined the hug as well, staunchly wrapping her arms around both Red Hood and Robin's shoulders. “It'll be okay, little brother. You have her miraculous…” She paused, tilting her head to one side as she tried to find the words she was looking for. “The cure. It can fix this.”

 “Sh-she was the Akuma…” Damian whispered, voice cracking in lament as he shivered. The cold kevlar of his siblings' armour was definitely not helping his situation despite the warmth of the hugs—and that very thought nearly set him off again. “She was weak to temperatures above freezing, from what I observed. Whenever we made contact, she would proceed to melt, causing her excruciating pain.”

 He shallowly swallowed a choking breath of frigid air. “I killed her.”

 Just before either Black Bat or Red Hood could respond, Batman swooped in (though not quite with the same effect as usual, due to the lack of the cape) from the lift with the cold weather emergency medical kit piled high in his arms. The pure anguished brooding demeanour laid bare across his furrowed face.

 Silence, barring the thundering strides of Batman approaching, permeated the air as the rest of his family grasped what Damian just admitted to.

 “B—” Red Hood started defensively, tensing and shifting his hug to more of a protective curl around Robin.

 Batman waved a hand—from beneath the armful of supplies—at Red Hood, grunted in acknowledgement and without missing a beat, deposited said medical supplies down a few paces from the hug. Close enough to be easily accessible but far enough away to still give the three some space. He then began meticulously sifting through the contents and pulling out what he deemed necessary.

 A foil hypothermia blanket was first, Batman immediately outstretched one hand to pass it to Red Hood. Followed swiftly by a travel mug, and a sealed medical-grade single-use plastic disposable drinking straw (for both sanitary and safety reasons).

 Black Bat temporarily extracted herself from the hug first, to allow Red Hood to grab the blanket and properly wrap it around Robin.

 In the meantime, Batman cracked open the travel mug and straw, bending the latter before plopping it in the mug. Causing the delicious aroma of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows to suffuse the air. Awkwardly, he shuffled closer to his children and slowly offered the drink by the bent straw to Robin so he could take a sip without needing to leave the hug or blankets. “Here you go, chum. Drink slowly, okay.”

 Damian nodded, hesitating before taking a small slow sip.

 By the time he was halfway through the drink, there was still no sign of Marinette having reformed, though strangely enough, the ribbon in Chat Noir's hand had begun refreezing over the cracks fracturing it, in the meantime. Despite the warmth of the drink filling him, it felt as though there was a cold dark pit in his stomach at the loss of her.

 Making sure to finish the hot chocolate in its entirety first, so as to not waste it or for any attempts at talking to be rebuffed by his family, Damian squinted at his father, choosing his next words carefully. “Are you… displeased with what I've done. I've killed her.”

 Batman stilled, closing his eyes for a second as he held his composure. “I know you have,” he began carefully, “and I won't lie that I'm unhappy about the situation that you ended up facing alone. I only wish one of us had been able to back you up sooner, so you wouldn't have this on your conscience.”

 Red Hood cleared his throat loudly, and glared at Batman from over Robin's head.

 Fidgeting under the glare, Batman continued. “But I could never be upset with you for protecting yourself in self-defence. Especially given what Ladybug has told us before in regards to Akumas and Akuma victims.”

 He paused, glancing towards Red Hood briefly. “And even if you hadn't killed her in self-defence, I would still regret that you had to fight someone you cared about alone. Regardless of the situation, you're my son, and I will always love you. Killing someone,” his gaze flickered up to Red Hood again, “doesn't change that fact.”

 “I—” Damian started, tears leaking through the corners of his mask. “Thank you, father.”

 Batman moved the empty hot chocolate mug off to one side and then leaned in, pulling Robin into a warm bear hug.

 Red Hood watched the exchange quietly, before glancing away, mouth twisted into a light frown.

 A long heartfelt moment passed before Batman released his Robin from the hug.

 Damian sniffled faux-haughtily, trying to smother the impending tears as he curled his shoulders up. “I suppose I should utilise the miraculous now, to bring her back.”

 Batman grimaced at the reminder of the magical artefacts afoot. “As long as you know how to safely use them, yes…”

 No sooner had the words left his mouth, the miraculous (still in Damian's hands) began to glow a bright bubbly pink.

 Damian's heart clenched at the sight of something that, he supposed should have been unsurprising, was so violently reminiscent of her.

 A bubble no larger than the diameter of an average rat or another small mammal perhaps, split off from the rest. It darted away, twirling through the air in front of Damian, not unlike something out of a children's fairy-themed show.

 The glowing bubble coalesced into a small red being that was vaguely evocative of a ladybird, if one squinted. And squinting, Damian was.

 “Hello!” It greeted with a cheerful sort of wariness and a strained smile. “I am Tikki, Kwami of Creation and the Ladybug Miraculous.”

 Black Bat pulled away from the group hug again. She grinned back with an equal edge of wariness—though somewhat tempered by her curiosity—and waved at the little thing, then dipped her head in a light nod. “Nice to meet you.”

 The other three Bats stared uncomprehendingly at the Kwami.

 “What the fuck…” Red Hood muttered, shaking his head slightly at the sight. “It's a fucking floating magic bug creature…”

 “It,” Damian hissed protectively, “just introduced herself with a name. Have some manners, Todd. Tikki and the other Kwamis, according to Ladybug, are divine spirit-like beings that grant her and the other Parisian heroes under her leadership, their powers.” He cleared his throat, and quietly and rather hastily added. “If it weren't for our current circumstances, it would otherwise be a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 The slight wariness faded from Tikki as her strained smile became even more so. “It's a pleasure to finally and formally meet you too, even under this situation. Though I must admit due to the nature of how us Kwami interact with the world, my knowledge of what has happened is unfortunately limited.”

 She glanced between the four vigilantes, and then towards the glass coffin, or more specifically the frozen statue of Chat Noir before it. Slowly taking in the full weight of the situation at the unmistakable signs of a powerful Akuma attack and her missing holder. Tikki's strained smile fell immediately as tears began to shimmer in her eyes. “Oh, Chat Noir…” She chewed her lip as she grimaced, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Cautiously, as though afraid of the answer, Tikki looked to Damian, “and my holder…?”

 “Ladybug was Akumatised.” Damian answered her. “She has been… confronted and prevented from continuing what she was doing. If you could lend us your power so that we may reverse the damage done and return her to how she was before the akumatisation, it would be appreciated.”

 Before Tikki could respond, a chilling—wailing—wind sliced through the frozen repository.

 “No.” In a whirling flurry of snow, Lady Blanc (still donned in that same bleached mockery of the ice power-up suit despite the absence of the miraculous) fully reformed before the frozen form of Chat Noir. Ensuring that she had placed herself between the Bats and her akumatised object before they could even dare approach. Though she was no longer half-melted, the tear-melt grooves down her cheeks had only deepened. She swallowed thickly, shoulders trembling and hands gripping her yo-yo with the desperation of a lifeline. “I've warned you once before. I will not warn you again.” Glowering at them, she let the last of her power—that languishing frigid fury—drown her next words in haunting rime. “It is too late to fix what I have done.”

 “Marinette!” Tikki cried, darting towards her, “that's not true, the miraculous cure will work if you just let us use it on you! It's really not too late, I promise!”

 With the flick of Lady Blanc's wrist, the yo-yo swung towards Tikki, coming far too close for comfort to the distraught Kwami. Slicing through the air as it preceded an arc of blade-like icicles launching from the verglas-encrusted walkway, all of which were aiming not only at Tikki, but the Bats and Bird behind her too.

 Black Bat reacted first, in immediate response she flipped forwards and threw a volley of perfectly aimed Batarangs. Each Batarang struck a blade of ice, shattering them harmlessly between the living and statues.

 Neither Lady Blanc nor Black Bat moved as the ice cascaded onto the walkway with delicate clinks and chimes.

 Black Bat stared icily at Lady Blanc. “You will not harm them.”

 Holding his breath, Damian frantically attempted to scramble out of the blankets binding him and face her, himself.

 It was only thanks to Red Hood and Batman's trained reflexes and familiarity with wrangling him, that they were able to restrain him from doing so, seeing as he was still recovering and sorely lacking in the armour department. Though the prevention was not without a litany of swears muttered by Red Hood in the process.

 Lady Blanc eyed her two main threats: Black Bat and Tikki, ignoring Black Bat's words and the scuffle behind her. The others were less of a threat, as not only was the kerfuffle keeping them occupied but it was obvious they'd prioritise protecting Dami—Robin over targeting her object. Especially due to the fact he was surrounded by field medical supplies and unarmed— vulnerable. “The cure,” she snarled, taking one singular step forwards, “will not erase the experience, the memories of everything that has happened.”

 “That's not true…” Tikki repeated, quieter and more subdued this time. She hovered closer to Black Bat's right shoulder for safety. “You're akumatised, you won't remember once we purify your Akuma.”

 “But the survivors will.” Lady Blanc seethed, in wretched mourning. “And so will you. The cure won't fix the pain and suffering I've caused everyone. It won't erase the wrongs I've committed.” She paused, glancing between them all, eyes blazing like Chat-Blanc's cataclysms; just like her earlier reflection had shown. “But it will erase me. Permanently. There's a chance it could erase this entire timeline from existence. It's happened before.”

 “Before?” Black Bat asked, watching Lady Blanc with a careful curiosity and damning concern. Scrutinising her every expression and gesture for unspoken answers.

 “Besides,” Lady Blanc continued, pointedly ignoring Black Bat—gaze flickering passed her too quickly as she continued to glance between the rest— “even if you cast the cure, it won't undo the effects of my akumatisation… time will still have passed, people will still be traumatised, the damage will still have been done.”

 Faltering for but a second, she added on quietly enough that, had it not been the Bats as her audience, it wouldn't have otherwise been heard… “I will still be a villain once it all melts to nothingness.”

 “You're not a villain.” Batman calmly rebutted. “You didn't choose to become an Akuma, nothing you have done as an Akuma is your fault.”

 “Indeed!” Damian interjected, glaring at her in return, though the effect was dampened via the blanket, jacket, and capes still bundling him. “You were, and still are, under the effects of an emotionally manipulative villain. If you were to face judicial processes as other villains do, in a court of law, you would be excused under duress.”

 Red Hood snorted, muttering under his breath, “yeah, or excused under undue influence, y'know considering how you're reacting right now.”

 “I have slaughtered hundreds and thousands of innocents.” Lady Blanc hissed, stalagmites of ice surged from the verglas around her as her fury spiked. “Others have been declared villains for less.”

 Batman sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and then raising both his hands as a gesture of peace. “Even if you are a villain, as you say you are. That doesn't mean you're beyond help. Contrary to popular belief, I don't dress up as a bat and beat up criminals because I think they're beyond help. If that were the case, I, Batman, would kill. But I don't. Because everyone deserves a second chance and the help needed to change.”

 “Would you give Hawkmoth a second chance? Or the Joker?” She scoffed.

 A moment of silence crackled through the frozen repository with all the grandeur of a guillotine's blade released.

 Red Hood death-glared at Lady Blanc, mouth twisted between utter bewilderment and the curl at the corner of his lips that betrayed the downright chilling wrath lurking beneath. His eyes almost seemed to glimmer green in the reflection of the ice. “Are you seriously fucking comparing yourself to the fucking Joker?”

 There was no response.

 Inhaling deeply, he then hissed through his teeth and gesticulated violently in tandem. “Did you not fucking listen to everything we just fucking said?”

 Lady Blanc stilled sharply, shoulders jerking back into a tense and more defensive position; teeth accidentally snapping down onto her tongue in the process. Snowmelt pooled in her mouth from the wounds, instead of blood. She swallowed thickly, grimacing as she glanced aside—unable to bear looking at any of them for any longer.

 “Further fucking more,” Red Hood continued, “you've only fucked Paris up. One city. That ain't shit compared to how many places those bastards have fucked up.”

 She flinched, thoughts spiralling back to her once-partner's akumatisation. Shaking her head stiffly, her eyes caught on the statue of Chat Noir once again. “You should have seen what preceded me. It could've been far worse...”

 “But what could have been, is not what is and has happened.” Damian cut in, cautiously. “Does that not speak of the person you are, regardless of your own akumatisation?”

 Her hands trembled—shivered, only slightly but just barely enough to be noticeable. Fingers curling and uncurling around the yo-yo like the staccato of her heartbeat. “No. You're wrong.”

 “Why? Why are we wrong?” He demanded, not unkindly but unrelenting in his determination. “You say you could have done worse, ergo you actively chose to limit the destruction you've unwillingly caused due to factors outside of your control.” Damian scrunched up his nose and tilted his head to one side. “Something which many Justice League members ought to aspire to when they're under the control or influence of outside forces. Therefore you have achieved something wherein even seasoned heroes and vigilantes, whom are known globally for frequently saving the world, could not.”

 Gritting her teeth, Lady Blanc swung her yo-yo out towards the four of them. Arcs of glacial blades lashed out in waves.

 Immediately, Black Bat, Red Hood, and Batman slipped into defensive stances in front of Damian. Blade by blade the ice shattered. Batarangs and bullets tearing through them.

 And in the chaos of the attack, Damian freed himself from the blanket and cape cocoon. Sprinting down the walkway, he dodge and weaved between both friendly and not-so-friendly fire—or more aptly, frost.

 “Robin!” Shouted Batman, noticing just a split second too late. His head turning to face his son and hand reaching out but unable to fully draw his attention away from the slashing of the reforming blades.

 Blade after blade, the arcing waves continued. Though every blade that sliced towards Damian, melted before it could dare hurt him. Step by step he approached unharmed. Icemelt puddles formed in his wake, swiftly refreezing into bitter black ice.

 Lady Blanc took a hesitant step back. The shivering was worsening now, as though she was affected by the cold, despite her akumatisation having granted her immunity to such a thing. “Don't.” She warned.

 “No, I will not give up on you.” He insisted as he kept making his way towards her. “I made a mistake in the manner of which way I approached and tried to save you earlier. And for that I am sorry but I promise to do better this time.”

 She scoffed wetly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes once again. “I'm not the same as the person I was before. No amount of talking or powder snow promises will change that.”

 Lashing out with the yo-yo again, it barely skimmed by his neck. But its effects were instantaneous; his footsteps halting. If her aim had been true, it would have wrapped around his neck like a noose. Faltering at the realisation, she backed away closer to the shattered glass coffin.

 Yet another mirroring of their most recent fight.

 Accidentally, she bit the insides of her cheeks and once again, snowmelt flooded her mouth. She swallowed it thickly, throat constricting as if she had hung a noose around her own neck instead.

 Another stalemate had been reached.

 Back and forth.

 Stopping and starting.

 With every step forwards, a step taken back.

 A deadly dance, wherein all actions either party could make, were missteps.

 They were going in circles.

 Again, and again, and again.

 And it was obvious to all, that it could not be kept going for much longer. One side would have to give out, crack and melt, and languish away.

 Lady Blanc had been on the back foot since their arrival, no thanks in part to Bunnyx's machinations. Hissing through her teeth, she sighed. “It's rather telling, isn't it? How you all keep beating around the bush and going on about fixing this, saving me, and undoing everything! And yet not a single one of you has come up with a refute to what I've said. To the undeniable truth that the Miraculous Cure isn't as all-powerful with its "limitless"—” pausing, she made air quotes with her fingers without letting go of her yo-yo or the wire, “—healing as everyone seems to think it is capable of. It can't cure the time that has been lost, the painful memories made, the suffering endured.”

 The following silence from both Tikki and the Bats spoke a thousand words.

 “Why?” Lady Blanc's shoulders shook heavily as her breaths quickened in time with her rabbiting pulse. “Why can you still not understand, after everything I've said and done? Why can't you understand there is no salvaging what has been broken with my akumatisation? There's no undoing of what's been done unless Bunnyx herself goes back into the past to prevent the timeline from forming in the first place!”

 Tikki tsked. “Marinette, please. You don't have to repeat yourself. There's always a—”

“—Is there?” Lady Blanc cut her off icily, seething, chest heaving, teeth bared. “Is there really? Because so far all you've done is said that it can be and then not given any evidence!”

 Damian hummed inquisitively, narrowing his eyes at her. “Does it matter?”

 “Robin!” Reprimanded Batman.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” Red Hood snarled, not a second later.

 “How can you say that?” Tikki asked, brows furrowed and mouth twisting as though biting into something sour.

 Black Bat, barring Lady Blanc, was the only one to not immediately react in outrage at his words. His sister merely frowned and began slinking around the edge of the walkway towards the akumatised ribbon, whilst the rest were distracted by him. Just in case they all failed to talk her down peacefully.

 In contrast, Lady Blanc's own reaction was one of suspicious bemusement. Though she made no attempt to move neither closer nor any further away, that didn't mean she wasn't still a threat.

 “Because why does it matter?” Damian lifted his chin up and took a step closer to Lady Blanc, challenging her. “What makes an akumatisation so vastly unique in comparison to say any other tragic mass villain attack?”

 He turned to stare at his father and brother, equally daring them to argue against him. “We have faced villains who have rewritten the universe before, villains who have caused mass extinction events that we fixed before, and we have helped victims who have been labelled villains due to various reasons beyond their control no matter the damage they may have caused.”

 Puffing out his chest like an indignant robin as he took yet another step closer again, Damian continued, not letting a word in edgeways. “Why should an Akuma be treated any differently to those similar situations? And despite the time lost, trauma and pain suffered, and the damage remaining, the world still turns. The survivors still live, and the days still pass. And most importantly, those who were victims, are given a chance to heal after the tragedy.”

 Lady Blanc stood frozen in place as she listened and contemplated, face etched in distress.

 Taking his chance, Damian drew further towards her still, until he was between her and the ribbon.

 “As you said, the miraculous cannot fix anything. But no one, not you, nor the survivors, can heal until we undo or mitigate as much of the damage as possible. A wound will not heal if what caused the wound has yet to be removed.” Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, Damian reached out to offer her his hand, nearly begging. “Please, will you let us help you heal?”

 With trembling hands, and a languishing resolve,  Lady Bl—Marinette—reached back. Wincing preemptively, she fragilely grasped his offer like a withering lifeline and clasped his hand in her own. A final sob tore from her throat when for the first time since becoming akumatised, the warmth did not hurt her.

 It didn't burn. She didn't melt. Nor thaw. Nor languish.

 But unbeknownst to Marinette, the ribbon did. The unyielding ice that had protected—sealed, guarded, trapped, imprisoned—it for so long finally thawed, leaving the Akuma inside vulnerable.

 Her knees buckled and it was only thanks to Damian's impeccable reflexes, that he was able to catch her before she could hit the ground. Causing the tension in the air to fracture and fade.

 “It's okay, you're safe now.” He assured her, as he held her in his arms. “It will be over soon.”

 Marinette shook her head, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart in one ear. “'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry.” She gasped out in an avalanche, tears choking her words.

 He hugged her tighter in response, channelling how his family's hugs always made him feel—beloved and safe.

 Giving her a moment to recover herself, Damian soothingly rubbed her back in circles and gently asked. “Can we free you from your akumatisation, please?”

 Unable to immediately bring herself to words, Marinette nodded, cold tears trickling down her face and onto his shoulder.

 “Thank you, my beloved.” Damian responded, voice tinged by the hints of a warm smile as he stared at her in relief. Momentarily, he turned his head to nod at Black Bat and shifted his arm away from the hug just long enough to pass the Ladybug Miraculous over to her.

 He spared Marinette one more quick glance before returning his attention to his sister. Who, in a swift and elegant motion, tugged back her cowl and carefully fastened the earrings in place.

 Though Damian was soon distracted by tapping on his other shoulder in rapid succession: two short, two long, a pause, three short, three long, one short—one long—one short, one short—one long—one short, one long—one short—two long. A beat passed, and then the pattern repeated.

 “You don't need to apologise.” He muttered as gently as he could muster, turning his gaze back to her and continuing the soothing ministrations of rubbing her back. “Perhaps, you should focus on matching my breathing instead?”

 Marinette shook her head but ceased tapping nonetheless. Inhaling shakily, she tried to copy his breathing by the calming rise and fall of his chest. Soon, her cries softened, and her grief and fear melted—draining away like her will to fight had before. “Since when did you get so good at… this.”

 Sniffing haughtily, Damian hid his grin. “What are you talking about, I've always been excellent at comforting people.”

 “Yeah, only if we're calling animals people now.” Red Hood butted in.

 “That reminds me, Hood. From henceforth I shall be referring to all my pets as my "fur babies".” Damian replied.

 Marinette wheezed, not quite able to manage actually laughing yet.

 “Don't you dare! You used to agree with me on this!” Red Hood argued, staring at Damian aghast. “B, c'mon back me up here!”

 Sighing wearily, Batman shook his head, more focussed on gathering up the forgotten medical supplies, and re-equipping his own cape. “If Robin wants to do that, then so be it.”

 Red Hood's yelped in mock betrayal. “How could you!”

 “I shall name my next pet in your honour, father, in gratitude for your support,” Damian announced, nodding sagely. “And,” he continued dramatically, “a Furby in derision of Hood's lack thereof.”

 “See! Look at what you've done!” Red Hood hissed, throwing his hands up in exaggeration and turning around as if to leave. However, he moved only to grab his jacket and shrug it on instead.

 Marinette let the conversation lull before nudging Damian with her shoulder and staring at him quizzically. “You didn't actually answer my question?”

 He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “After Paris remained frozen over for more than a day, I became very… worried for you. When the situation persisted beyond that first week and the Justice League failed to get in contact with you or any known heroes, yours or theirs, active in Paris at the time. Well, father put his foot down and convinced me to attend therapy.” He paused to take a deep breath. “It has helped significantly, suffice to say.”

 “I see,” she responded, voice pitching up on her next words in uncertainty, “that's good?”

 Damian nodded in agreement. “It is.”

 The conversation lulled to a stop again, as Black Bat and Tikki conversed softly in the background.

 Though Marinette still could not help the trembling gasp that escaped her, as she heard the words of the transformation echo in the repository. “Wait—”

 This was it.

 This would be her last moment before her memories would melt away as with how her akumatised form shall. Her last moment as Lady Blanc. As—

 She should do something. Anything. Before she loses it all and the timeline is prevented by Bunnyx, once again. No! She can't let this happen again, she can't let Hawkmoth win after this, after everything. “When you cast the cure…” Marinette started, words sticking to her tongue like ice, “Hawkmoth will—!”

 And yet, the indecision struck, paralysing her as though she were just another frozen statue in the repository. She struggled desperately to get the final warning out. “Don't let him—!”

 “We know,” He soothed, “we won't. It will be okay.” Damian promised, holding her carefully. “I promise you, cross my heart, Habib Albi.”

 Darkness rippled at the edges of her vision and distantly she watched as her icy suit began to boil and bubble that blackish-purple viscous magic of corruption. Desperately, she clawed through the lingering decision paralysis to pull away from Damian's shoulder.

 So that the last thing she saw, was the concerned but affectionate look in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, before being consumed by the bright purifying magic.

 A languishing wraith finally laid to clement rest.

———

 The first thing Marinette noticed, as the darkness and disorientation faded, was the familiar tingling of the Miraculous Cure having been cast. She froze, heart plummeting in her chest as she began to tremble.

 Quickly she took stock of her immediate awareness and blurry memories. One, she didn't remember casting the cure. Two, she wasn't transformed, she was in her civilian clothes. Three, her Miraculous was missing, her earrings were gone. Which can only mean, she couldn't have cast the cure. She had failed. And she can't remember what had happened—Oh, oh.

 The memories before the darkness sharpened in clarity, painfully so and Marinette nearly keened in distress as she connected the dots. She really did fail. Chat Noir and herself had confronted Hawkmoth in his lair and—

 —Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, struggling to breathe with what little air her shallow breaths brought her.

 “You're okay, just breathe with me.” Damian's voice cut in, through the confusing fog of de-akumatising. Cradling her hands in his own. His hands were warm and gentle, grounding.

 Jerking her head in a shaky nod, she tried to match his breathing. Unsuccessful at first, but getting closer with each following breath.

 As she did so, Damian slowly and softly began to rub soothing circles on the back of her hands.

 Seconds passed like the gentle melting of unsettled snow overnight. And once her breathing finally evened out, she hesitatingly glanced up and towards where his voice had come from, to see him sitting in front of her on his knees. “What,” she paused to find her courage, “what happened? I remember Chat and I finally facing Hawkmoth. We had him cornered and then—”

 A sob tore from her throat as she spoke, cutting off her next words.

 Sighing deeply, Damian glanced away from her for but a brief moment as if to compose himself. “As you are most likely presuming, Hawkmoth akumatised you. We're not sure what was the inciting catalyst as you didn't announce it during our responding presence. Chat Noir does not appear to adequately remember what exactly occurred before your akumatisation either, nor was he conscious throughout any part of it.” He paused, tilting his head to gesture over his right shoulder and at Black Bat, who was lurking a few paces behind. “Before you worry, we dealt with Hawkmoth as soon as Black Bat cast the cure, all remains of what was affected by the akumatisation has been undone, healed.”

 “Oh…” Was all the response she could immediately muster, the numbness of the situation settling in like the first frost of a winter's morn.

 “Indeed,” he nodded, “if it brings you any comfort—”

 —Before Damian could continue, Red Hood cut him off with a lungful cheer from somewhere on the other side of the repository based on the faint echo—“AYY, CHAT NOIR KICKED HAWKFUCKER IN THE BALLS!”

 Which was unsurprisingly followed by Chat Noir making quite the strangled from-mild-embarrassment yelp. “I take back everything nice I've ever said about you, Hood!” Grousing, a slap echoed throughout the repository. From the sounds of it, he had either dramatically flung a hand over his face, or he had slapped Red Hood in the face; though it was most likely the former rather than the latter considering there was no further yelling. Sighing loudly, Chat Noir continued, voice growing more and more distanced as his footsteps faded away. “Let me,” pausing most certainly for the dramatics of it, “become one with the ice again and melt into oblivion so I never have to hear what you just yelled ever again. 'Kay, thanks, bye!”

 If the sudden patter of footsteps followed by the swoosh of the lift were anything to go by, he had truly just up and skedaddled away from Red Hood—perhaps he did actually slap him.

 Huffing lightly in laughter, Marinette cracked a small and hesitant smile up at Damian. “At least things are returning to normal then, right? Since they're both… they're not… y'know.”

 “About that,” Damian closed his eyes slowly and breathed in slowly, when he opened them again, his gaze was one of languishing guilt. “Habibti, you were akumatised for far longer than any previously known victim.”

 And oh, how for a moment she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest, like the echoing of an avalanche crashing down around her. Leaving her breathless in a wretched sort of deathless, with the whispers of snow-melt memories that had since rotted into nothingness. Intangible yet frangible as it slipped through her freezing cold fingers. A wraith of what she had become.

 “How long?” She asked, not quite begging—not quite reluctant either. Nevertheless, the words hung heavy in the air as though they were the executioner, readying the guillotine's blade over her neck.

 “Marinette,” he started, voice laden with an uneasy tinge of desperation. Biting his tongue, Damian grimaced and shook his head slightly, gaze flickering away from her to fixate on a point behind her. But still, he swallowed a breath of air thickly, and pulled out the calming hero voice. “My beloved, no one blames you. It was not your fault.”

 Pursing her lips, Marinette prised her hands out of his and curled them into fists upon her lap. Brooking no dispute, she repeated once more, words hanging heavier still. “How long?”

 Damian sighed, flicking his gaze back to her. “You were akumatised for four months before we could purify your Akuma. I'm sorry we couldn't reach you sooner.”

 “It's fine,” Marinette answered automatically, without hesitation, “you tried your best.” She licked at her lip quickly, before chewing at it. “But no, that confirms it.” Lightly shaking her head, she huffed near silently. “Not the longest Akuma then.”

 “What?” Damian cut in, brow creased and lips curling downwards in confusion and concern.

 Giggling humourlessly, Marinette shut her eyes and shook her head again—more forcefully this time—what remained of her earlier smile twisted into something hollow—a ghost shell. “Blanc was akumatised for over half a year.”

 At her laugh, Damian couldn't help but tense and lurch back. Mentally, he rattled through every known Akuma recorded on the Ladyblog or mentioned by Marinette or another Miraculous wielder, but all his answers came up blank. Cautiously, he reached his hand out and gently set it over one of hers. “Who is this Blank? There is no record of an Akuma by that name.”

 “No.” Sniffling slightly, she clasped at his hand like a lifeline, blinking her eyes open for but a second only to squeeze them shut once again as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “No, there wouldn't be. He's the one who preceded me, from before. But it's fine now, he's gone, and the cure fixed it, fixed him, freed him. It's fine. It's—” her breath hitched, “—fine.”

 Softly, he tsked, tenderly rubbing circles into the back of her hand once more. “But you're not fine.”

 “Please,” she whispered, heart breaking audibly like the cracking of ice, “don't. You know I can't afford to not be.”

 Damian was reminded violently of Lady Blanc, the ghost shell of her heart, and the words she spoke during their final confrontation—the slips of truth never elaborated upon, and forgotten memories stolen away by the purifying magic—he shook her hand gently to emphasise. “Not anymore, you do not have to. Hawkmoth has been apprehended—Red Hood and Chat Noir are transferring him to the local authorities as we speak—and his Miraculous has been confiscated, which is currently being overseen by Wonder Woman. You are safe now, beloved. You can rest.���

 A sob was wrenched from her throat, tears spilling down her face as she shook her head. “I'm Ladybug,” she scarcely breathed, trembling beneath the weight of the words, “I'll never be safe, not whilst I bear this burden alone.”

  Delicately, he pulled into yet another gentle hug, trying not to think of how easily he could almost hear Lady Blanc uttering the same in devastation.

 Making a small noise in his mouth, Damian lifted one hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “There is no need for you to be Ladybug at this moment, and regardless of whether you continue wielding the miraculous or remain under the mantle, you're not alone. You have myself always, and Chat Noir along with your other chosen Miraculous holders, both our families, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the Justice League. You need not continue to carry your burden alone, my dear.”

 “You make it sound,” Marinette paused to sniffle again, inhaling sharply, heart stuttering, “so easy, mon chou.” A heavy grief drenched her words, clinging like winter's final frost.

 “Because it is, Angel, I know it may not seem like it but it's true. Though it may take time for you to accept this, as I've said, I will be by your side always. If you need a helping hand, then I will lend mine to you. If you need protection, then any of us would happily offer to shield you. If you need a shoulder to cry on, then you have ours to lean upon. It will not be easy, regardless of your choice going forwards, but you will never be alone again, I promise.”

 A hundred heartbeats passed in silence as Marinette chewed her lips before she spoke again. “Is that a promise you can keep?”

 Damian huffed, reaching out to hold her hands once more, with a gentle shake for emphasis. “Not even my last dying breath could keep me from fulfilling this promise, I swear upon my life.”

 As he finished speaking, he placed her hands over where his heart lay in his chest. “I swear, Ya Hayati.”

 “I—” Marinette started with a whisper, she swallowed her words and her breath, feeling the beat of his heart in her hands. “—Okay. Okay, I trust you, Mon Cœur.”

 He nodded his head, still clutching her hand upon his chest as a small smile graced his face. “Thank you, my dear.”

 Then, he leaned towards her until their foreheads met, hers far cooler to the touch than his.

 It was Marinette's turn to huff, in faint amusement this time, her own equally small smile growing the longer they stayed like this.

 They held each other in that loose embrace for a few minutes, before Damian interrupted the sombre silence surrounding them. “What would you say to a kiss, my beloved?”

 “Oh? Well, that'd depend on the kind of kiss, wouldn't it, hmm?” She teased back softly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the lair. And though she tried to hide it, a sliver of sorrow still shone beneath that fragile lightness of relief held within.

 Damian moved to lean back, squinting at her with a furrowing brow and pursing lips. “If you do not—”

 “No!” Marinette cut in frenetically, eyes widening and squeezing at his hand to pull him back in close. “No! No, I do. I really do.” She chewed her lip and swallowed, gaze casting downwards for a moment. “Sorry, I'm still…”

 Exhaling slowly, Damian's eyelids fluttered closed. “You do not need to explain yourself to me, we have plenty of time for you to recover from this ordeal. As such, we can always kiss later, should you still be willing.”

 “No, no, no, it's okay, I promise. I would like one, I would like a kiss from you,” glancing back up to face him, a hint of nervousness to her voice. “That is, if you're still offering?”

 He inhaled just as slowly as before and blinked open his eyes to stare at her unrelentingly. “Are you certain?”

 Nodding, she squeezed his hand again, gently. “Yes.”

 “Then you are okay with me kissing you now? Upon the lips?” He questioned just as intently but no less softly.

“Absolutely.” Without hesitation, she uttered as she nodded once more, lips curling into a small soft smile.

 “Okay then.” He answered.

 Ever so slowly, Damian gradually leant in once more, giving ample time for her to interrupt or stop him if she desired.

 But she did not. She, instead, also leant in.

 And so hand in hand, cradled against Damian's heart still, their lips met. Ever so warmly did they tenderly kiss.

 After a few moments, they parted, leaning back from one another again, neither out of breath so much so as the kiss had come to its natural gentle end.

 Marinette's shoulders shuddered as she drew in a breath. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I love you.” She whispered under her breath.

 Damian, on the other hand, seemed just as unshakeable as usual. He frowned at her, “are you okay, beloved?”

 Wordlessly, she nodded once more, sniffling slightly as the pricking tears began to fall.

 Alarmed, Damian let go of her hand like it burnt, desperately hunting for a tissue or for something—anything—else that could help.

 Only to be interrupted yet again, as Marinette darted forwards, head falling into the crook of his neck, and arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Thank you.” She whispered, with a voice trembling just as much as her body. “I love you, Mon Cœur, so, so, so, so much.”

 He hesitated, frozen in position like a dreaded ice statue, before slowly wrapping his arms around her in return. “And I, you, Ya Hayati.”

 Damian rubbed soothing circles into her back. “When you're ready, the others are waiting for us outside in the courtyard of the Agreste manor.”

 Marinette sniffled. “I don't know if I can face everyone, not after this.”

 He faltered for a moment, hands stilling as he was sharply reminded of the near similar conversation they had had earlier, whilst she was still akumatised. “You may not remember but you implied something not dissimilar to that, as an Akuma.”

 “I did?” She asked, blinking back tears, an edge of morbid curiosity and dread in her voice.

 Humming in confirmation, he continued to try and soothe her. “You did. You didn't believe that you deserved to be de-akumatised—forgiven—for what you had done under Hawkmoth's influence. But you're not the first person we've cared for, who's been forced to hurt others because of the influence of another. The others won't hold it against you. Nor will your city. You've told me before, how the other heroes have all been akumatised before, Chat Noir and yourself included now.”

 He paused, both in breath and movement, to let his next words sink in. “No one will blame you, you tried your best and it worked out in the end. It's over, Hawkmoth has been defeated thanks to you.”

 Unable to hold back the tears of relief, she sobbed into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 “Of course.” He answered gently, resuming the soothing motion.

 A good five minutes passed, of him cradling her in his arms, before her sobs and shaking faded to faint sniffles and drying tear tracks.

 Breathing in slowly, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded in determination. “I'm ready.”

 “Are you certain?” Damian checked, leaning back and dropping his arms to his sides.

 She opened them again and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I am, Mon Chou.”

 “Good.” Damian responded, already moving to stand, offering a hand up to her as he did. “Then let us go join the others.”

 Hand in hand, he lead her back across the walkway (they had fought upon it, how strange that it felt like a lifetime ago already), over to the lift.

 The walk from the lift's exit in Gabriel's study, to the courtyard was quiet and uneventful but it was comforting just to have Damian by her side. Waiting in the middle of said courtyard, was the unmistakable sight of the Batplane.

 With hesitant steps, Marinette let herself be led into the batplane's interior, a warm rush of air greeting her from the vents of the vehicle. And there, within, with gentle smiles of relief, stood them.

 Batman, at the emergency medical bed of the plane, pausing in the packing away of the medical kit and containment of used supplies to look up at her, relief etched into every wrinkle not hidden by the mask. He nodded at her firmly, and hummed in consolation before returning to his task.

 Nightwing, lounging across the pilot's seat improperly so that he was facing both his family and the console screen of the plane's controls, seemingly in the middle of contacting Oracle. He spun around in the seat, grinning dazzlingly at her, as he waved a hand. “Hey! Good to see you back!”

 Oracle, though not in person; her symbol on the console screen flashed brightly for a second. “Marinette! We've all missed you. Hopefully, you're feeling okay now?”

 Cass, stepping forwards from the shadows by the passenger seats on one side, and offered out her hand; in which the ribbon, that had been Marinette's akumatised object, and the ladybug Miraculous earrings lay. A requiem.

 Jason, smirking at Tim and Adrien from his seat next to her, turned his attention to her and cocked his head to one side, staring at her unperturbed. “You're looking a hell of a lot better than you were earlier. Good for you.”

 Tim, nursing a travel mug of coffee, smiled tiredly and waved at her with one hand for a second, then continued listening idly and patting Adrien on the shoulder in a sort of awkward half-hug of commiseration.

 Adrien, huddled on a seat, still clearly mortified from earlier apparently, as his face was in his hands until he heard her footsteps. His face pinched, a thousand words left unsaid as the weight of their heroics pinned him in place. “M'lady…” He grimaced though the corners of his lips twitched up into a little grin, tearing up slightly as he watched her. “I'm glad you're safe now.”

 Damian, behind her, took her hand and squeezed gently, offering a tender smile.

 If she hadn't already cried her heart out minutes ago, then undoubtedly she would have burst into tears once again, at the warm and welcoming sight.

 She was home, happy, safe, loved, and warm.

 And at the end of it all, she had been wrong; it was never doomed from the start.

———

| Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this long oneshot! Comments, Kudos, and Bookmarks are much appreciated! |

| If you want to try braving the shorter uwu-speak version, see the [UwU] and [OwO] links here, or at the beginning! You will not be compensated for any psychic damage taken due to reading that, however! |

| Feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| However, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

| Lastly, if you want to create fic, or art, or podfic, or anything else based on this fic/au, or use it as inspo then feel free too, just as long as you tag me (if on Tumblr), or (if on Ao3) use Ao3's inspired by option, as I'd love to be able to see it! <3 |

| Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful end to the year, and a happy new year! |

[tendermimi]

Bilal Al-Shams, Sacrifice

[grandapplewit]

AU where Shen Yuan, soon after Binghe falls into the Abyss, loses all his memories of Shen Qingqiu. He assumes that he transmigrated into some no name NPC, and enjoys his life as a rogue cultivator completely oblivious to the Heavenly Demon and multiple Peak Lord’s tearing the world apart trying to find him.

[vivilingriphyn]

The Sham | Lost Memories Ch■

"ARIN!"

Arin saw Lloyd and Zane, shock and distress evident in their eyes as his own widened when he realized that he wasn’t in his mech anymore. Sparks of electricity still danced across his body painfully from the first electric shock but before he could even scream this time he felt his back collide into concrete and his bones letting out a sickening crack. His eyes rolled up in his head and as he fell forward, quickly falling unconscious but not before he felt multiple hands catch him and the sharp crackle of a whip now echoed in his ears.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

A lot of the time I feel like I space out when I write and then when I go back to reread it I just go “who the fuck wrote this??”

[fierceyetflawed]

the amount of trans!aziracrow fanwork I've seen today is sooooo <33333 sending kisses to all you beautiful trans and enby creators out there 🏳️‍⚧️🤍

[shyam-kariya]

Heyy

With the intention of

Letting u sit in my lap

Me caressing your hair

And you sharing me your weird thoughts!!

Isn't it appealing?

[bubble-tea-blossom]

Jealousy

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Ratings/Warnings: E for Explicit Smut so 18+ only please. Rough sex. Face fucking. PIV. Angst, fluff and smut: the Holy Trinity. Size kink. Big Meat Joel.

WC: 9.9k (...I don’t know what happened)

Summary: You get bit by the green-eyed demon and struggle with dealing with it. What better way to get your frustrations out than fuck? Good thing you have a fling going with a certain ex-smuggler.

A/N: Tumblr said fuck you and immediately flagged this fic, so I’m reposting it with just the AO3 link instead, hopefully that works.

READ HERE

[thepersonalwords]

We can only learn and advance with contradictions. The faithful inside should meet the doubtful. The doubtful should meet the faithful. Human slowly advances and becomes mature when he accepts his contradictions.

Shams-i Tabrizi

[mychlapci]

I hope you don’t mind me ranting about this again, but I really wanted to brag a bit XD

This Dratchet tfp fanfic I’ve been writing - I just hit 61k yay!! I just need to figure out the order of events for the ending and then I can finally start actually piecing and editing my ramblings.

I still haven’t decided if I should post, cause it’s pretty self indulgent (I threw in Megatron X Rodimus out of the blue and I personally love it, but I might be the only one who wants it out of a tfp Fanfic lol )

Anyway, thanks for always letting me rant about this jumble of words I’m putting together 🥰 - Doop

OOOhhoO AAAA what are you talking about, you shouldve posted it already dude. i am so very ready for your tfp dratchet fanfic. "its pretty self-indulgent" i sure hope so!!

keep going soldier o7

[miracle-sham]

Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter P} |

| {Blue, Sapphire, I Want To Go Home To My Wife, Soulmates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Link] |

———

| Dragons with soulmates were always said to have hearts made of the purest gemstones. Inevitably this led to them being hunted or captured for the wealth they could grant upon their death. |

| But sometimes, the reason for capturing one is far worse. |

———

| Word Count: 1,029. |

| Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced non consensual drug use, blood and injury, angst, hurt/no comfort, grief/mourning, non-graphic non-consensual body modification/amputation, dragon Tim Drake, dragon Marinette, and soulmates. |

———

| A/N: Here's the last fic of the event, finally cross-posted to Tumblr! |

| Please make sure to read those tags carefully before reading! But if you're able to handle that sort of content then I hope you enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her.

 Tim was helpless to do anything but watch from beyond the sickly green wrought iron cage—poisoned spikes on both the inside and outside of the bars to prevent any attempts at escape.

 Not that it stopped him, mind you. But all that brought him was mocking laughter, a cursed amulet preventing him from shifting back to his human form, clipped wings, horns cut, snout muzzled, sapphire scales torn and patchy—making it hurt to move, talons declawed—phalanges removed so they wouldn't ever grow back, and a cocktail of drugs fogging his mind and torpefying his body, all to keep him from being able to break out on his own.

 Marinette was his precious loving soulmate, she's a part of his hoard as much as he is of hers. Their hearts beat in sync. He could feel the distant frenetic desperate pulse of her heart tethered to him, completely in time to his equally pounding heart despite the distance between them. He could also feel the stinging scratches and scrapes on her hands and knees on his own, the deep ache in her muscles and bones in his, the flaring stabs across her torso and shoulders with every movement she makes in his as well, just as if those were his injuries instead of hers alone.

 She could probably feel the numb agony of the undoubtedly permanent damage done to him in this cage. How she was still able to keep going, keep fighting, with the pain slowly killing him—them—, was beyond him.

 That was how their soulbond worked, an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, a soul for a soul, pain for pain. Bearing what the other is taking, sharing the burden of their suffering.

 A blessing and a curse, always being able to tell whether your soulmate was hiding injuries or overworking themselves to the detriment of their body. It was… it was probably a relief for her, in the time after his capture—to know the Joker's been keeping him alive.

 Marinette's heartbeat stuttered as the fight drew away from the cage and out of his sight. Heart in his throat, Tim barely holds back a desperate keel. He can't afford to distract her now—

 Electricity, surging through his body. Lancing pain whiting his vision out.

 He could barely hear her screams through the crackling around him. No, no, no, no—please.

 Maniacal laughter rang out clearly above the thundering of their shared heartbeat and the sizzling searing of electrical burns tearing through their bodies.

 And oh, oh…

  Oh no.

 If he thought the electricity was bad enough, then the five pinpricks of pain in the centre of his chest shouldn't have been noticeable.

 But it was. And brutally so. His chest. Ruptured open. Tearing and shredding apart like something was being ripped out. Or well, not his chest. But Marinette's.

 Throat constricting, he could barely breathe. The pain was so consuming. He couldn't tell if the struggle he had breathing was his or hers, or both of theirs.

 His, apparently.

 Seeing as Tim could feel it.

 The very moment his soulmate's—Marinette's—heart ceased to beat.

 That gaping agony rupturing and rending through his chest and sternum—right through to where their hearts lay in each of their chests—was painting a clear enough guess of what was happening—had happened. To her.

 “No!” He barely rasped under the restraining muzzle. Please survive! He wanted to beg her, please hold on just a little bit longer! The others must be near soon…

 The tether snapped. The bond shattered.

 “Plea—” Tears leaked from his eyes, stinging the small sore scaleless patches of skin as they dripped down his cheeks.

 The pain of her injuries faded as her heartbeat's absence grew longer.

 The Joker skipped back into view from within the wretched cage, a blue crystalline heart of a dragon, bleeding and unbeating in his hands. “Would you look at this! A pure of heart sapphire!”

 Bursting into cackles at his own words, the Joker barrelled over, grin sickeningly wide.

 The breath caught in Tim's throat.

 It… it should have killed him too. He should be dead.

 “NOOO!” He rasped again, throat bleeding from the strain. Clutching at his chest, overcome, he desperately wailed for his other half. Don't leave me! He wanted to cry out to all that remained of her, please, how am I supposed to live without you?

 His wail was cut off sharply with a wet cough. Choking on the blood from his throat as the muzzle kept him from taking any deeper breaths. 

An emptiness—hollowness, settled inside his heart. As the lonesome silence, barring the incessant laughter, persisted.

 What else? He thought to himself deadeningly—despondently, what else am I supposed to do? Without you here?

 The Joker straightened up and sneered at Tim. “Awww, aren't you having fun?”

 “No,” Tim whispered under his breath, closing his eyes and using what little strength he had left to curl up into a ball, covering himself with his clipped wings. “I just want to go home to my wife, my soulmate…”

 “Well let's fix that then! They do say laughter is the best medicine!” The Joker crowed, dropping the heart on the ground before moving out of sight once again. Followed by a chuff and a hiss of liquid gas spraying from a machine.

 Tim flinched. Expecting the worst.

  The machine exploded. The cage rocked crashing over—freeing him.

 The sounds of gunfire and batarangs reached his ears but Tim only had eyes for Marinette. Disconsolate, he slowly crawled to her and her heart with everything he had left. Fragilely, he scooped her sapphire heart up in his claws and cradled it against his chest fruitlessly, as if the proximity to his own heart would somehow breathe life back into hers. Once he reached her body, he bowed his head and let the tears spill from his eyes.

 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her. But it was. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

 His heartbeat felt lonely.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this short fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| And if you liked this, don’t forget to check out my teammate’s works as well! |

[anto-pops]

Don’t let me post anymore fics unless it’s chapter 6 of TSP I am BEGGING Y’ALL

[kalu-chan]

Ya know those fake cooking "hack" videos? I can see Belkia sending those to shamrock to fuck with him

Omg that'd fit so well.

"Sham~~ Tsubakyun and I are gonna make THIS, so don't come into the kitchen today!!" about the dangerous ones, and Sham falls for it Every Time and rushes to stop them. Poor guy.

[moresrush]

Title: Distractions. (Ao3 link.) Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2. Pairing: Osvald/Partitio. Word Count: 576. Warnings: None. Summary: In which reading isn't as important as something else.

A lot changes in five years. Anyone can stop and realize if they look back at themselves — at the person they were, before those years passed, but for Osvald it becomes the most apparent when he observes the world around him. Specifically, books. From the moment he was able to actually feel his fingers again, he found them itching for the familiar sensation of paper beneath them. Frigit Isle didn’t contain nearly enough knowledge; the books that ended up there were often in various states of disrepair. Pages missing, ink faded — and worse: information outdated.

The mainland offers him a much-needed change from such a disappointing collection.

There are plenty of scholars whose works he had wished to get his hands on before Harvey’s betrayal — and plenty more, now, who have found new things to make him ponder about on his search for answers. It’s almost familiar, being able to sit by candlelight and pour over the scribblings of others, and yet even with a new academic journal in his hand he can’t help but experience something entirely new.

Distraction. Rather: a distraction that he doesn’t mind — one that he prefers. A comfort he hadn’t expected.

Partitio acts as this distraction a lot of the time; since their meeting, he has proven capable of being an absolutely too-energetic chatterbox, but Osvald finds the younger man’s silence to be what keeps making him read the same paragraph over and over again.

Snuggled up to his side, the merchant has been asleep for the better part of an hour now — expression blissful and truly content. Joining Osvald in bed had been wordless but his cold hands had done enough to give him away; golden laughter only muted because of the cold so common in The Winterlands. The days are shorter and when the sun drops the temperatures eagerly follow — which oftentimes puts Partitio into a clingy mood. At first, this was understandable for survival … but there are nights like this one, nights where Osvald forgets what he is reading because he keeps focusing on things about Partitio instead.

The way his breathing is just shy of a snore. The way his hair falls over his face without his hat to push it back. The way his expression changes — brows slightly knit before relaxing again.

Rather than care about things on paper, Osvald V. Vanstein finds himself curious about the dreams of another. The scholar knows too well that when his own eyes close, he is met with terror and guilt — with pain, and yet when Partitio sleeps it is always as if he hasn’t a single thing to worry about. Osvald wonders, idle, book lowering away from where he can actually see letters … if this has anything to do with him. With them — whatever this is.

Osvald has specifically requested that they not overanalyze, that they avoid putting names to anything — and Partitio has respected it with every one of his other wishes. The merchant is patient, adoring with expectations or frustration, and in the middle of the night in The Winterlands Osvald shifts to pull him a little closer as his mind does circles around more and more unknowns.

A lot changes in five years. Anyone can stop and realize if they look back at themselves — at the person they were, before those years passed, but for Osvald it starts to become the most apparent when he observes who it is he wants to be.

[royalreef]

[waywardsalt]

i have planned to write a pseudo-essay or some kind of detailed look at linebeck in phantom hourglass and how he can be interpreted as autistic but thats not going very well right now so here are some autistic linebeck headcanons

He has low empathy and as such has a hard time responding very well to emotional situations, but he can take advantage of his lower empathy in situations where empathy could make things harder, like tending to wounds or rationally handling emotionally-charged situations

His coat is a comfort object and he made it specifically to act as a very slight accommodation; it’s heavy and barely lets any light through it, and he can keep all kinds of little things in pockets sewn into the inner lining, but larger objects do make it more uncomfortable to wear at times. It’s mostly good to carry around things to fidget or stim with and can be helpful in trying to recover from overwhelming sensory experiences

He doesn’t usually stim in public, but taps his fingers on tables quickly and tends to rhythmically snap his fingers when excited, and on his ship is more vocal and more willing to stim, even if around others. One of his main stims that he’ll do for no particular reason is that he’ll hold his arm or back of his wrist/hand up to his nose and mouth for the smell.

He masks frequently to please people. His default mask is that arrogant and brave front he puts up for islanders and other he may come across. Usually, if that mask doesn’t work, he tends to double-down because it usually works and, in his experience, dropping the mask has usually gone badly (non masking he’s rude and blunt but more outwardly excited about adventure and his ship and all of that, i consider it where overseas in the game is when he usually isn’t masking. this shifts his arc to be about him learning to stop masking and feel comfortable being himself)

His special interests could include stuff related to treasure hunting but it could really range from stuff about adventuring or the ocean or engineering (relating to his ship) to stuff not at all touched in the game like music. He really enjoys music, listening to it, playing it, and writing it. He also enjoys and is fascinated by shellfish.

When busy or otherwise occupied, he doesn't usually notice when he's hungry. He doesn't have as much of a problem noticing thirst or exhaustion, but feeling hunger is a problem for him, and often leads to him going a long time without eating. On the other hand, he doesn't mind eating the same thing repeatedly and is perfectly fine with blander foods, so handling food supplies for when he'll be overseas for a long time is easy for him.

He knows he's autistic, he's known for a pretty long time, and he has books on it; he also knows that Link is autistic, but doesn't say anything about it and instead waits until someone else tells him. Until (and after, I suppose) Link actually learns that he's autistic Linebeck just makes sure to keep note of what accommodations he might need and if there are any textures or tastes or smells he can't stand. He doesn't have much of a problem helping out during sensory overloads, even soon after meeting him. It's more out of understanding how it feels to not have your needs met and a sort of solidarity rather than actual friendship.