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oblivious-embodied · 4 years

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A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU.

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt.

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet.

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

--------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it.

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat.

One that doesn’t bode well.

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong.

Malicious. Cold.

Unwelcome...

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous.

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call.

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back.

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami.

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back.

“Master! I felt an odd energy.”

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week.

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary.

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!”

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!”

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat.

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.”

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player.

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player.

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing.

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so. As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

-----------

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy.

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in.

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets.

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child.

He moves on.

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication.

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation.

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.”

--------------

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice.

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy.

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze.

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young,

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont.

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it.

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought.

-------------

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time.

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death.

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help.

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine.

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone.

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous.

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late.

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration.

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows.

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms.

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car.

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street.

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused.

Fu walks away with a small smile.

He has a feeling this might actually work out well.

�� --------------

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor.

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed.

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks.

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas.

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good.

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again.

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying.

She really, really does not want school to start.

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door.

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!”

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away. “There’s my beautiful girl!”

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it.

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman.

“Good morning!”

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...” she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her.

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes.

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens.

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.”

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks.

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes.

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes.

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut.

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all.

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before.

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard.

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.”

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!”

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed.

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off.

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school.

----------------

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion.

-----------------

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath.

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones.

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command.

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face.

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different?

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics.

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.)

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice.

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.)

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty.

Her school bully.

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips.

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest.

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue.

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!”

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest.

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room.

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé.

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé.

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention.

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?”

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in.

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats.

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news.

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat.

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory.

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons.

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice.

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly.

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!”

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.”

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice.

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl.

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron.

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces.

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

--------------------------

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.”

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath.

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment.

Where is s— he?

-------------------------

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone.

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived.

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants.

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain.

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door.

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand.

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up.

Huh, interesting...

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from.

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more.

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!”

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment.

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!”

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!”

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.”

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.”

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.”

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket.

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation.

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

-------------------------

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up.

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note.

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face.

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist.

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door.

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better.

----------------------

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about.

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed.

---------------------

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him.

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair.

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored.

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane.

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes?

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem?

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face.

The man smirks.

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow.

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response.

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

-----------------------

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground.

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage.

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working.

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her.

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?”

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors.

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school.

---------------------

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe.

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet.

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

-------------------

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless.

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand.

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.”

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore.

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.”

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame.

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.”

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left.

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said.

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form.

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him.

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes.

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother.

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories.

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes.

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here?

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede.

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening.

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade.

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns.

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way.

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry.

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news.

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon.

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death.

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention.

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it.

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips.

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box.

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils.

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead.

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality.

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions.

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal.

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.”

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some.

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.”

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball.

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

----------------------------------

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news.

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles.

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes.

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize.

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded.

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper.

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs.

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center.

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her.

It continues to get closer.

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks.

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles.

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...”

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under.

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?— thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter.

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.”

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?!

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks.

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder.

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door.

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

“MAMA-“

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.”

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence.

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

----------------------

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible!

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated!

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works!

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room...

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death!

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory.

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern.

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him!

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?”

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food.

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!”

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral.

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross.

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...”

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression.

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.”

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!”

“Well It’s how I live.”

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.”

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!”

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN!

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?”

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.”

“What do I say again?”

“Claws Out.”

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

-----------------------

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!”

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.”

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!”

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Yep!”

“And I can become this Ladybug by….”

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet.

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help!

“Spots On?”

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out.

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this.

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.]

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fan ficton #miraculous ladybug fic #trans girl! Adrienne #trans girl adrien #trans boy! marinette #trans boy! marin #trans au #wintertundra-art's trans au #miraculous ladybug rewrite #origins rewrite #rewrite au #some character descriptions have changed #powers reworked #my writing #part one of 3 #possibly 4 #nonbinary nooroo #it/its nooroo

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elliotwit · 5 years

Note

CONTEMPLATION, CANDLE LIGHT, SHOOTING STAR

CONTEMPLATION - if you could wake up one morning and everything in your life was perfect, what would that look like?

Elliott used to think he knew the answer to that.

Growing up, the answer had seemed so simple. The end of war. He’d never known anything different, and so it had seemed too inconceivable a world to ever actually be, but –

He’d hoped, all the same.

Then one by one, his three brothers had enlisted with the Militia, and one by one, they hadn’t come home. Their small home, where once upon a time he’d had to work so hard in order to even be heard over all the noise, suddenly silent. He never saw his mother cry – she never did, not around him, anyway – but she smiled significantly less after that third MIA notification.

So, the answer remained the same. The end of war – which would surely mean his brothers would come home then, given that missing didn’t mean dead after all – and to see his mother smile again.

But sometimes, the impossible really did happen. The pilot Jack Cooper and his Titan destroyed the planet Typhon, thus finally bringing peace across the Systems, after decades of conflict. People had taken to the streets in celebration on every planet all over the Frontier – Elliott had been working the bar when the news came through, the holo-screens dotted around the room interrupted by emergency broadcasts. The whole room had fallen into a stunned silence, before erupting in vast variations of emotion: some people had cheered, some had wept, most had done both, whilst some just sat frozen in their chair, unable to actually comprehend what had just happened. Elliott hadn’t even looked for his manager – rules didn’t apply on a day like today. He’d simply whipped the bar towel from off his shoulder and onto the bar, before taking off and out of the room like a shot, sprinting the whole way home.

His mother had been there, on the couch in front of the TV, wearing her oil-stained shirt and slacks, smudges of dirt on her face, which meant she must have come straight from her workshop. She didn’t cry in front of Elliott, but she was crying then when she turned and looked at him, but smiling too.

And as Elliott had knelt in front of her, and pulled her against him in a hug, he had thought: finally.

Everything was going to be okay.

Neither of them had expected to hear anything in the coming week, or even the one after that, things were too hectic, what with everyone trying to figure out with what a life without conflict even looked like. But as the days went by, as other families in the city began to receive communications from their loved ones they’d believed lost to the war, as soldiers began to return home to daily celebrations, Elliott and his mother had stood by their door and watched, wordless. He’d put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, and she would lean into him for just a second, her eyes closed – before straightening herself back up, pulling her long dark hair back into a bun and announcing she was heading back to the workshop.

So the war had ended, and still, Elliott was not happy.

A new answer seemed to present itself, however, when he began to hear talk of the Apex Games. It had been at the bar the first time he heard of them: he would overhear the odd comment here and there at first, but then it soon seemed like it was all anyone who came to the Lounge talked about. There were plenty of people still in Solace, much like himself and his mother, to whom the end of the war hadn’t exactly spelled the end of their sorrows, and watching their faces light up as they chatted excitedly over the Games themselves, urged Elliott to switch the holo-screens to the channels airing them or even just interviews with the stars of the Games themselves, well.

Those smiles. That shared joy in something. A thing that brought people together the way the Games seemed to, a thing to focus on, outside of the lingering grief in the aftermath of the war.

It stuck with him.

He’d followed the Games religiously, watching them from the Lounge or at home, chatting with patrons over them, collecting newspapers and magazines and pouring over them at length. Elliott wasn’t exactly naturally confident, but the Games seemed like something he might actually be good at. His brothers had taught him how to handle a gun, he practiced down the range regularly, and he could see just how much of an advantage the custom holo-pilot technology his mother and he had been working on could provide in the ring. No one else knew the Pilot technology to cloak, and that combined with the holo-decoys, well… Distraction was a powerful tactic.

But he couldn’t leave his mother childless. They took precautions in the Games to prevent it, he knew, but people still died. The respawn system wasn’t flawless, nor could it protect you from everything. And so he kept his hopes and dreams to himself, and kept on working on their designs with his mother in his free time, whilst working overtime in the bar to make ends meet.

Then the day came when she handed him over their custom tech, and told him to follow his dreams. Smiling as she did so.

His mother did not cry around Elliott. But Elliott cried then, as he held her in his arms and thanked her.

And promised to make her proud.

He had thought he might do well in the Games, but he could have never anticipated the reception that he ended up getting. He’d been right – his custom holo-tech designs had quite literally bamboozled his opponents, and he’d even managed to win in his very first game. Achieved Legend status after his first season, something Path and Makoa had told him was practically unheard of and that he should be proud of.

And he’d smiled and he’d been pleased, whilst at the same time, being all too aware of the dull ache gnawing away behind his chest.

Because it had been his dream, and he’d achieved it.

And he still wasn’t happy.

What do you do, then, when you achieve your goals, your dreams, your aspirations, and still in reality, you’re deeply unhappy?

Lying awake at night, his breath coming uneven, digging his fingers into the sheets of his bed as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to not let the loneliness consume him – he couldn’t help but ask himself this.

And hate that he already knew the answer.

Because the answer wasn’t possible. Happiness, peace of mind, a perfect life: the ugly truth was that none of it was possible anymore.

He closes his eyes, lays a hand over his rapidly beating heart, and allows himself for just a second, to pretend.

It’s so simple. It’s a dinner table at his own home – him and his partner’s, someone who was actually able to put up with his bullshit, his neuroses, the endless list of issues that plagued him wherever he might go. The table is full, his brothers all returned, safe albeit not entirely unharmed from the war. They tease him for his various scars, his Legend status, but it’s all in jest. They’re serving their favourite: mom’s old recipe, passed onto him, garlic butter baked pork chops, and the wine is flowing. His four dogs nudge at their laps as they eat, staring up pleadingly at the attendees – and dutifully rewarded with the odd scrap because really, who could say no to those faces?

His partner is holding his hand on the table, seated beside him. They give it a reassuring squeeze every so often.

Whenever Elliott looks at his mother, she is smiling.

Reality washes back over him, and the cavernous ache in his chest threatens to swallow him more than ever.

He will not sleep tonight.

CANDLE LIGHT - are you an indecisive person?

Elliott had had to stop and wonder this himself, once, when a journalist had sent him along one of those ridiculous ‘Get To Know Your Favourite Legend!’ questionnaires for one of the trashier spreads. Only a number of the Legends ever bothered with these ones, but Elliott always indulged them.

The fact he’s wavering between both options probably means he is, right? This very struggle was evidence enough of that.

Albeit, as he gnaws on the end of his pen, he considers the other times in his life he’s had to make difficult decisions. There had been many, but the one that stands out ahead of them all is the decision to enter the Games. Yes, it had only been after her encouragement to follow his own path, and to do what he loved but still – it hadn’t made leaving any harder. It had taken days to reconcile his guilt of leaving, in spite of her reassurances, with the resolve that yes, the Games would bring fame and wealth but – it served a greater purpose. Gave the people left empty in the aftermath of the conflict something to rally around, no matter which ‘side’ they had been on during the war.

He’d grappled with it back and forth before making his decision with what felt…right. That guilt again. Was attempting to give the people of Solace to be someone they could be – hopefully – proud of, the way they were of Makoa Gibraltar – more noble than staying with his mother, not leaving her all by herself?

He chews so hard on the end of the pen that it cracks, and he curses as the ink spills into his mouth, spitting out mouthfuls of blue to the side. When he glances back down at the page, it appears he’d marked both ‘decisive’ and ‘indecisive’ without even realising at some stage during his ruminating.

He sighs and rubs a smudge of ink away from the corner of his mouth.

Guess that answered that, then.

SHOOTING STAR - who is someone you trust to help you make the right decisions?

Ajay Che was someone who everyone seemed to universally agree that despite her young age, when she gave advice? You took it. Even when delivered with as much dry sarcasm as she could possibly muster, you knew that it came from the best possible place. Even Caustic listened when she chided him upon the durability of his NOX gas canisters – sure, the larger man had glared down at her, but she had met his gaze fiercely right back – until he had flushed, and stomped away, muttering something to himself about how he’d ‘needed to check on the cylinder storage anyway’, whilst Ajay just sternly watched him leave, arms folded over her chest. Ell had been grinning along watching the whole time. But then her gaze fell on him, and –

“And you, Elliott – don’t think I don’t realise you haven’t been working on those breathing exercises I gave you.”

Elliott flinched as she marched towards him.

You were supposed to take Ajay’s advice. And lord help you if you didn’t.

Having followed the Games from the get-go, Elliott had always found himself intrigued by Makoa Gibraltar. The same age as him, from Solace as well, a SARAS worker and local darling of his planet, well. It was hard not to notice him.

Handsome too, but whatever.

Upon arriving at the Games, Path had been all too eager to introduce the pair of them, and Makoa’s immediate warmth and kindness towards a newcomer had been…kind of overwhelming.

They had gotten along from almost the very start, his easy-going nature something of a salve to Ell’s frayed nerves and anxieties. Whenever he was around Gibraltar, it was like the ongoing flurry of panic that never seemed to cease in his chest just…eased, a little. More than a little. Something about his kind smile, soft words, complete and utter ease in just existing, it just –

Took the edges, off the rest of the world, that bit more.

Makoa was one of the rare people to have seen Elliott’s full-blown panic attacks – truly, Elliott’s anxiety had only worsened from the embarrassment fearing what Makoa must have been thinking about him, how stupid he must have seemed, how embarrassing this was in front of a co-worker he liked and admired so much and –

A steady hand on his shoulder. His face filling his vision, expression full of calm, no judgement or disgust or even fear, just – utter calm.

“I’m here, Ell,” he’d told him. “Try ‘n match my breathing. Inhale, exhale. Just like that, yeah? Let’s give it a try.”

Elliott had apologised afterwards, only for Makoa to not even wave him off and tell him it was all good. But to look at him and just smile, that Gibraltar smile but – warmer still, than he’d ever seen before. Something that just seemed to be just for Elliott alone.

“Ain’t nothing to apologise for, brother. Nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a helping hand every now and then. That’s what we’re here for, right? Got each other’s backs.”

He’d clapped Elliott on the shoulder again, flashed him one last smile.

“I’m here for you, Ell. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

Elliott had stayed there, sitting on his HQ bunk for a long while after, staring at nothing in particular.

Accepting acceptance was not something he was particularly good at.

But maybe Makoa had a point.

They had each other’s backs. Inside, and apparently, outside the Ring.

He’d already known that the cheerful MRVN he’d encountered in the Lounge about a year ago was in the Games by the time he entered – of course he did, he followed the coverage of the Games religiously. They’d even gone on and achieved Legend status, albeit, going by the interviews with him, he was as of yet unsuccessful in actually finding that Creator of his.

It had been a shock, of course, to see him on the screens at first. He’d suggested the Games yeah, but to see someone actually follow his advice? That was…new. Entirely new, but nice. To know a person out there could value his own suggestions enough to alter their entire life course so as to follow them.

The MRVN he met once he entered the Games – going by ‘Pathfinder’ now – was slightly different, albeit undoubtedly much the same robot from that first encounter. A little more uh, gleeful about his passion for bloodsport, but at heart, the same over-enthusiastic, excitable robot that had wandered into the Lounge that night with an insatiable urge to quiz Elliott relentlessly on multiple topics, no matter how busy Elliott had been at the bar.

Finally, Elliott had passed on his own dream to the MRVN: hey, if he wanted to find someone and he’d no idea where to even begin, why not make himself as well known as he possibly could? The MRVN had chirped endearingly, thanking him profusely before bounding out of the room.

And taken his advice. As of yet, he hadn’t yet achieved his overall goal in finding the person who had made him but –

He was here now, as well Elliott, and he undeniably had a family now.

The Legends all were, in their own strange way.

It’s driven home, some nights, like those where they’re all slumped around tired in the rec room following a match, drinking beers and exchanging stories from the day’s Game.

It had been one of the tougher battles for Elliott that day, and he’d taken more than his fair share of knock downs throughout the match before ultimately ending up third after about his fifth Peacekeeper to the head had knocked him down for good. He shouldn’t really be drinking – Ajay and Makoa had already scolded him, but you know, hadn’t actually chased him out yet and besides, the worst possible thing would be to be left confined to his bed all alone tonight.

And so he just sips his beer, hazily listening to the laughter and chatter of his friends, content in the middle of the sofa, feeling Makoa’s broad arm thrown over the back, whilst Path excitedly exclaimed from his other side. It was warm. Comforting. A sense of belonging it felt like hed’ lacked for an awfully long time, outside of the safety of his own home.

He must have dozed off at some stage, because the next thing he remembers is the sensation of….running? Without actually moving his own limbs? He blinks, wondering if this is some sort of lucid dream and –

Ah.

A red optic overhead, the feel of cool, metal limbs cradling him, the faint glow of his display screen. Right. He must have passed out at some point.

“Path?” he asks blearily.

“You were tired, friend!” Path responds in his typical cheery manner, “I thought it best to aid you to bed! You did your best in the Ring today, but! I believe you are suffering from fatigue as a result of the multiple wounds you have endured over the last 12 hours! According to my analysis, I believe rest if the best cure in this instance!”

Elliott sighs, lets his head fall against the MRVN’s display screen gently, his eyelids fluttering shut already. He shuffles a little closer, trying to make himself that bit snugger.

“S’ok, Path,” he murmurs, feeling sleep take him again, “I trust your advice.”

He’s already asleep before he can hear if the robot even replies.

#fightforanswers #memes answers #askbox #background history

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true-king-of-monsters · 6 years

Text

EreHisu Week: Martyrs

A/N: What better way to start off this with a tale of heroics?

In an age before man emerged from the caves, Earth belonged to the Kaiju. Colossal beasts of unimaginable power that shook the ground with their footsteps, take to the skies and cast shadows over vast patches of land, cause tidal waves with their tails, and reshape the world with their brute strength. But despite their destructive power, they were ruled by one who was the strongest of all.

The king of Kaiju was none other than Godzilla, for he was the strongest of them all with a tail longer than his whole body, three rows of spikes along his back, teeth that could rip his prey to shreds, claws used for close combat, and an armored hide as black as hardened lava with scales. He was known to destroy mountains, burn entire islands to the ground using the energy that radiated from his mouth, and brawl with even his own shadow in blind rage.

Yet despite his infamous wrath, Godzilla was never alone. Wherever he wandered three Kaiju would never be far behind. Anguirus, who was adorned in an impenetrable shell covered in spiny needles, was his closest friend and brother in battle. Rodan, a flyer and master of the skies, who would squawk about for laughs and temper the King’s rage with humor. Finally, there was Mothra. Her domain was over the skies and the land, but she was never that much of a fighter for she was more of a peaceful Kaiju. The only time she would rise up into battle was when those closest to her were threatened, be they her offspring or her closest friends.

But not all was peaceful as the stars seemingly fell from the sky and brought forth legions of ships that housed demons called Xillians scorching the world in fire and brought monsters of their own to battle against the King.

Ghidorah, a golden three-headed dragon, with wings larger than his own bodies was infamous for his maniacal cackling. His gleeful demeanor radiated from his draconic faces adorned with antlers and sharp teeth. Spewing forth lightning from his mouths, Ghidorah reveled in the carnage.

His compatriot in battle was Gigan. His body was an unholy fusion of flesh and metal with hooks replacing his hands, a saw on his chest, and a singular red visor with a red gem atop that blasted energy. His screeches of sadism echoed loud across the battlefield.

Megalon was the destructive brute of the invading armies. His drills were able to bore through the rocks and earth along with his beetle-like horn atop his head that blasted lightning enabling him to scorch the land and foe alike. His chitin carapace made his body durable enough to withstand blunt force trauma.

The Xillian invaders thought they managed to have an easy victory so that they could conquer the world and harvest its resources, but did not expect resistance to emerge in the form of a massive Kaiju army.

In a matter of what seemed like minutes, their ships were reduced to ashes by Godzilla’s Atomic Breath. Rodan and Mothra took to the skies to blast away the remaining ships with powerful gusts of wind, fire, and lightning.

However, the Kaiju and the Xillians battle lasted for hours longer as the swarms of ships that crashed onto the ground. Ghidorah and Godzilla battled amidst the flames, Gigan and Anguirus fought with teeth, claws, and metal. Rodan and Mothra used their advantage of flight to outmaneuver Megalon and fly circles around him.

The battle shook the very earth with each blow dealt to one another. The roars echoed across the air and the waters rippled with violent waves. Pieces of the Kaiju, both friend and foe alike took damage from the violent clashes as teeth, claw, scale, spike, and wing alike littered the ground.

The Xillian mother-ship escaped the battle, but her fleet was not so fortunate. The Kaiju had won and Earth was reclaimed and returned to their domains.

As man emerged from the safety of the caves, their minds could barely grasp what had occurred. These ancient beasts defeating an army of monsters that fell from the skies seemed as if it was formed from a fever dream.

Over time the earth healed from the war as history turned to story, stories turned to myths, and myths traveled the world. The Kaiju may have disappeared from Earth, but none knew where they went. Most presumed they died off, others think they simply slumbered all over the world. Despite the questions asked about, remains of the Kaiju were found in the forms of bones, scales, imprints, and footsteps.

Thousands of years later, the Kaiju were worshipped as gods by man. Seen as divine beasts, their mark on the world caused many to question and revere them. Some prayed to them for bountiful harvests, others to drive away evil, but they would all pray one would dare not return: Godzilla. The Omega. The Ender of Worlds. The God of Rage and Destruction.

But the tale of a King of Monsters is not about him. It is now an age where a new King must be crowned. One that is born of both man and beast. And that is where the journey begins.

Eren Jaeger, a man with a troubled past, found himself in an unfamiliar situation. Delirious from whatever occurred the night before, unable to comprehend what was being whispered by the shapes in front of him. His heart beat faster as he struggled to move. His arms and legs were restrained on a metallic slab reinforced by railing while the only thing he had on was a dark blue jumpsuit.

One of the shapes came into focus. It walked like a human but it’s facial structure was anything but. Silver skin, an elongated skull akin to a shark fin, blood red eyes, and sharp teeth.

“You think he’s awake?” it asked.

Eren faded in and out of consciousness unable to grasp his situation. He wondered how he got into this. All he remembered was drinking with his friends one night in The Gaslamp District of San Diego.

“Where….” Eren mumbled in a haze, ”Where am I?”

Silence. The lack of a response caused something in him to become more assertive.

“Hey. I’m talking, you freak!” Eren spoke. “Where am I?”

The creature leered over and noticed that the patient on the table was coming out of his haze.

“Don’t worry, human. It’s just a hospital and you’re being prepped for surgery.” it spoke.

“I thought alien invaders were better liars.” Eren snarked. “Judging by the failed lying, I’m probably on a space ship somewhere in Earth’s orbit that’s highly advanced enough to dupe any radar systems this blue planet has.”

“Wow…” the alien remarked. “How did you guess?”

“Eh, I’m just savvy based on being raised to appreciate sci-fi stories, both high grade and the pulp variety.” Eren shrugged. “Plus, the whole ‘Earth Hospital thing’? No hospital looks this creepy.”

The alien chuckled at the spunk displayed. “I dunno where he found you, but seems he always did appreciate your smartass temper despite dating his daughter.”

Eren felt his mind surge and priced together what was going on. Even though he tried to not show any hostility to his future father-in-law, he never did get along well with Rod Reiss.

Historia, Rod’s youngest daughter, took a liking to Eren during her years at college. She happened to encounter him in a theatre class working on his monologues. She asked him for help with character analysis for a literature class. Over their four years at college, they grew close. His two friends Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlett, one the Basketball Star for the Women’s Team and the other having a degree in aviation engineering found those two to be inseparable.

“Rod, you fucking slime.” Eren snarled as he was being held down by the monster. A sharp sting hit his neck as he felt an injection from a syringe labeled G-LP-WB-2014 of some unknown fluid enter his blood stream. “The fuck was that?!” he asked.

“Just a little something to help you pass our challenges we set up.” it chuckled. “Figured you and The Big Guy would be a match made in heaven.”

“Big Guy?” Eren asked, feeling drowsy.

“Just a king of monsters you humans seem to really love.” the Xiliian shrugged.

The alien pressed a button that teleported Eren to an arena, similar to a cage for MMA fights. The bright white lights irritated his eyes. In the distance was a gilded room where the Xillian and Rod were sitting together on a lavish couch.

“ROD!” Eren yelled! “YOU FUCKING BASTARD! HOW COULD SELL ME OUT LIKE THIS?!”

The Xillian, now in a human disguise, grew highly amused by Eren shouting. “He’s a fighter. Now I know you didn’t like him, but I can see why your daughter does.”

“Now, X…” Rod sighed, “Please don’t agitate him.”

“It’s no biggie.” X said. He then pressed a yellow button that caused the floor in the ring to reveal Eren’s opponent.

In front of him was an eight foot tall humanoid cockroach with a somewhat human face and musculature. The vaguely human appearance made him freeze up with fear as its humanoid maw revealed a large set of teeth like that of an actual humans.

The first strike from the cockroach monster sent Eren flying into into one of the walls. His whole body was wracked with pain. His ears rang as the beast lumbered closer and grab him. Eren landed back on the ground with a sickening crunch. His arm broken in three separate places.

X and Rod watched as Eren was being pulverized by the insect. “I thought he was a good candidate for this.” X shrugged.

“The boy probably needs a push, is all.” Rod suggested. “Play that recording of Historia screaming.”

X turned around to see Rod’s blasé demeanor. X may be an alien criminal hellbent on destroying the planet for shits and giggles and harvest humans like cattle, but showing apathy for his own daughter? That makes him look like a saint.

“Okay, Jaeger.” X hissed into the microphone. “Since you’re not gonna fight, maybe this’ll help.”

A loud scream from the speakers pierced the air. Eren could tell it was Historia, crying in agony. The scream of her sent him into a catatonic shock. His heart raced as his body shook. Every cell in his body was wracked with new power. The injection he received was altering his body.

He felt new details emerge from his body. Sharpened claws jolting from his hands as black scales crept upwards from his fingertips. His legs bulked up immensely along with his torso broadening and forming new muscle mass. His teeth sharpened into terrifying fangs as his ears pointed upwards. His green eyes flashed yellow as he screamed in terror while his neck split open to form armored gill slits. After what seemed like an eternity, two minutes in realtime, Eren was now something inhuman. Part human, part Kaiju. A god among humans. The perfect mix of Human and Godzilla DNA.

In his anger, Eren let out a horrifying roar that could instill terror in the hearts of men and monsters alike. It was as if a metallic screech and the screams of hell merged into a cacophony of rage.

The roach could only stand in horror, the primal horror a primitive human felt when he wandered too far from the warmth of a fire in the cave. All it could see was the pitch black void and a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

Eren’s newfound strength allowed him to charge at the insect and land a devastating right hook on its head. The resulting shockwave could be felt even in the safety of the viewing room where Rod and X could only watch in horror and amusement.

“He’s perfect!” X yelled in delight.

“Perfect?!” Rod gasped. “You call that thing perfect?! He’s a monster!”

Eren grabbed the downed cockroach and twisted its head until a sickening crunch echoed through the air. He then ripped the monster limb from limb, a sadistic grin forming as its innards spilled out in a gelatinous white mess.

“Whoa, momma!” X yelped. “This guy is a fighter!”

Rod could feel his stomach lurch as the sight of Eren mangling the cockroach mixed with the sounds of squishy organs falling onto the floor.

Eren looked up at Rod and X and roared in blind fury. His clawed hands ripped apart a steel pole for the cage and hurled it at the glass window separating Rod and X from harm. The metal beam crashed through impaling the wall behind them.

“Tell me you have a backup plan for this.” Rod pleaded.

“Indeed I actually do.” X remarked as he detonated the floor below Eren and sent him plummeting into darkness as the floor exploded.

Eren’s cries grew further and further until his body landed onto solid ground with a crunch. Eren felt something feel out of place as he regained his senses. A pulsing throb growing stronger and stronger followed by the sting of nerves in pain. His right arm had been shattered upon impact with his radius jutting out like a bayonet.

The pain caused his eyes to widen. Within seconds, Eren could see the bone sliding back beneath the surface of his scaly appendage and snap back into place. The resulting sting of nerve ending caused his jaw to clench as he hissed as his nerves became exposed to the air and become concealed by the growing patch of scales.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts of how he’s now a monster. More roaches. It just meant more insects to smash. But judging by the soon to be victims swarming him, they must be guards. Eren punched his way through the swarm, causing more to surround him. The ensuing numbers piled on him, causing him to feel a burning fire in him, a literal fire growing hotter and hotter until if couldn’t be kept contained.

Eren roared in fury as a blue flash of light emitted from his whole body. The roaches were pushed back by the ensuing blast only to be vaporized to charred husks by the blue light.

Eren followed the metal pathway from where the roaches ran from. The heat radiating from his body made his clothes singed until the only thing clinging to his new muscled and scaled body.

“A wall?” Eren growled. His newfound power made it easier to create dents in the metal with his fists. “Must be hiding something behind.” he snarls.

The metal framework crumpled like tissue paper in a matter of seconds. Eren’s eyes adjust to the light to reveal a sinister laboratory with a chained woman dressed in a yellow tank top and panties in the center being tortured by mechanical humanoids with syringes, scalpels, and lasers.

Her hair was a silver glistened white with a pair of antennae jutting out from her forehead. Her skin was a pale hue from the lack of sunlight and her eyes had an unusual blueish tint. The most striking feature of all was her wings, shaped like those of a moth but with the vibrant orange, yellow, black, and white patterns of a Monarch Butterfly. Mothra, according to ancient texts, was said to be a beautiful kaiju, worshipped as a light goddess. Her DNA, now infused in Historia Reiss, created an angelic beauty. One that is now chained and weakened by the hell she is enduring.

“His..Historia..” Eren gasped. His mind surged with every powerful emotion that could hit him. Rage, fear, helplessness, violence. All swirling in his body. His eyes flashed blue as the mechanical foes approached him. His mouth spewed out a blue flame that turned one into a superheated pile of molten slag.

The other watched as its companion was now melted down. Eren grabbed the head of it and pressed inward as it slowly buckled and caved in like a tin can in a press. The robot jolted and cracked until its head was flattened as Eren took a disturbing level of catharsis in watching it fall. Eren’s foot slammed into the twitching metal frame in order to make sure it was dead.

“Eren…” Historia gasped. Her eyes widened in terror as her lover was now more monstrous and could easily break her.

“I’m sorry.” Eren moped as he freed her from the restraints. “I wish I could have made it sooner, and I know you don’t want to see me looking like this. I-“

“Eren.” Historia groaned. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re safe. I…I..” and she collapsed in his arms with her face marked with a contempt smile as she lied in his embrace motionless. Her faint breathing did not catch his ears, making him think she died.

The memories of every happy moment flooded his head. The first time he saw her in class. The awkward bump-in at the college cafe. Days spent in the library studying together. Meeting Rod and being cheered on when he punched him in the stomach for slapping her. Their first kiss on a warm August night as they got ready to head into another year of college.

The tears streaming down his face gave way to heavy breathing in a staccato rhythm. His love for her was the only thing he could hope to cling onto in his lowest moment. And it all came out in a violent cry, pleading to any god that was listening to heed his plea.

The sound of the beast he had become rang beyond the decimated laboratory. The cry rang across every corridor awakening more like him. These hybrids, born from the splicing of human and Kaiju DNA, could hear the faint cries, but in their minds, the instinct to rise up kicked in.

Armin, now infused with Rodan’s DNA, perked up his triple crested head and raised his arms up to spread his wings and soar onward towards the sound. Jean, embed with spikes on his back forming a shell thanks to his Anguirus infused mutations, broke through his restraints. More and more hybrids followed through and rose up against their guards and rallied forth.

The rumbling of this army echoed until it reached the ears of X and Rod.

“Oh no….” X hissed.

“What?” Rod asked. “Is that shaking bad?”

“No, it’s not bad.” X chuckled before dropping down to a serious tone. “It’s worse.”

“And that roar?” Rod gulped. His skin drenched with sweat as his body shakes.

“Jaeger did it…he actually did it.” X sighed. “He’s ruined everything!”

“There has to be way to stop it.” Rod suggested.

X remembered his other project. Similar to what he did, a project involving Kaiju and Human DNA, but the donors were of alien origin and some from Earth. Metallic cylinders reaching human height labeled with names such as Ghidorah, Gian, Megalon, Orga, Destroyah, BIollante, Megaguirus, Gaira, Sanda, more than what many assumed there were in terms of viable Kaiju donors.

X slammed down on a fairly obvious red button, sending the canisters hurtling into space. The amassing army rallied to the cry of Eren while powering through the ship’s hordes of roaches. All the insect could do was hold the line, but the combined might of the hybrids trampled them down to gelatinous bits as they reached the epicenter of the cries.

“What now…” Eren asked as his eyes adjusted to the sight of these newfound compatriots through his tears.

“Eren?” Armin asked. “Is that you? And is that-“

“Armin.” Eren gasped. “You’ve gotten…wings? And Jean?”

“In the flesh.” Jean chuckled.

“It’s definitely an improvement.” Eren smirked. His face soon felt the impact of his fist. “Good to know you never change.”

“Same with you, you ugly fuck.” Jean chided.

“Move it!” A voice cried out. Frieda Reiss, Historia’s older sister pushed through the chaos. Her body now carried the DNA of Battra which changed her drastically, resulting in red eyes, a triple spiked forehead, black claws, and black wings embedded with gold and red swirling patterns.

“Frieda…” Eren sighed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save her.”

“Eren.” Frieda said as she looked him in his eyes. “Give her to me.”

Eren handed Historia to her sister. Frieda cups her face and focuses a wave of energy into her hands. Her whole body illuminates as the energy leaves her older sisters hands forming wave of yellow orbs no bigger than fireflies.

“What are you doing?” Eren asked.

“Watch.” Frieda answered. “I used this trick on myself when I discovered my powers.”

“Hmm, wha?” Historia moaned. Her eyes adjusted to the light as the blurry shapes formed the faces of Eren, Frieda, Armin, Jean, and others. “What happened?”

Eren couldn’t speak, but his body instinctively grasped onto her. His eyes welled with tears as he could hear her breathing again. “Thank god.” he sobbed.

“Eren, it’s okay.” Historia strained as she felt a bit compressed by his muscles. “Now, just let me breathe, honey.”

“Sorry.” Eren sheepishly said. “Got carried away.”

“So what happened?” Historia asked.

“No clue.” Eren shrugged. “But I guess your dad teamed up with some alien terrorist to create super weapons, kidnapped a lotta people for genetic modification, and now it’s backfiring?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Armin shrugged.

“Are there any escape pods?” Jean asked.

“Dunno.” Eren shrugged. “They have to have it hidden somewhere. Now, where’s that sack of shit?”

Sasha, a stocky woman with claws, magenta scales, and a yellow horn protruding from her head pushed through and flared her nostrils at Historia’s body. “He’s up there.” she pointed towards the ceiling thanks to her sense of smell being enhanced a billion fold.

“Perfect.” Eren snarled as his lips parted into a toothy grin. “Armin, Frieda, find a way out for everyone. Jean, shut the fuck up and don’t fuck it up.”

“But, I haven’t done shit.” Jean huffed.

“And that’s how I know you aren’t fucking it up.”

He readied his body for his either ballsiest or practically reckless attempt at hauling ass by leaping towards the ceiling and tearing through the levels.

“Fucking asshole.” Jean hissed as he watched Eren carve a trail of destruction. “Still, it’s good he’s not crazy. Well, crazier.”

Rod started to panic as the shaking grew closer and closer until the floor burst open in a blast of debris. Eren emerged from the explosion with a focused glare, like that of a wild beast stalking its prey before grabbing his neck and crushing his windpipe.

X watched in horror as his accomplice was begging for his life. “Jesus…” X winced as he could hear Rod’s windpipe being crushed. His only instinct is to fire his side arm, holstered on his hip. The metal slug only bounced off Eren’s skin, but the sensation of something hitting his body caused him to drop Rod like the dead weight he was and focus on the alien that realized that he was unarmed.

“Please….” X whimpered. “Mercy…”

Eren, now lost in his anger, grabbed X’s arm and tore it off. The flow of blood combined with the shock of torn muscle exposed cause X to shake in horror before his skull was struck with his severed arm.

“You think you won?” X hissed weakly. “You think killing me will satisfy your revenge?”

X revealed a small switch held in his attached hand and flicked it. The lights flashed red as if it was warning any one on board the ship will explode.

“Enjoy your victory, while you still can.” X laughed as he picked himself up and scurried to a human sized pod and entered it. X then shut the door and ejected out of the ship knowing that his work will continue somewhere in some way.

Eren looked down at the hole he crawled from to warn everyone below. “Get going! Now!” he bellowed.

Armin frantically looked for anything that could help save everyone. A hologram of the ship outlined that the lab itself was part of a medical drop ship. The mother ship could detach, but Armin, not knowing Xillian linguistics, slammed his hands on the control panel. A siren starts blaring signaling a departure from the mother ship.

“Get your ass down here, Eren!” Historia screamed.

“I’ll meet you guys soon.” Eren roared. “Just go.” He turned his attention to a helpless Rod who was now paralyzed with fear as the monster he inadvertently made was now walking towards him.

“Stay back…” Rod panicked. His body sprawled back towards the wall, which was now exposed with sparking wires. Rod’s hand made contact with the live wire and felt 200,000 volts shock his entire body. His whole body fizzled and crackled, his skin turning red and black. His flesh burned with a foul stench emanating from the husk.

“Historia and Frieda are gonna be pissed at me for this.” Eren sighed. Eren leapt down the hole only to land smack onto shut hatch of the medical ship. His heart raced thinking what the hell is going on.

“Hey!” Eren screamed. “What the fuck?!”

Historia scampered to the window where she could see Eren growing more and more frantic. “It’s stuck!” she cried out. “I can’t get it open! Armin can’t get this thing to detach!”

Eren saw the mother ship start to break apart. He saw two claw like locks clamping the ship and ripped them apart while Historia pleaded with him to stay with her. However in doing so, he had no way to catch up with the ship that was now falling in Earth’s orbit.

Historia had to be restrained by her sister to keep her from clawing at the door. She could see Eren growing farther and farther before the mother ship started exploding violently.

Eren held onto the piece of metal that was dangling on the mother ship in proximity of the oncoming fireball. Eren closed his eyes and accepted what would happen. “I’m sorry, Historia.” he muttered.

The heat of the blast and the shockwave shredded his skin, exposing his muscles and organs to a force roughly equivalent to 15 megatons, or equivalent to Castle Bravo. His charred body was launched from the exploding wreckage into free fall. The freezing air stiffened his burned body and all he could feel was the wind slowing his body and at 10 meters a second, his landing was a slap onto the surface of the Pacific Ocean.

Every bone in his body was pulverized. The nerves on his muscles made contact with the salt water causing blistering agony. The smell of blood in the water was enough to attract sharks for miles on end. This is how he would die. Alone. His last words directed to his love. The mother ship plummets in meteoric chunks into the briny deep

In the damaged medical ship floating in the turgid waters, Historia kept screaming at everyone pleading to look for Eren. “Please!” she screams. “I know he has to be!”

“There’s no way he could survive that.” Armin sighs. His heart starts to ache as the words come out of his mouth. Tears form as the blondes both embrace each other in grief as they try to remember happier times with Eren.

A red and black mass floats idly by in the waves towards them. Jean, Saha, and Frieda all scream in terror as the corpse floated towards them. It started to crawl upwards to the open door and into the occupied space.

“What is that thing?!” Jean asked. “Someone shoot it!”

The shambling husk then stopped moving. No signs of life. Dead.

The next sound that came was Historia’s wails as she saw the corpse. Eren’s eyes, wide and aghast, staring back at her. “It’s can’t be!” she cried. “Not him! It should have been me!”

Her heart broke seeing Eren’s body, but she heard it. A faint heartbeat coming back. Slowly, the beating heart added another pulse. First it was 30 beats a minute. Then 45. 60. 75. 80. 80 beats per minute.

His skin grew back in patches. The scales and human features blending together as his nerves felt everything, causing him to jolt upwards screaming. His hair slid out into a luxurious mane of dark brown hair that reached his neck. His lungs filled with oxygen as his body dropped down to his knees.

“Fuck!” Eren yelped. “Fucking fucking fuck! Shit fuckers, cocksucker, that hurts!”

He felt Historia’s arms wrap around his exposed torso and could only breathe as his anger wafted away. Armin could only marvel at how Eren wa still alive after all that.

“Welcome back.” Armin chuckled as he held Eren’s palm and compared it to his.

“Good to be back.” Eren sighed. He turned his attention to the petite moth sobbing into his pecs. “Sorry about the whole thing and also for kind of being kill stealer in regards to your dad.”

“I don’t care.” Historia choked. “I’m just glad you’re still alive.” She felt a pair of lips press against her forehead, causing her antennae to wiggle in delight.

All their worries resided as the sight to the California mainland came into focus. The crew sighed at how their newfound abilities will probably be trickier to manage but still allowing them a chance at living a normal life.

Elsewhere, in the void of space, X awoke to the sight of metal canisters that spread across the surface of the moon, away from Earth satellites noticing anything. X pressed a small button in front to call for the Xillian home world. “Project Hybrid was mostly successful, but suffered heavy casualties.” X recorded. “Notify home world that Project Hybrid 2.0 will commence once contact is made with cargo on dark side of Earth’s moon. X, out!”

#erehisuweek #Kaiju Hybrid AU #FINALLY GOT IT DONE!#HMU if ya'll want more #Erekuri

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sairyn-noc · 7 years

Text

The Long Way Home

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Marry me; come back to me

The first time those words were uttered, they were spoken in broken whispers. It was in fourth year. Having met in a shared class, the “Freak” and the athlete somehow became fast friends. Much to the surprise of everyone around them. Even more surprising was that months after they met, they became more than friends. Over the next two years, the two of them experienced many firsts. Their first kiss was after a rugby tournament behind the bleachers. Sherlock was attempting to leave unnoticed having yet to comprehend why John captured his attention, and John unable to stop himself from pulling the taller boy to end the embarrassment of being caught. The kiss was uncoordinated, messy and a surprise to them both. And once John’s chapped lips brushed against Sherlock’s plush cupid’s bow, he couldn’t stop himself from having another and another. Soon both their collars were littered with purple bruises. John was the first to notice. With a small gasp, he abruptly pulled back.

“What? What happened? Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock had asked, his voice rattled.

“No. I think I did.” John’s finger grazed over one of the larger marks and Sherlock shuddered. “I’m sorry. I guess I kind of got carried away.”

“Really, John. That is what concerns you at this moment?”

“Well, people will see them, I mean they may talk.”

Sherlock smiled, and pulled John back into him, rubbing his chin against John’s cheek. “I don’t care,” he whispered huskily. “Besides, people do little else.”

Within weeks, their innocent kisses grew long and morphed into heated snogging sessions, leaving them both wanting more. And then on a night when Sherlock’s family had departed for the weekend, they laid on Sherlock’s bed. The movie playing in the background was forgotten in favour of wandering hands, and tongues, while item after item of clothing found their way to the floor. That night, neither of them wanted to stop, but any further would have them crossing a bridge they hadn’t discussed. Not really. John began drifting his kisses down Sherlock’s body, eager to take his boyfriend into his mouth, when a hand stopped his descent.

“John, I want to…”

Sherlock’s voice rumbled with want , with need, and John felt his arousal spike even more.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Please, John. I want to. I’m ready… Are you?”

John gazed into his boyfriend’s eyes. John was ready, he had been more than ready, but never wanted to push or rush.

“Please,” Sherlock rolled up into John’s body and John couldn’t stop the moan that fell from his lips.

“Yes,” John answered as he kissed Sherlock’s perfect lips. And so that night they experienced another first as John took Sherlock and claimed him as his own.

That was three years ago. During that time, the athlete became a doctor and the freak became a genius with a skilled eye for details. But on the last night before they were to leave uni, they experienced one more first. They were lying together in John’s bed, trying to regain control of their heartbeats and breaths as their combined come stuck to the sweat on their skin, when the other shoe dropped.

“John, I love you.”

John’s breath caught, and his eyes widened in shock. He never once thought he would hear those words fall from his gorgeous boyfriend’s lips. It’s not that he didn’t feel the same, he did. It was that truth that made the secret he’d been holding that much harder to share.

“Sherlock, I love you, too…”

“John, I never want us to be…”

“I’ve joined the army.”

Shit! John hadn’t meant to blurt it out. Quickly, he turned to face the man he loved with all his heart. “Sherlock…” He reached out to grasp Sherlock’s chin, hoping to ease the rest of the conversation, but he could see that Sherlock was already lost to him as he shrunk away from John’s touch.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock blinked over and over, apparently replaying John’s last few words. “People in war get shot, John; soldiers die and don’t come home. Why would you think so little of yourself… ”

How could John tell him that being a doctor wasn't enough? That somewhere he knew he had to do this; that he had to become a stronger, better man, not just one who healed others safely behind antiseptic walls. No, he needed to be able to push himself, become more. John hadn’t come to this decision rashly, in fact it was one of the hardest choices he had ever made so far in his life. He didn’t want to leave his home, all he knew, and more than anything else he didn’t want to leave Sherlock.

“Please look at me,” he begged. “Sherlock, I love you. I want to be with you. I promise, I won’t be gone forever and we can still be together.”

“I don’t believe you, John,” he retorted, stumbling out of bed, reaching for his clothes.

“Listen to me, dammit! I do love you.”

Sherlock looked at John with a cool expression. His features hardening with each passing moment. “Prove it. Stay.”

John sighed, and cast his gaze downward.

Sherlock, having heard the unspoken answer, swept out of the room.

It took everything in John not to run after the lanky figure who was making quick work of exiting his dorm room- the bastard. But there, in that moment, he didn’t know what else to do. After a fitful night with too many tears and too little sleep, John made a decision. Before the sun was even fully risen, he stood outside Sherlock’s door, dressed in his best pair of trousers and button-down shirt. In his hand was a promise, a wish and a prayer all wrapped up in a single question. Before he could knock, the door swung open. Sherlock was dressed in a crumpled t-shirt and pajama bottoms. It was clear that he hadn’t slept either.

“Sherlock, can I please… just please give me five minutes.”

Sherlock never answered, but moved aside to let John in.

“Thank you.” John moved in to grab Sherlock and pull him close, but stopped when he noticed Sherlock stiffen.

“Oh, love…”

“You have 4 minutes and 27 seconds. I suggest you get on with it.”

“Yes. Well. Look, Sherlock, we have been together for almost three years now and I can’t imagine being with anyone else. You of all people should know how important it is for me to become something. I want to be worthy of you, Sherlock.” He gazed up into the eyes that were now shading grey and went for broke.

“Marry me, Sherlock. Let me come home knowing it is you, as my husband, I will be coming back to. What do you say?”

Sherlock’s eyes grew momentarily wide before squinting into the familiar gaze of scrutiny. John knew he was being deduced, his actions and inactions being deduced one by one, but he had nothing else to hide. This was his heart and he was handing it over to Sherlock to do with it what he pleased. He closed his eyes and waited.

“No.”

John gasped, caught off guard. “No?” he choked out.

“No,” Sherlock stated again softly, moving closer to him. “I won’t marry you, John Watson.”

Sherlock pulled John into a tender hug; his fingers drifted across John’s cheek briefly, then kissed it tenderly before pulling away. Sherlock looked as if he was in pain, his eyes were red and brimmed with unshed tears. John bit his lip, held it together while Sherlock backed up a few more feet, took a deep breath then schooled his features into cool indifference. With a quick nod, Sherlock turned away to retreat into his bedroom. John felt the world around him crumble, but he refused to break down.

“Right then,” John whispered to the empty room. His feet began to move without thought. As he reached the door, he heard the familiar deep baritone one last time.

“Be safe, John Watson. Come back to me.”

John paused, then walked out the door, trying to remind his broken heart to beat again.

The second time those words were uttered, several years had passed. They say you never forget your first love. That the memory of it lives somewhere deep in your heart unable to be touched or for that matter be surpassed.

When John returned from war invalided, he was a shell of the boy who once left. His childhood hopes of saving the world were destroyed, replaced by one broken man after another being brought before him, bullet-ridden and bloodied. John would have liked to say he saved more than he lost, but he made it a habit not to lie to himself. There was no other word for it. War was hell. There are those who don’t survive it, others that do and those who did survive but wish they didn’t. That was where John was. Plagued by too many nightmares that he saw even before he closed his eyes. Whereas once the battlefield was sand, death and blood, the battle he struggled with since coming home consisted of a sparse bedsit, grey walls and a loaded gun that sat in wait.

John didn’t expect his life to change that day, he ran into Mike at the park. And he definitely didn’t expect to be reconnected with the boy he gave his heart to before he left for war. All John knew when he walked back into St. Barts, was that he needed something, something that would make his life whole again. When he entered the lab, he wasn’t sure if his wildest dreams had come true, or if he was about to enter a new nightmare. As it turned out, it was a little of both.

When the mop of inky curls raised up from the microscope, John gasped, then attempted to cover his outburst with a small cough. He would never forget the eyes that once looked at him with tenderness and love. And for a moment he felt like he was twenty years old, when he met the new student and lab partner Sherlock Holmes for the first time.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The question caught him off guard. John wrote him when he first discovered he was being shipped out. Not that Sherlock ever responded. John had written Sherlock several letters those first few months away but stopped after repeated no replies. Did the man not remember him? Did what they had mean so little? As if he had spoken the question out loud, Sherlock cut his eyes briefly to Mike and then returned John’s gaze, raising one brow.

Oh. “Afghanistan.”

It wasn’t until they were both safely behind the doors of 221B Baker Street, that Sherlock let the facade go.

“You came back.”

“Told you I would.”

‘You got hurt. I seem to recall telling you that would happen.”

John shrugged.

Before they could get any further, they were interrupted by a Scotland Yard detective, looking for help in the recent string of suicides John had heard about.

“You are more than welcome to stay here if you like,” Sherlock offhandedly told him. “Or…” he paused.

“Or what?”

“Or you could assist me. I must warn you though, it could be dangerous.”

“Oh God, yes.”

It wasn’t until they were sitting at Angelo’s that they were able to resume their earlier conversation.

“You’re different,” Sherlock mentioned while pushing food around his plate.

“Yes. And so are you.”

Gone was the uncoordinated shy boy who was smart, tender and loving. The person in front of him now was all angles and lean muscle, with haunting eyes and cutting cheekbones. Layered in a posh suit that left little to the imagination, Sherlock had evolved into one gorgeous creature. Unfortunately, he had also grown cold. John couldn’t believe when he heard Sherlock skate the border of cruelty as he berated those around him. With each acerbic spoken thought, he dismissed any and all social niceties as if they were nothing but a nuisance to be discarded. It was a far cry from the boy John left behind.

“John, it’s been almost a decade. It’s natural that we both would have changed.”

“I guess.” John paused, suddenly at a loss for words. Why was talking to Sherlock so hard? John wondered. “And you’re doing… well? I presume. A consulting detective, is it?”

“Like I said, world’s only.”

“Suits you. Although you could stand to care more for yourself. Have a proper meal more often, not do… things that hurt you.” John’s eyes glanced down to the arms now hidden inside coat sleeves. John remembered catching glimpses of scars that hinted of past drug use when they were in the lab.

“What I did while you were… away”, he spat, “…is no concern of yours.”

Undaunted, John continued. “Maybe, but what about someone else, hm? Your family. Maybe a girlfriend?” John doubted that Sherlock would have begun dating women, but decided it was best not to assume.

Sherlock frowned. “Not my area.” The as you well know, went unsaid, but heavily implied.

“Boyfriend then? I mean, it’s fine you know,” John stuttered.

“I know it’s fine. Since you seem to insist on this line of questioning, I consider myself married to my work.”

And something about that statement made John sad. But before he could wonder why, Sherlock went running after a lone cabbie. Without a second thought, when John watched him rush off into danger, he did the only thing he could think of - he ran after him. When they stood breathless and giggling back at Baker Street, John’s cane left behind somewhere along the way, John felt more alive than he had since his time before the war.

“So, you’re staying then?” Sherlock asked, appearing to read John’s mind.

If John ever had a doubt, one look at the mad genius at his side, had him saying yes, before he could talk himself out of it.

It wasn’t perfect. Hell, some days it wasn’t even good, with experiments and body parts consuming almost every available space of their flat. They solved crimes, they went on adventures, and that was damn near perfect. But on a personal front, John and Sherlock remained distant. They both seemed to accept the fact that they would be nothing more than friends. Although the more accurate description was that they both chose to ignore, if not flat out deny the possibility that they still had feelings for each other from themselves and each other. John told everyone that he wasn’t gay as to not “out” Sherlock and began to date - trying to replace the emptiness with soft curves and breasts. While Sherlock remained aloof and unapproachable as ever. He threw himself into every situation, dangerous or not, to keep the status quo.

It wasn’t until John emerged from the pool with semtex strapped to his person that those things unspoken and hidden, bubbled up to the surface. John was a soldier; he walked into battle after battle prepared to die if necessary for Queen and Country. That day, he was willing to do it for Sherlock if it meant the man could live. But fate didn’t call their number that night. And as Sherlock stripped him of the trap, all the while checking to see if he was okay, John once again remembered how they once were.

“People will talk.”

“They do little else,” Sherlock smiled.

From that moment on, incidental touches started to linger for moments longer than necessary. Secret smiles and shared looks graced their features more frequently. If John didn’t know any better he would say they were starting over. It wasn’t until they were deep within Moriarty’s game, that things came to a head. John watched in horror as Sherlock stood on the edge of the roof, told John to watch him, to be his note, then said goodbye and fell. As John rushed and saw Sherlock’s body broken and crumbled, surrounded by a pool a blood he couldn’t help but remember that morning or maybe late the night before, when he thought he was just having another strange dream. John was sleeping heavily when his bed dipped and a long lanky body curled into his and enveloped him. A brief kiss at the nape of John’s neck came next, followed by the words whispered in a sorrowful sigh. I love you, John Watson. Marry me.

John woke early the next morning, the ‘dream’ still heavy on his mind and a foreboding feeling in his gut. If losing Sherlock the first time was hard, this was so much worse. How he would give anything to have one more moment to throw away all his doubts and fears and tell Sherlock he still loved him back. Instead he said the only thing that came to mind as he frantically checked for a pulse. Come back to me.

Friends came by to check on him, Mrs. Hudson fretted, even Mycroft would occasionally find his way along John’s route by “coincidence”. As if Sherlock didn’t already teach him there was no such thing as coincidence. Hours, days, weeks, they didn’t register. The truth was that the only time John felt anything was when he was staring at Sherlock’s tombstone and then it was sorrow.

Year two, he met Mary. She was kind, she was attentive and most of all she didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was mourning for his friend like a widower. John liked her, and over time, he even convinced himself he loved her. Mary held him when he had nightmares that had him crying out for a ghost he believed was gone forever. She seemed to understand that she would never have all of his heart, yet she loved him anyway. John knew he didn’t feel for Mary like he did Sherlock, but he no longer cared. Sherlock was his past and Mary was going to be his future. But on the night he sat ready to propose, John’s past came back to haunt him. Sherlock walked back into his life and once again John’s world was upended.

Sorrow and relief morphed into anger. Sherlock had apologized over and over, explaining with every other breath his reasons why, but John was beyond listening. Nothing would change the fact that their relationship, their friendship, was beyond saving in John’s mind. The bond he and Sherlock once shared was destroyed, frayed down to a thin string that was unraveling. But when John was kidnapped and Mary turned out to be more of a mystery than they both realized, it was that thin string that held them together. It grew into something tangible; something fragile, something John forgot how much he wanted and needed. It didn’t matter though, it couldn’t matter - that’s what his brain kept telling him. John had made his choice and Sherlock was fine with it- they both were. Which is why they were both caught off guard when those haunting words were once again uttered into existence, albeit silently.

It was his stag night. Sherlock never did have a high tolerance for alcohol. Not to mention that when he did imbibe, it made him open up and become more malleable; it always did. John should’ve known better. Of course, Sherlock would hide behind his favourite excuse- it’s an experiment John, while ordering them both more drinks. After returning to the flat, they sat in their old chairs surrounded by a haze of memories, said and unsaid. With each passing moment, the air became thick with the sense of ‘something’. Feelings hidden but not forgotten clouded John’s vision. And when John looked at Sherlock, he saw the man he had fallen in love with; the man he knew he was still in love with. Sherlock smiled and moved in close. John followed suit. Somewhere inside of him, his brain was screaming that this was wrong; to remember Mary. But John knew, in this moment he would gladly be a bastard to have him back. Because everything in his heart was speaking a different tune- asking the question he couldn’t voice - not again. Marry me, Sherlock.

The chime of a client broke through the silent conversation. Neither of them moved, unable or maybe unwilling to break the spell. Sherlock captured John’s gaze, and for one moment it was all there, the truth for all to see. But just like before, it disappeared and Sherlock’s mask was back in place, a familiar gaze and answer in its wake. John heard it as if the man had spoken the words out loud; come back to me.

From then it became both easier and more difficult. Sherlock kept himself busy either with work or with John and Mary’s wedding plans. Between serviettes, and seating arrangements, it wasn’t hard to forget that night Sherlock and he sat together as what was and what could be became intertwined. But on some occasions, John had no choice but to be reminded.

“What do you mean, you can’t dance? We used to dance years ago.”

It took John a minute to reply. That was the first time Sherlock had mentioned anything of their previous relationship since reconnecting. John quickly tried to look indifferent, knowing Sherlock would see the thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud.

“Well, we weren’t dancing a waltz then,” he answered casually (or at least he hoped he did).

“True. True. Well, come on then. I will show you.”

“You know how to waltz?”

John ignored the silent look that surely had John being called among other things an idiot.

“Right then.”

Sherlock smiled briefly and held his arms out. “We’ll start in the standard position.”

“Um… Do you think we could close the curtains?”

“Seriously, John. Are you afraid that you will be seen or that you might catch…”

“Just do it,” he interrupted, not liking where that statement was going.

“Fine,” Sherlock hissed, before going over to the window and yanking the curtains shut.

“Thank you. Now you were saying…” John retorted, as he fell into Sherlock’s arms.

The next time those words were uttered were supposed to be the last time. It was to be a last nod to something they both knew now they could never have. Too much had happened, too many lies and truths were exposed. Sherlock bore the scar of Mary’s betrayal and John bore the guilt of it. Nonetheless, for the good of all, Sherlock stood on the runway and tried to say goodbye. John knew this was it; knew Sherlock wouldn’t be coming back. He hated that truth, though in true British form, he held it all inside. Until Sherlock, (which by the way John knew wasn’t a girl’s name), pulled him in close and whispered in his ear.

“Marry me.”

John couldn’t stop the pained moan from escaping his resolve. Like a broken record, the words fell easily from his lips.

“Come back to me,” he managed to choke out, before managing a weak smile.

Sherlock smiled than, the one only John got to see and reached for John’s hand to shake before briskly turning to board the plane. He never once looked back. John felt like he was going to be sick. When the plane turned around five minutes later because Moriarty was back, John was.

They didn’t speak of it. Like so many other things, it would become a secret they kept from each other and the rest of the world. But secrets have a way of getting out - even those kept hidden in the shadows.

As John stood suspended in a well of rising water, all he could think about were the choices he had made over the years. He regretted only a few. Becoming a doctor and a soldier? John would do it all again in a heartbeat. Loving Sherlock? John would most definitely do again; and for all time, if he could. Not fighting for them to be together when he had chance after chance after chance? That, he would regret forever, however long that would be. As a doctor, he knew the signs of hypothermia and shock. His limbs felt heavy, and he closed his eyes. When he heard Sherlock’s frantic baritone calling out to him to hang on from above, John wanted to believe he would be saved in time, that he had yet been given one more chance. But there are only so many times one could cheat death. For a second he was no longer cold, and somewhere in the back of his addled brain, John knew he was either at the last moments of his life or someone was with him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. You know I’d be lost without my blogger.”

A strangled cry spilled from John’s lips and the words tumbled out unintelligently. “Marry me.”

John felt Sherlock’s strong arms grip him tighter, surrounding him in warmth.

“Just come back to me, John. Come back.”

~~~~~

They say time is infinite in its wisdom. Day turns to night; the moon revolves around the earth and sun and true love has a habit of coming back. When John woke in the early morning dawn sated and sore with Sherlock’s nude frame surrounding him, he knew he would never want anything else. He was finally home- they both were. It made John wonder if maybe they had been doing it wrong all these years. He softly chuckled as the thought made more and more sense. Soft black curls tickled his chin as Sherlock, whose brain seemed to capture the moment John was awake, stirred.

“John?” he murmured sleepily.

John took a deep breath and a leap (okay, a mild skip) of faith and took a different approach to their usual conversation.

“I came back to you, Sherlock. I will always come back to you.”

The body on top of his went unnaturally still. John waited, hoped his calculation would pay off the dividend he always wanted.

Sherlock slowly lifted his head, so that he could capture John’s gaze. Immediately, his face broke out into a wide grin before he spoke.

“Yes.”

#johnlock #sherlock/john #bbc sherlock #my fic

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