Stranglehold

Summary: Echoes of actions between a ladybug and her black cat that have been lost in time, but are no less meaningless.

Author's Note: A friend of mine did this a while ago, and while I was dredging up old, unfinished stories that will never see the light of day (probably), I figured I might as well take some of the less crappy sentences and pull them together in some kind of oneshot thingy for Miraculous. I might have accidentally swiped some prompts from the NaNoWriMo forums, though I'm not sure. I think the eyes on fire one came from there at least. :3

The seasons changed from when the flowers bloomed, to horribly hot days where sweat clung to the back of someone's neck. The people went on their regular business, but there was a certain tension that clung to the air. As if they realized they were in the eye of a cyclone: where everything was perfectly calm one moment, but then that moment passed and the world outside descended into chaos.

"Have I ever lied to you, my lady?" he asked. She fell to the ground, her eyes filling with tears.

"What happened to you?" she finally whispered, confused, searching... but his eyes were guarded, a wall was behind them- he wasn't showing any emotion... "You used to be so gentle and kind..."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and turned away. "Destiny happened."

Would she ever find her own purpose again?

"Please, he can't go through that destiny alone."

"What happened to you, Kitty?"

His face was shadowed as he looked away. "I grew up."

That voice, one moment so strong and ancient and impossibly wise or something, was as fragile as a child who had just been lost out in the woods. It was terrified.

"Wait, just like that?"

"Yes, just like that. What, you're disappointed you didn't get more of a fight?"

Across Albion, Earthquakes and meteor showers and thunderstorms formed and happened without any reason at all.

This was the opposite of dark, it was, it was… light.

(A voice whispered in his head that where there was light, there was darkness. The light made shadows.)

He robotically walked to the sink and dunked his hands under the running water. He avoided looking at everyone and fixated on the water. It was turning red.

She gently flipped his hand over and placed hers in it. He closed his fingers around hers and took a deep breath. "What happened?"

You almost died, he wanted to say, You almost died and left me alone again.

"What do you think?" She asked, twirling around in a circle, modeling the flair of her skirt.

The answer slipped off his tongue. "I think you're beautiful."

"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down, I will hang you by your toenails and break every finger on your hands, I will tear open your skin until you bleed out, I will bring you back from the dead, and I will do the same thing over and over again for all of eternity."

He looked over at her and smiled brightly, and it suddenly struck her that there was something about him that was so different, she couldn't tell what. But then she looked in his eyes and suddenly just knew it. They were so bright, so vibrating, they made him seem like he was on fire.

"Did I really make that much of an impression on you?"

"Still want me?"

"Like a drug."

"How romantic."

"When in doubt, dance."

"Love is like a key. A certain key unlocks a certain door, just as a certain kind of love unlocks a certain heart. The complicated part is that while a key unlocks only one door, one kind of love can unlock many hearts."

Two shadows trot along the ridge of darkness. Only a breath brighter than their surrounds, they're ghostly echoes of what the dark used to be.

No one knows when or where the stories started, the oldest known postings are shrouded in anonymity, but they are simple and powerful and resonate outwards across the net.

"Is this what being free is?"

Death never stopped her before.

They stood together, hand in hand, and watched the world burn.

She opened her palms and a butterfly was in the inside.

Watching the sun dip below the horizon, she slipped her hand into his and knew everything would be okay.

"Back or forward?"

"Forward, definitely. I don't want to go back."

Accidentally stabbing your best friend is not a fun experience for either of you. Believe me, I should know.

They fought, tooth and nail, against what was meant to be, and only succeeded in struggling closer to each other. It was the only link in the chain that made him dizzy when he looked at it, and it was the

"The vulnerability of some people amazes me."

They hurt each other on purpose, him with careless words and dismissive gestures, and her with hot insults and a sneer on her lips. They burrowed into each other's skin with metaphorical claws, desperately trying to draw blood, wishing it would push the other away while secretly hoping it would leave scars like stamps of ownership.

From the moment his mother had died, he wished his father would look at him the same way he once had when he was younger. He wished he would smile at him like he used to, or perhaps he would pat or rub the top of his head. He wouldn't even mind if he threw her up over his shoulder and then swing him around his study, while he held his arms out and pretended he was a bird or an airplane.

She confused him.

She was a riddle.

She was an enigma.

She was a puzzle.

And he wanted to solve her.

"I could never hate you."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Don't be—it wasn't your fault."

And the blood of his enemies . . . well, he bathed in them.

A mad cackle escaped his throat as he finally sank into the thick, crimson liquid. He was invincible, not even those pesky bugs could bring him down! He grinned at his cupped hands and scoped blood into them. One day, maybe he would even become known as God once he was the last mage on this Earth.

He lifted his fingers to his lips and poured the blood into his mouth and down his throat.

In that moment, there seemed to be something tangible between them. She didn't know what it was, but between the quiet words and the stillness of the cold air, she had felt something shift between the two of them. She had felt a connection she had never really felt with him before. A part of her wanted to acknowledge it, but the other wanted to never talk about it: to keep it bottled away, locked up in her chest so that no one could see it.

Sometimes, he wondered when things began to change. Sometimes, he wondered when he stopped being that scrawny, timid boy. Sometimes, he wondered when he had grown up.

They were parting ways again, but this time, they did it willingly.

I will protect you.

They were falling, and he had clutched at her like she was lifeline. All he could see was inky darkness, and he knew he would have gone insane if she wasn't there with him.

His thoughts centered on one thing: we're alive, we're alive, we're going to keep on being alive, we're going to live, we're going to be okay….

They were climbing (slowly) another flight of stairs again, but he hadn't let go of her hand even after they had detangled their limbs. For some reason, she hadn't even felt embarrassed by their closeness. But maybe they had gone too far past the line of friendship and neither of them had noticed.

After all, friends didn't hug like that.

Nor did they hold hands with their fingers intertwined.

Perhaps this really was the end. Perhaps their luck had finally run dry.

This is where the story begins… and ends.

One hand shifted up and threaded through her hair, gentle yet firm and… there was a certain shakiness to it. The odd thing was that there was no hesitance…

"I'm sorry." The simple statement was murmured in her ear, no louder than whisper of wind, but it was full of such sadness…

She didn't think about it—she just ran. She ran until her heart felt like was going to burst, the field of soft wildflowers turning into that of prickly wild roses. She ran until she had no choice but to stop, because the pain of thorns tearing into the flesh on her legs became too much.

"If I do try to hurt you or anyone else, promise me—promise you'll kill me."

"What? No! Never."

"Please."

"Chat—I can't—you're my best friend!"

"I know… that's why I know you'll finish it. If I can't."

A soundless scream escaped her lips as she instinctively yanked the dagger of his stomach and threw it somewhere off to her side. The ringing in her ears rose in volume, almost shattering her eardrums and she wrapped her arms around his chest.

They crashed to the ground, and she could see everything and nothing at all. Everything because every little detail had been etched into her mind— the grains in that green grass, the thorny rose bushes around them, the blood welling out of the deep wound in his stomach…. Nothing because none of it really registered.

"Please… please don't die."

There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling for some reason. "I think it's… too late for that."

Maybe it was the stress, and it had addled with her head, or maybe it was just years of pent up feelings, but she found herself suddenly roughly pushing her lips against his and wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. She squeezed her eyes tight. There was reddish-yellow light behind her eyelids, and her face was sticky and wet but her heart was thumping and she was just so scared and happy and so many other different emotions…

And then he pulled away from her gently, resting his forehead against hers. She could feel his heartbeat slowing down— but she just couldn't let go of him…

"Live."

It was over. It was finally over.

Yet it still felt like the world was crashing down on him. Like it was ready to pull from underneath at any given moment.

He'd disguised his true self all his life, and he'd always felt wrong about it. Now that everyone knew the truth, he didn't care how they looked at him. He couldn't be happier.

Time was an odd concept. It has the ability to make events fly pass you quicker than the blink of an eye, and before you know it, you are an old man. It also has the ability to make things go so slow that you feel like it taunts you. Time plays with you, it tricks you, and it surprises you.