A Miraculous Nutcracker! - Ch. 1
A Nutcracker! AU inspired by the ballet, the Four Realms movie, and some much-needed holiday spirit.
Read on Ao3
Tags: Christmas, Adrinette, Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Family Feels, Family Loss, Grief/Mourning, Magic, Inspired by the Nutcracker, clara! marinette, nutcracker soldier! adrien, sugar plum fairy! tikki, godfather! fu
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is grieving the loss of her mother. Unfortunately, it’s already Christmas Eve, and she’s not sure she can survive this party until she talks to her Godfather Fu, who gives her a mysterious key. Soon, she finds herself in the magic of the Four Realms, and under the threat of a mysterious shadow that’s destroying all of the magic in the realms. She doesn’t understand why everyone is looking to her to save them, but maybe she can actually do it?
• This story is best read while listening to the Nutcracker Ballet orchestration. I’m partial to the recording on Spotify by the Berliner Philharmoniker and will provide track numbers based on that.•
(A Nutcracker! Miraculous AU with inspiration taken from the ballet itself, along with Disney’s Nutcracker, an older cartoon called The Nutcracker Prince, and the original story by ETA Hoffman.)
I. OVERTURE
• The Nutcracker, Op. 71, TH 14: Miniature Overture •
Christmas, of course, was supposed to be a grandly magical time for everyone involved. Every house and towering pine tree adorned with flickering candles and garland galore, joined by little glass and wood figurines of angels and fairies and reindeer. Even more so, everything was veiled under a layer of glittering white dust, that made the night time glow and the daytime become positively radiant.
The beauty could only be amplified by the way the city came to life during the season too. Even if it was chilly and the streets were covered in snow, Parisians would simply pull on their boots and revel in the wonders to be had. Hordes of carolers littered about, on doorsteps and in gazebos and in front of fountains and decorated trees in the parks. A skating rink had even been set up at one of the ponds, occupied now by squealing children and tired but smiling parents. Everywhere the eye reached was another festive vignette. Little boys playing soldiers in forts made of snow and little girls crying to play with them as well, slightly less little ones turning their noses up at the disorderly conduct of the other children. Young women were seen hurrying down the street in pairs or trios, anxiously talking about this party or that gentlemen. A small family of three decorating a tree in their yard with strands of popped corn and colored beads. The people in the city spared no expense to make sure that Paris was vibrant and full of joy and holiday spirit. Every tree and fence was decorated, all the bridges and buildings too. Nearly every door had a wreath of pine and baubles. She knew most of them were homemade, a fact that was further proven by the young couple dreamily looking at each other as they hung one on their own door. A little girl came careening through the yard, holding out a doll in her arms and spinning herself around in a circle, like she was dancing with it.
It reminded Marinette of holidays long past, and a whimsically wonderful childhood that anyone would envy.
———
Several Years Ago
The bakery was one of the most well loved spots at this time of winter. The Dupain-Chengs were well known for warmth and hospitality. They never turned away anyone who appeared on their doorstep, always offering a warm cup of tea and a croissant or two to chase away the aching chill of winter air. That kindness only increased tenfold during the holiday season. They gave yule log cakes to every friend and family member they could think of, each one with a handwritten letter of well-wishes and loving thoughts. The bakery itself was festive in appearance too, not just spirit. Glittering garlands lined all the countertops and a giant wreath hung on the front door, with tiny bells that jingled every time the door moved. The most festive thing by far though, was the little pig-tailed girl running rampant in the store and looking to all the world like she had no cares at all. After all, she was young still, and didn’t have room to worry about much more than what present might be in that big box with the shiny pink bow and a tag addressed to her. Instead, she flitted about the store with two small figurines in her hand, a handsome nutcracker soldier and a little raven haired princess in a pink dress.
Marinette roughly shook herself from her thoughts, instead watching the little girl run all around the legs of her mother. The girl’s dress swirled around her own legs, a lovely hue of dark forest green that seemed to glint as the light hit it. It occurred to her that even the people looked decorated too. New hats and scarves and dresses in festive colors, beautifully accented with gold and silver stitching. There was so much to look at, and only so many things her eyes could take in at once, swathes of color that shimmered and shined, glittering surfaces that refracted light and made the world a dozen times brighter, much to her usual enjoyment. Today it was almost… suffocating.
•The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act I: No. 1 - The Decoration of the Christmas Tree •
Winter had always been beautiful to her. At least it used to be. It now seemed to Marinette as though the holiday was a ghost of what it used to be. Nothing glittered anymore, and the angels and fairies were just dust covered dolls on strings. There was no magic. Not since Maman had passed. It wasn’t impossible to find beauty, she knew that. It was all still there, but she didn’t want to see any of it. Instead, she cast her eyes down at her muddy boots and the grey and dirty snow beneath her feet, hurrying herself home. None of it mattered anymore. How was she supposed to pay attention to a supposedly wonderful world when so much light had been taken from her? Marinette’s mother was an undoubtedly shining woman. Every facet of her life shone with brilliance and hope. She had loved her husband, and her daughter too. This time of year, they should have been sitting in a circle on the floor and painting a new figurine for the tree. There should be fresh croissants in the oven, filling the whole house with warmth and the smell of butter and vanilla. Music should be dancing through the hallways, overlapping with delicate humming and laughter and love. It was all wrong now.
Marinette felt that wrongness just as heavily as ever in the moment she stepped back into the doorway. The walk was supposed to have cleared her mind, livened her up in the chilly air. But the second she stepped inside, it all faded again. The house wasn’t dark or cold at all, but it was all she could feel. Where there had once been a sugary sweetness to the air, now she could smell the dust and emptiness, like the home had been abandoned for months. The silence was the worst perhaps, so loud that she could feel it under her skin, a reminder that hammered in time with her pulse. That feeling only faded when there were other people around, which thankfully happened often enough now that the holidays were upon them. The housekeepers flitted around her hurriedly, rushing to put up last minute decorations and chattering excitedly. They seemed to have no problem with laughing and smiling, and Marinette felt sorely out of place as she watched them work. Even though they lived above the bakery, they were fairly well off, and her father had been pushed by his own parents to hire more servants now that Maman was gone. The new staff had made an attempt to decorate at least, but it still didn’t feel right. Not that it mattered anymore. It was Christmas Eve, and soon the whole ordeal would be over anyway.
The only room that looked like it held any real spirit was the room that held the tree. Her father had paid an absurd amount of attention to the tree. Every ornament and light was placed exactly where he remembered his wife putting them. He had spent one whole night and day decorating it, and had done so alone after yet another shouting match with his daughter. The very same daughter who couldn’t deny that seeing so much effort put into the tree filled her with longing.
It hadn’t been unexpected when Maman had passed, but that hadn’t made it any easier. She had always been on the sickly side, even if her attitude always said otherwise. When she was a little girl, Godfather Fu had found her on his doorstep, shivering and weak. That cold had stayed with her for her whole life. Sometimes, Marinette thought she felt it too.
“It doesn’t look as good as hers did, I know.” A low rumble of a voice shook Marinette from her thoughts, and she turned around, facing the speaker. Her father was a tall man, broad shouldered and husky, the body of a labourer. He wasn’t one though, just a humble baker who lived above the shop where he spent all his hours.
“It’s beautiful, Papa,” she said softly, reaching for his hands and squeezing them as tightly as she could. Even though she had grown up helping him in the bakery, she took after her mother very strongly. Tiny and slim, she was dainty from head to toe, especially her hands. The only thing that contrasted that was her firm manner and the slight bumps of calluses from working with her hands on hundreds of little projects.
“We need to talk, sweetheart,” he said gently, sighing as he tried to look anywhere but her eyes. His whole manner suggested something serious, and Marinette stiffened slightly, nodding and sucking in a breath. She moved into the room, sitting on a small couch next to the faintly glowing tree.
“Marinette, losing your mother has been… hard on both of us,” he began with uncertainty. “And your grandparents staying with us has been a huge help to me. I was a bit lost on how to take care of you on my own.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me, Papa,” she replied a bit too harshly, already wary of what he was trying to tell her. “Talking about Maman isn’t going to soften whatever bad news you’re hesitating to tell me.” She hated to be so curt with him, but her father had always been a bit of a softer man, which was ironic to his appearance. When he had bad news for her, he always did something like this. He would pull at her heartstrings, like he was trying to weaken her and keep her from fighting back against his words. It didn’t typically work, since she was just as spirited as her mother, but he never hesitated to try. The frown on his face in response to her words was clear disapproval.
“You’re almost nineteen years old now, and we’ve spent a long time letting you find your way. But things are different now and -” He stopped abruptly, squaring his jaw and steeling himself against the words. “I think that it is long past time that you settle down with someone.”
Marinette froze, standing up and backing away from him, only stopping when she felt a brush of pine against her back and heard the jingle of the tree shaking. “You can’t be serious, Papa. You’re talking about m-marriage? Now?” She shook her head frantically, watching him go from cautious to stern before her eyes.
“Now, Marinette, I can’t take care of you forever, and you cannot provide for yourself. Your grandparents and I agree on this. You will marry someone suitable who can give you a life, and there will not be a discussion about this.” Even his eyes were solid, barely even a flicker of soft concern anymore. In much the opposite way, the little flicker of resistance in her eyes had grown into a full inferno.
“Oh, so Grandfather talked you into this? Of course he did. You got to marry Maman for love and you were both older than me, but suddenly I have to jump into something! I bet you’ve got my choices all lined up too, all picked out by Grandfather.” Her words rang out cold and harsh. There was no subtlety in her anger, no gentleness in her rage. She was infuriated. “I can’t believe you would just bow out and let your father dictate MY life after you told me how hard it was when he did it to you. You’re a hypocrite!”
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you would do yourself very well to remember that I am your father and I am only doing what is best for you. We are going to your Godfather’s gala tonight, and you will dress up and look like the polite young woman you are supposed to be. You will meet all of the men that your grandfather has said would be good options, and you will not make a scene. Is that understood?”
Marinette was seething, untethered anger seeping out of every inch of her being. Her father’s voice echoed out in the room, and she was sure the whole house could hear it. Cheeks flushed with red from anger and embarrassment, she nodded stiffly and bit back her tears. “Yes, father,” she spat out with as much venom as she could muster. She hated when he got like this. It had never happened when Maman was alive.
As soon as she had the thought, she recoiled on herself and regretted it. Not wanting to instigate things any further, she took a deep breath and turned away from her father and quickly disappeared up the stairs. They had an agreement, the two of them. The attic was a safe space for Marinette, and if she retreated up to it, it meant that she needed some space and time. Even if they were arguing at the moment, he always respected that, and she was grateful for it. Once she was safely up the ladder and the hatch was closed underneath her, she allowed herself to really process her thoughts.
Sometimes she had to remind herself that they had both lost Maman. She never meant to be selfish in her grief, but it was harder than ever lately. It seemed like all her father wanted to do was keep going about life as usual. He went about his work in the bakery as if nothing had changed. To Marinette, it felt like he had skipped grieving entirely. He continued to live, to bake, and socialize like nothing had happened, leaving her almost entirely alone. And then he had the audacity to demand she do the same and more, something so outrageous that it made her blood boil. She was only eighteen. It didn’t matter that most of the girls her age were already planning for children with their husbands, she was different. Wasn’t she? The whole thing sent her mind reeling into a loop of hurt and confusion and sadness, and it had long since felt that she had lost more than one of her parents.
——————————-
Black iron gates opened without a single creak, held by two men in neat dark green uniforms. Her godfather certainly liked to create an environment of sophistication. All the pomp and circumstance of it felt ridiculous to Marinette, but her godfather had grown attached to it. The annual Christmas Eve Gala had started as a small family dinner with Godfather and his adopted daughter, with a choice few personal friends. He had wanted to show a much younger Sabine what a warm and loving family felt like. As she grew older, she made friends. She had truly been someone special in that way. People from all walks of life were drawn to her. From there, she had formed bonds, and wanted to share her life with them. As her list of connections grew, the dinner became a gathering and then a party, and now it was a full-on extravagant affair.
Some people wondered how the mysterious host even afforded it all. Luxurious decorations and gourmet food, and even a sixteen piece orchestra to play music for the evening. Through the years, he had also taken to making it a much more cultured event. With the addition of a showcase, he invited performers from all cultures to show his guests a piece of their lives. There were dances and plays, poetry readings and even a puppet show one year. Plus, he always gave the best gifts, and made sure to get a list of every child that would be in attendance in order to make sure they received a present.
Marinette had come to this party every year since she had been born. Her mother had been raised in this house, and a large number of the attendees were her acquaintances and companions. This was likely the first year that she had not wanted to come at all, largely because it was the first year her mother wouldn’t be there. Of course by now, the news had spread of her passing, and Marinette was sure that all of the party-goers would have something to say. Not that they would be given a chance, since she was also sure that her father would be towing her around to meet every eligible gentleman that night. Even worse, she would be expected to dance with all of them.
All the worries and wonderings in her head made the time it took to get ready and finally arrive at the party feel like only seconds instead of hours. Upon arrival, Marinette found herself once again enamored by the strange and outlandish appearance of the property.
Her godfather lived on a spacious chunk of land, with a full manor, as well as a carriage house and a large garden. The property was gorgeous and well maintained, of course. It was built in an unexpected mix of Baroque and Oriental style architecture, something that should have been garish and an eyesore, but instead looked otherworldly. Painted in a dark shade of red with a black-shingled tiered rooftop and far more golden accents than needed, it almost looked like it could have been built for an emperor. Still, the most beautiful aspect, in Marinette’s opinion, was the massive glass-domed observatory on the other side of the garden. It housed her godfather’s books and artifact collections, as well as his personal workshop. Even Marinette herself wasn’t very sure of what he did for work, or where the property had come from, but she knew that he liked to keep his mysteries.
As her carriage drew closer and closer to the front door of the house, Marinette found her eyes drawn away to the dome of the observatory, peeking out from behind the regal looking manor. Not for the first time, she tried to think of a way to escape there for the night. Unfortunately, the carriage shuddered to a halt and the door was opening and her father was stepping out already, holding his hand out expectantly for her. Giving the dome one last longing look, she started to make her way out of the carriage. Much to her dismay, she tripped on the hem of her skirt as she stepped onto the last step, instead tumbling right into her father. It was certainly lucky that he was such a solidly built man, because he barely even flinched at her awkward landing. Instead, he gently lifted her back up and then set her on the ground, looking her over quickly.
“You have to be more careful, Marinette,” he said sternly, disapproval flitting across his features before he stopped himself, softening immediately. “But are you alright, sweetheart?”
Marinette sighed, shaking her skirts out a little, pleased to see that they hadn’t gotten dirty. “I’m fine, Papa, promise,” she responded. It was nice to see that he still worried about her a little, at least. That was never anything she doubted, though sometimes he seemed to hold back before showing it, especially more lately than normal. The holiday season seemed to have put them at odds with each other, even minor issues sparking arguments, and truly major ones causing catastrophe. Sometimes, she thought it was a miracle that they’d even reached Christmas Eve while still talking to each other. As they started towards the doors, she hesitated, her small steps slowing down beside her father’s larger ones until she stopped entirely. Reaching out, she clutched onto his sleeve, the fear and sadness in her eyes showing her youth. “Papa, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Not without…” she trailed off, nervously catching her lower lip under her teeth.
Her father softened, turning back to her and kneeling down despite the chill on the cobblestones. “Christmas will come, Marinette, whether we’re ready for it or not. All we can do is do our best to enjoy it.”
“I don’t think I want to enjoy it,” she said quietly, shaking her head. Her father, as stern as he could be, was soft at heart, and he pulled her into his arms gently.
“Oh, Marinette. I don’t either,” he admitted quietly, sighing as his daughter clutched onto him like she had when she was much younger. “But we have to try. For her.”
Marinette sniffled softly, nodding against his shoulder and pulling back slightly, the ice in the air hiding her red-rimmed eyes. “For Maman,” she said quietly, but the conviction laced into her tone was resolute, and her jaw gritted, stepping aside to allow her father to stand once more. He held his arm out to her, and she curled her hand around it. Her spine straightened, and her chin tilted up, the corners of her lips turning up in a polite show of a smile, even while her eyes said something else. She turned to look up at her father, and truly tried to see him for once, the smile turning a little more genuine. As they began to walk, she nodded once more.
“And for us, Papa.”