First off, hats off to @scribblekingdom for this incredible art, which graces our cover. Sharing the image doesn't tell the story of the level of effort this image represents. Every time news of a new Ladybug variant came out, back to the drawing board. It humbled and excited us in equal measure.
As you open the magazine (it's really more of a mook at this point), you will see what appears to be two strange yellow pages with small white markings. Zoom in! The zine begins and ends with two end pages that, together, contain the Ao3 names of every author who has posted a pubicly-available ML fic on the site. It's our version of the Lord of the Rings end credits, which listed every member of the LotR fan club.
How do you get this dern thing? The simplest link to visit is our Carrd.
We currently have two options for viewing:
A web version for download. This is a 200MB PDF meant for viewing on a device. The quality astounds me.
A flipbook for viewing online without downloading.
(Please use the Carrd link for now. The originals linked in the strikethru text are slowly loading but the Carrd has mirrors that are fast!)
We will have a third option soon, possibly within twenty-four hours: a CMYK version meant to be taken to a print shop or used with your own printer. The link will show up on the Carrd, but we'll also announce it here.
We are thinking seriously about investigating a print-on-demand option. No money would come to our hands. We would just be setting it up so anyone who wants a print version but doesn't know where to look could just use that service. The zine was designed using Canva, which offers such a service. It might be easy to connect the project to their POD service and they print and ship it right to you.
We thank everyone who contributed, and everyone who now reads the zine or reblogs this announcement. Drop us a line; tell us what you think!
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We hope you enjoy, and see you in a decade for the sequel!
Understanding a line of foreshadowing so well that you have to stand up and walk around the house saying “shit shit shit shit shit” until you’re composed enough to go back.
Summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir had agreed to exchange identities weeks ago, and he’d gone first. Adrien. He was Adrien. And Ladybug was a coward. Now, with a fanfic-obsessed akuma is rampaging through Paris, and Ladybug has some decisions to make. Can she save the city and keep her identity from him? Or is now the time to let her partner in?
---
When Ladybug opened her eyes, she was in another room. Off-white walls, with a queen-sized bed, a television sitting on a dresser, and a few bland pictures of landscapes. A hotel room? Where were they?
Chat Noir crouched next to her, scanning for threats. "Oh," he said when his eyes fell on the bed. "There's only one."
"What?"
"That's the trope this time," he said, pointing. "Only one bed."
Ladybug palmed her yo-yo, forcing her shoulders to relax and her jaw to unclench. They probably weren't in any immediate danger, and she needed a moment to think. This akuma was tricky, and she'd had to use her Lucky Charm and Cure multiple times each already. They'd been aged up, gender swapped, vampire-ified, and turned into animals. (It had been very hard to call for her Cure when the yo-yo was normal-sized and she was an actual ladybug, but she'd somehow managed.) That was right before poor Chat had to fight while eight months pregnant. She didn't know mpreg was a fanfiction trope until he'd explained.
She hated this akuma.
Chat searched the suite, looking for any traps, so Ladybug walked to the balcony door. The curtains were drawn.
"Nothing that I can see," he said, walking back from the bathroom.
"That's a first. Anonymity is probably outside waiting for us."
"Well, she can stay out there." The bed creaked as he climbed onto it. "We deserve a break, don't you think? This battle's been going on for hours."
She looked over at him. As she suspected, he was sprawled out comfortably, head lolling on the decorative pillows.
"She won't expect us to go along with the trope," he continued. "It's a new battle tactic, to throw her off!"
Ladybug felt her face heat up. "Don't those tropes usually lead to…"
"Uh." Chat Noir rolled off the bed and stood in one fluid movement, then stared at the spot he'd just vacated. "I mean, sometimes. Not always." He cleared his throat.
Ladybug pulled back the heavy curtain. Outside was dark. The wind howled, and sheets of snow whipped against the glass. There hadn't been any noise before she'd pulled the fabric aside. Now it filled the whole room.
But the draft seeping in through the gaps cooled her face, so that was a bonus.
"Hey, it's a two-fer this time," he said, coming over to stand next to her.
"There is not a fanfiction trope about snow."
"Sure," he said. "Snowed in. We're stuck here."
Stuck. All alone. With only one bed.
No, they were not stuck here.
The door screeched in its track as she slid it open and threw herself into the storm.
Anonymity was waiting for them. Ladybug almost didn't see her. The black body suit made it too easy to blend into the dark night, and her expressionless white mask just mixed in with the blinding snow.
"I'm right behind you!" Chat yelled, only to pass her and fling himself directly at Anonymity, who was floating in the air in front of their balcony. The akuma disappeared in a burst of red hearts. Kudos, he'd explained.
Ladybug threw out her yo-yo to reel him back in, cold cutting into her skin. Well, Anonymity was gone now. Stupid akuma. She was so hard to pin down.
"If you wanted to get away from me that badly," Chat said sourly as he pulled himself back over the balcony railing, "I could have booked a different room."
"I didn't want–!"
His head snapped up, waiting to hear her say she hadn't really wanted him to leave.
She couldn't continue that thought. She couldn't keep hurting him, but the way he turned away told her even that little outburst had gotten his hopes up.
This was all wrong. She loved him. So why couldn't she just tell him that?
They'd agreed to exchange identities weeks ago, and he'd gone first. Adrien. He was Adrien. And Ladybug was a coward.
Her only hope was that when she was finally ready to tell him who she was, he would still love her enough to forgive her.
"I'm sorry," he said, holding onto the railing and staring into the storm. "I know this isn't the place for it."
A gust of wind blew into her face so hard she had to catch her breath.
Chat put an arm up to shield himself. "Why don't you call Lucky Charm or the Cure again?" he yelled over the wind.
"I'm sorry," she choked out. "This is– It's all my–"
"Let's just keep moving." He jumped up, crouching on the railing. Then he took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, barely visible in the light from their open hotel door.
He was back to his normal, happy self so fast she felt like she was getting whiplash. How often was his happiness fake? She hated that she knew him so well but didn't know the answer to that question.
"Okay," she said. "Lucky Charm!"
The wind caught it, but Chat reached up and snatched it out of the air, holding it out for her. "Friendship bracelet?"
She grabbed it from him. For a friends to lovers trope, she was sure. "Tikki."
---
"Your ship is trash!" Anonymity yelled.
"Hey! I love Ladynoir."
Her partner kept the akuma occupied while Ladybug crouched behind an office desk, trying to think of a plan, a spotted eye patch in her hands. For a pirate AU. Tikki really was having too much fun with this.
"Their relationship is abusive! Can't you see that?"
"It is not! They love– They're good for each other! Supportive!"
"It's hormones and codependency. All Ladybug does is take advantage. And he's constantly crossing her boundaries!"
There was a sharp crack as he smacked his baton against something. Anonymity's head, hopefully.
Ladybug ground her teeth to focus on something other than their enemy's toxic internet commentary. They had to trap her and break the phone. The problem was they couldn't ever get close enough. They were now up to eight Charms and five Cures, and she was getting uncomfortably low on cookies. Every time they got close, the akuma would either teleport herself away or drop them into a new trope.
The eye patch. What could she use it for?
Ladybug peeked over the desk. Anonymity's focus was still on Chat Noir, and he was staying close enough that she was tempted with a chance to get his miraculous, but not quite close enough that she would feel threatened. Good.
Nothing on the desk except paperweights and office supplies. The thumbtacks caught her attention. Maybe she could use some of them as projectiles and the eye patch as a slingshot and then… what? The room had a number of other desks, with fake potted plants and undecorated cubicle walls, but it gave her no immediate ideas.
Chat Noir dove forward, swiping at Anonymity's phone. She stumbled backward, arms up defensively as he invaded her space. Too close. As soon as she was out of his reach, she threw her phone up into the air, like she was calling for her own Miraculous Cure. It hung above her head, glowing, a sign a new set of tropes was coming.
"Sorry!" he yelled.
"You haters will like this one," Anonymity said.
The phone flashed, filling the whole room with blinding light, sending out jets of energy that hit them both. When the light faded and Ladybug could see again, everything was the same, but Anonymity was gone, just a bunch of hearts scattered across the floor where she'd been standing.
"Sorry," he said, face twisted in annoyance. "I got too close."
"It's fine," she said, getting to her feet. "And we're fine. What's the trope now?"
He held out a hand to help her up. "Dunno. I can't tell what's different. Can you?"
A spike to her anxiety level, but that was probably an effect of the unsettling akuma herself more than her power set. Ladybug took his hand.
And flung herself into his arms, face seeking out every bit of his skin she could find. His neck. Half of his face. That was it. Why did the suits cover so much?! She pressed her cheek against his, but it wasn't enough, and she buried herself in his neck again, trying to find a way to soothe the ache of being so far away from him.
Maybe if he was seeking her out too, it would have been easier for her to cope, but he stood statue still, arms caging her in. "Ladybug." His voice was strangled. "You dropped Lucky Charm."
"Mmm. Don't care," she mumbled into his jaw, lips buzzing against his skin. But it wasn't enough. His arms encircled her but didn't crush her to him. Did he not need to touch her the way she so desperately needed to touch him?
"Your timer," he rasped when it beeped.
"Don't care!" She didn't want to move, and he deserved to know her identity anyway. Maybe they could defeat the akuma by fulfilling the trope, maybe akuma battles never mattered to begin with. Whatever she had to say to make him keep his cheek against her hair, to make him come closer.
Her hand fumbled around his throat until she found his bell and dragged it down, giving her precious centimeters of skin. She leaned forward, breathing him in, soothing an ache. It was a familiar ache, just stronger than she was used to.
When she tried to pull the zipper down farther, his hand went up to block her. She almost cried. Just another barrier between them when all they both wanted to do was be close.
What a twisted approximation of their relationship this was. Too close and still not close enough. Him holding them back instead of her. It was impossible for her to fight this trope on top of her own, ever-present desires to be near him in every way. They bubbled to the surface, hot and boiling over, when before they'd only simmered.
She'd spent the last two years staying away from both Adrien and Chat Noir, the only two boys she'd ever loved: Chat because the ending would be disastrous, Adrien because she didn't have enough time to dedicate to nurturing their relationship and she couldn't lie to him about why, Chat because she couldn't risk damaging their partnership for Paris' sake, Adrien because she refused to constantly disappear on him like his father did.
In Ladybug's experience, emotion never bowed to reason.
And now Adrien and Chat Noir were the same boy.
So what was she to do?
He deserved so much, her time, her attention, to be her highest priority, and she couldn't give him that. And changing anything between them felt so dangerous.
All she could do was step further into him and hope it would be enough. Their knees bumped. Her hands slipped from his shoulders to his waist and back up again, then clutching at him as he leaned away.
"Wait," she said, panicking at the slide of his arms under her hands, and grasping harder. "What are you doing?"
When he was far enough to look her in the eye, he stopped moving. "This isn't right."
"Wait!" Ladybug flinched against the separation as he started peeling her fingers off him. Even with the suits mostly evening out their natural abilities, he was slightly stronger than her. But she was motivated and pushed forward, seeking him out until he was forced to pin her arms to her sides.
"No, you wait," he said, struggling to breathe normally. "This isn't how we beat an akuma."
"So?!"
Wait. It seemed like all they'd done lately was wait. Wait and see what Hawk Moth would do next. Wait to see if Bunnyx would show up again with bad news. Wait to start her plans for the future because she couldn't spend the energy to work on them right now.
Wait until she was ready to tell him her name.
He'd always been more patient than her, constantly giving her space to figure out what she wanted. She twisted in his grip, but he didn't let her loose.
"How about this?" he said, his eyes screwed shut. She stopped struggling. "I'll give you whatever you want, but–" he added quickly before she could throw herself at him. "After. Cure everything first. Then I'll touch you."
This was a trick somehow, she knew it, but she was desperate. "After just one Cure or after the whole akuma?"
"Either." He forced the word out through gritted teeth, his grip on her arms painful even through her reinforced suit. "Both. Just do it."
Lucky Charm was by her foot, and she kicked to send it flying instead of her normal overhead throw. It was enough. Two magic words later, and she was sagging onto the floor, Chat Noir sitting next to her with his head in his hands.
"Skin hunger," he breathed out.
There was only a handspan of space between them. Echoes of the feeling haunted her body. It would be nice to reach out across the gap, lay a hand on his knee, brush her foot against his leg, trace his lips with her fingertips. "Why didn't she hit you with it?" she asked.
Before she could reach out to him, he straightened. "She did. I'm just used to it." He reached down, offering his hand. But just as quickly, he withdrew. Did he not want to tempt her, or did he just not want to see her refuse?
"Used to it?"
He looked away and shrugged with one shoulder.
"Chat."
When he turned back, he was smiling. "You know what my father's like. Might as well hug a fence post for all the warmth and affection you'll get. It's fine though." And then he laughed. And it hardly seemed forced.
And Ladybug thought she might be sick.
"Anyway," he said. "I believe our quarry is out in the hallway. I hear the broken sobs of fans whose ships are being roasted. Plus, your timer is about to run out."
She'd never been so happy to have the excuse to leave, and never felt so guilty for running.
---
The next trope was a circus AU. Complete with cannibalistic demon clowns. Red noses had never bothered Ladybug until today, but she wasn't sure she'd ever look at them the same way again. The best thing she could say about the whole experience was that it was almost over.
Panting and running, she followed Chat Noir through the maze of shattered mirrors in the fun house. He was barely visible in the dark. Flashes of light gave her more glimpses of her own fractured reflection than of her partner.
"Almost there!" he called over his shoulder as he turned yet another corner. She wasn't sure how he could tell. Anonymity had promised a never-ending maze, but now that the trope had been defeated and a new one started, why were they still here? What was the new trope? Had it already begun? Chat wasn't slowing down long enough for her to ask his opinion.
The flashes of light became broken streaks, and the ambient light was finally enough for her to see the tent above them and the grass beneath their feet. It was also enough to see her face in the mirrors.
His name. Adrien's name written across her cheek, reflected on every jagged surface.
She shrieked, and he turned. Ladybug shielded her face from him with one hand and reached for her yo-yo with the other, smashing everything until there were no mirrors big enough to show him that her name was written across his face, too.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
From the shadows behind them, Anonymity laughed. "I think you missed one!"
A faint light glinted in the distance, bobbing its way through the wreckage of the fun house.
"What—" he started.
A mirror. Unbroken. Showing her the reflection of his face. "Chat…" Showing her a truth she already knew. "Close your eyes!"
He closed them immediately, without question, and she used the Cure again. The fun house became just a warehouse. Stacks of musty boxes and pallets piled with crates replaced the warped mirrors.
"What was that?" he asked.
Ladybug's mouth was dry. "It must've been an identity reveal AU or something." Those must have been a thing, because he didn't question it. "Did you see what was written on your face?"
"No."
She hesitated before admitting, "It was my name."
"Okay…" he said. "But why wasn't it on you, then?"
Keeping her expression as neutral as possible, she repeated, "Identity reveal," like that was all the explanation that was needed. "We should keep moving. She'll be starting another one soon."
The warehouse door wasn't far, and she was glad. It didn't give her enough time to think about what had just happened. As soon as she opened the door, light flooded the room.
She stood at a store counter, her hand still out-stretched. Across from her on the other side of the counter, her partner stood confused. Chat Noir had a green apron on over his suit, his claws poised over a cash register. The air smelled strongly of coffee.
"Hey, I look good." He leaned forward. "Can I get you something? Maybe something with extra cream and sugar so it can be as sweet as you?"
She hardly heard him. Her name had been on his face. It hadn't been a reveal AU. She knew it had been a soulmate AU.
They could have gotten each other's names because the akuma shipped them. Or maybe it was just because they were partners and it was the obvious choice. Both were possible, but she knew both were lies. He was the one for her, and she knew it. When would she be ready for him to know it, too?
Chat Noir busied himself behind the counter, pushing buttons on the coffee machines, smelling the different flavors, and spilling the sugar on the counter. Did he know she was lying? If he did, he was good at hiding it.
"I like this trope. What do you think? Should I apply for barista jobs when we get back?"
"You like dealing with entitled customers?"
"No, I just love that I haven't been turned into a mermaid yet."
Ladybug groaned. "Please tell me that's not a trope."
"Okay, it's not a trope."
"Liar."
"I'm just following directions. Good customer service."
"I'll be sure to tell your manager."
"Thank you." He smiled. "I'm trying to get best employee this month. That'll really help."
The rest of the coffee shop was empty and silent. No other customers fidgeted behind her, and no other workers bumped into him on his side of the counter. "It looks like you have a lot of competition."
"Yeah, I don't like my chances. Marinette's won it three months in a row already."
He'd found her out!
"She actually stole the top spot from Rose, who took it from Juleka."
Oh, maybe he hadn't.
"But yeah, as soon as Marinette started working here, it was all over for the rest of us. She's so chipper and friendly. All the customers here love her."
"Chipper." The adrenaline spike from hearing her own name on his tongue seeped away and was quickly replaced by indignation.
"Sure. She's helpful and kind and has a smile for everyone. She's one of my favorite people and one of the best people ever. I will literally fight you if you disagree."
Whether she was ready or not, maybe he already knew that he was the one for her.
A shadow passed across the window. It could have been anything, a person walking by, a bus, a cloud, but Ladybug instinctively knew that their peaceful time was up. Anonymity was waiting for them outside.
"We have to go," she said.
She hadn't needed to tell him. He was already hanging up his apron, though he stopped to smooth out the wrinkles before coming out from behind the counter.
The bell chimed as they ducked through the doorway. It wouldn't give them away. Their enemy already knew they were coming. Ladybug took an unconscious step closer to her partner, to ward off the chill of being watched. Outside was an open city. Too many corners and angles for someone to hide behind, unseen.
Chat Noir stretched up on his toes for a better look around. "Where do you think Kaonashi is hiding this time?"
"Focus on the akuma, Chat." Like the coffee shop, the streets were deserted. No cars. No people.
"I am. It's another name for No-Face."
There wasn't even a breeze to give the illusion of life. How would they– "Wait. What? What are you talking about?"
"No-Face." And at her silent stare he added, "Black with a white mask? Represents loneliness? The– the one who eats people in Spirited Away!"
"Is that a book or something?"
Chat Noir's expression darkened. "Come on, m'lady. Seriously? Our next movie night is going to be dedicated to your Ghibli education." He finally turned away from her to start scanning for threats. "This is unacceptable."
Represents loneliness. That was the connection that he made to the akuma.
This akuma needed to stop.
A flash of movement caught her eye as Anonymity stepped out from behind the corner of a red brick building.
Ladybug didn't think. She let her yo-yo fly. The string snapped and pulled taut as it wrapped around its target. And she could have sworn that the akuma, with her impassive mask that never moved, smiled.
Anonymity reached down to the string that was tied around her, gently caressing the strand.
Everything glowed briefly, and with an echoing snap, they were somewhere else. Four walls surrounded them, harsh lighting, and a panel of buttons off to one side. An elevator.
Ladybug's hands were empty.
"What?" Chat Noir asked. "Where?"
She quickly assessed the damage. She had no weapon. They were trapped. The akuma was gone, again. But at least the elevator wasn't moving. It was still a disaster, but at least the elevator wasn't moving.
She had messed up and lost the yo-yo. Without it, they couldn't call Lucky Charm to get themselves out of the trope.
"I've got this," Chat Noir said, and he called for Cataclysm. Black bubbled around his hand as he slammed it into the door. It crumbled away only to reveal a solid brick wall, dirty and chipped. Anonymity had planned for this, and they'd played straight into it.
Even worse, her partner hated tight spaces. As soon as his power had been spent and he'd failed to free them from their prison, he'd reached for the railing, gripping it hard. Thin mirrors mounted on either side of the buttons reflected his face. It was quickly draining of color.
"Chat Noir?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
After a few seconds, he nodded slowly.
"This is a tough situation," he said, forcing a smile, his chest rising a little too much as he breathed. "You might even say it's a cat-astrophe. Get it?"
The joke was awful and overdone to begin with, but it was made even worse by the shallow gasps that followed.
She wanted to reach out to him, put a hand on his shoulder, rub his back, but that was just the skin hunger talking. Echoes of it still reverberated through her.
But he was getting worse. She had to stop focusing on her own problems. Her partner, her best friend, needed her right now. "Why don't you try feeding Plagg?" she asked, to distract herself as much as him. "You can try Cataclysming the wall next time. I'm sure we can get out that way."
She grabbed his hand. He needed an anchor to ground himself. That always helped her. It was the most physical contact she would allow herself right now.
"Bad chapter," he wheezed, squeezing her so tightly he probably would have bruised her if she wasn't in a magical suit. "Poorly written. No kudos. I demand an update." Chat Noir slowly sank to his knees, then huddled on the ground, face in his other hand.
"Adrien," she said. "Cheese. Feed Plagg." She wasn't sure if he heard her over the sound of his own breathing, sucking in through his nose, holding his breath, then letting it out slowly, like he was blowing bubbles. She ran a thumb over his knuckles, helping him to keep a steady rhythm.
She waited for twenty long breaths out and until he was a little calmer before prompting, "Adrien?"
"A confession will make it move," he responded, his eyes still squeezed shut. "That's how… these tropes always work." His cadence was choppy and uneven as he fought to remember how to breathe normally. "Now's the… time to spill all our darkest… secrets. Too bad you already know all… of mine. Guess it's up to… you." He looked up at her and tried to smile. It was shaky and thin and watery. His whole body seemed small and breakable, crumpled against the metal wall of the elevator, but he was still trying to make her smile.
His words seemed to catch up with him then, and he backtracked, releasing her hand. "No pressure. I– you know I was just joking. You don't have to reveal your name. I'm sorry."
Even with her limited knowledge of fanfiction, she knew that wasn't the type of secret this trope required, and her identity wasn't the only secret that she could share.
Chat Noir was on the floor, working himself through a panic attack, and was still trying to put her needs before his own. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.
The puff of his staccato breaths against her lips. The hint of mint toothpaste from this morning, even after all this time. The gentle brush of his nose against her cheek. It wasn't enough, not with the masks in the way. The skin hunger demanded more more more. Or maybe it really was all her. She didn't deserve him, but that didn't stop her from wanting all of him anyway.
After a minute, he started to match her breathing, and she felt the mask melt underneath her skin as he transformed back into his street clothes.
The skin-on-skin contact still wasn't enough.
"I love you," she whispered, loudly enough for him to hear.
He twitched underneath her, his forehead scrunching, but she kept her eyes shut. She didn't want to see how it affected him, his surprise and confusion and distrust, because why would he believe her after she'd rejected him, pushed him away, lied about her feelings for him?
She didn't want to see his hope.
The elevator jerked and started moving upward, sliding smoothly. A familiar weight settled against her hip. She brushed her fingers over the yo-yo to reassure herself that it really was there. Going along with the trope had broken it completely and had reset everything nearly as well as her Lucky Charm.
"Cheese?" she finally asked again, leaning backward and looking around. Plagg had been quiet for the whole exchange, watching.
She stood, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Adrien nod and reach into his shirt pocket. His hands were barely shaking, but he kept his face away from her.
The brick wall slid down as they rose. Plagg swallowed and patted his stomach. Ladybug and Adrien were both frozen, waiting for the other to say something first. She should be the one to start. Give some explanation. Some excuse. But defeating the akuma was an easier problem than talking to him, and more urgent, so she gave it priority.
They had the upper hand now, she realized. They'd never gone along with a trope before. Anonymity wouldn't be expecting them to have escaped on their own. All they had to do was capture her, cleanse the akuma, and then deal with the fallout of her confession.
Easy.
With the door of the elevator missing, she watched as they rose up to street level. Light from outside started as a thin strip at the top of the doors, widening up in a blinding flash when the afternoon sun hit her face. This had taken up most of her Saturday.
When her eyes adjusted, her partner stood next to her, breathing normally, dressed all in black, a smile on his face as if nothing had happened.
"Ready?" he asked.
Faint shouts and crying drifted through the open elevator door from the city outside. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and they stepped onto the sidewalk together.
At first she couldn't tell what was wrong. About a dozen people of all ages were scattered across the street. A few were crying. Some were walking normally. None seemed to notice their arrival.
"Excuse me?" Chat Noir asked.
A man in his mid-fifties wearing a suit walked toward them, hat pulled low over his eyes, looking down.
"Can you help us? Do you know what's going on here? Where's the akuma?"
The man kept going. Chat Noir didn't step back in time before the man walked into him, walked through him.
"Ghost AU," Chat said.
Ladybug's hands flew up to her own chest. She felt solid enough. She rapped her knuckles against the nearest wall. That felt solid as well.
"They're the ghosts," she decided.
The people sitting on the ground and crying took on an ominous feel. When she took a second look at the ones who were walking, she realized they were mostly walking in circles, dazed.
A young woman with her hair in a bun walked through the front bumper of a car, only to back up again and go around it. She looked like she was about to be sick, and Ladybug was sure if the blood could have drained from the woman's face, it would have.
Ladybug shivered. "Where are all the bodies?" she whispered.
Chat Noir shook his head. "Maybe there aren't any. Maybe she just transformed them directly."
"I hate this trope."
"Agreed."
Chat Noir walked off without a smile for reassurance, or even a sideways glance.
He was hiding it well, but she'd known him long enough to see that he was hurting and confused, and more than a little rattled after being trapped inside a claustrophobic elevator.
The sooner they finished this, the sooner she could make sure he was okay. And maybe set things right, finally. "Lucky Charm," she whispered.
A giant jar, as big as her torso and shaped like a teddy bear, dropped into her hands. Thick and sticky honey sat inside.
Chat Noir looked over at his shoulder to see what they had been given. "What's the plan?" he asked. Another sign that he wasn't as okay as he was pretending. He didn't make any sort of joke about Tikki implying she was sweet on him.
Ladybug shrugged. "Find the akuma, break the phone, fix everything."
He turned back around. "The first step should be easy," he said, pointing. "I can hear more yelling that way."
---
The akuma wasn't hard to find. Chat Noir had been right, all they'd had to do was follow the sound of the screaming.
After fighting side by side for so many battles, she didn't even need to give him direction. They knew he would go in first and create a distraction, while she would stay behind and figure out how to use the Lucky Charm to bring all of this to an end.
Anonymity had landed in a crowd of people, pointing her phone at those trying to flee from her. There was no beam of light. There was no shouting. She just pointed her phone and the victims stopped.
For most of them, it took a few seconds to realize what had happened. They would put their hands to their chest or their face and think that everything was all right. Until they started to move.
They would stumble, try to catch themselves against a car or the side of a building, and fall straight through. Then their terror would start.
Ladybug didn't see Chat Noir sneak up, just heard the whistle and crack as the baton hid its target.
Anonymity screamed in surprise. "You two! How?"
Ladybug still had no idea what to do with the jar. It's not like she could bake a honey-drizzled scone so delicious that Anonymity would stop rampaging. Was it a clue instead of a puzzle piece this time?
"Amnesia!" Anonymity yelled. The world flashed, and a new trope started. "I'm giving you both amnesia!" Ladybug couldn't help a small smile. Her partner was doing well, if she was giving up the AU so quickly.
Chat Noir had the good sense to duck out of the way. And suddenly Ladybug had an idea. The phone was the key to Anonymity's power and it would be the key to her defeat, but Ladybug would have to get in closer for this to work.
Unscrewing the lid, she ran forward, using parked cars to keep herself out of sight, ducking behind railings, and staying in Anonymity's blind spots. Chat Noir could see her approach and helped keep the akuma occupied.
Ladybug needed some sort of scooper. She could use her own hand to scoop the honey out, but that would only get her stuck as well. And pouring it would be much too slow.
What else was around here to work with? There wasn't much. Scattered papers, abandoned cars, trash can lids, nothing that could be of use to her.
She looked down frantically, wishing she could call for a second Lucky Charm to get her out of this mess.
One of the victims was off to her left. Ladybug crouched behind a bench, watching the boy. He was bending down, trying repeatedly to pick up something off the ground even though his hand kept passing through it. A baseball cap. That was perfect.
She ran over, apologizing that she couldn't help him, and grabbed the hat that he couldn't pick up on his own. He shouted at her as she dunked the stiff cap into the honey, scooping out blobs and leaving it in a trail behind her.
The more surface area she covered, the more likely her plan would be to work. This part was going to take a lot of timing and a lot of luck. Good thing luck was her specialty.
Anonymity pointed again, and Chat Noir dodged. Without any sort of beam or sounds as an indication, it was hard to tell which direction the spell was going until it was too late and it hit its target. But hopefully, that wouldn't matter for Ladybug's plan.
It was a simple plan, really. The best kind.
"Anonymity!" Ladybug yelled when she got close.
The akuma turned, snarling beneath the calm exterior. Ladybug threw a glob of honey toward her. She jumped out of the way, but Ladybug was ready and threw another.
Chat Noir attacked from behind, closing in and forcing her to choose which attacker to avoid. And then carefully, deliberately, Ladybug stepped back.
Anonymity took the bait, pushing into the opening that Ladybug created for her.
Ladybug had to be careful of her steps. She knew she risked stepping in the honey and getting herself stuck in the trap, but she couldn't look backward and give herself away.
The farther she retreated, the more aggressive Anonymity became. With each step, the akuma became more and more convinced that she had the upper hand. Chat Noir kept on her from behind, and Ladybug kept leading her toward the thickest piles of honey.
All they had to do was get her stuck. All they had to do was keep the phone in her hand. Ladybug stepped backward one last time, then lunged forward without warning. The akuma, caught off guard, didn't dodge.
Chat Noir, sensing the plan, chose that exact second to strike, knocking Anonymity down from behind.
The akuma fell. "No!" she yelled, her hand landing in a sticky blob of honey. She tried to shoot, pointing toward Ladybug.
She tensed, calculations running through her head lightning quick. Jump or yo-yo out. Which direction to dodge. Would the honey block the beam.
Chat Noir jumped directly into the line of fire. He stumbled back, and the akuma slumped on the pavement.
Ladybug stood there frozen as she watched them, trying to assess the threat and see if Chat was injured. No one moved for a moment, until Anonymity rose to her knees, her blank mask slowly turning to look at the area around her. She'd been hit by her own trope.
Chat Noir shook his head. "What's happening?" he asked.
Ladybug let out a sigh of relief.
Chat Noir turned toward her, then jumped as if seeing her for the first time.
"Hey, mademoiselle," he said. "I know this is weird, but I wanted you to know that you have very beautiful eyes."
Ladybug put a hand over her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was going to smile or cry. The relief of finally having a plan work, of finally having the threat neutralized, was making her shaky.
Anonymity tried to stand up. She was still kneeling in a pile of honey and was having trouble. Her hand made a sucking sound as she tried halfheartedly to pull it out, but she couldn't get free.
"Hey," Chat Noir called to her. "Are you okay?"
The akuma said nothing, just kept looking around. It was hard to tell with the mask, but her shoulders were slumped and she didn't seem like she wanted to move. All the fight had left her.
Not knowing what to do for her, Chat Noir turned his attention back to Ladybug. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle," he said to her. "I probably shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean to be weird. I didn't upset you, did I?"
Ladybug did smile at that. "I'm fine with it. We're friends."
"Oh," he said, looking relieved. "Do I say that kind of thing a lot? Because you're very pretty. I don't know if you know that… I'm being weird again."
Face tinged a little pink, he turned back to the akuma. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "Do you need help with anything?"
Anonymity stared at him briefly, then turned to look down the street, searching for answers just like he was.
He turned back to Ladybug. "What are we doing here? Are we really friends? You said we're friends. That's amazing."
She couldn't handle this. This was what fighting Oblivio must have been like. No wonder she'd fallen for him so quickly then. He was so sweet and disarming, and kind to the core.
She stepped around him, reaching for the akuma. "Let me help you up," she said, casually reaching for the akuma's wrist and grabbing her phone with the other hand.
Finally.
This was one of the longest days of her life, and it was finally over.
When she tossed the sticky phone on the ground and stomped on it, a black butterfly flew out.
On autopilot, she purified the akuma and put everything right one last time. Anonymity transformed, and instead of a terror of a villain wearing a black bodysuit and white mask, in her place was a girl in jeans and a floral t-shirt, expressive wide eyes scanning the area around her.
"What happened?" she asked.
Chat Noir stood up, patting his hair down like he was trying to push the memories back inside. "That was weird," he said.
He turned to Ladybug and offered his fist for a bump, but without a smile. She took the peace offering cautiously. The first part of her plan had been executed. Now came the fallout, the more difficult part.
"Can we talk?" he asked, as her fingers rested against his.
Her eyes skittered toward the recently recovered akuma victim, trying to look for an excuse. Her earrings beeped, giving her the perfect cover.
"Can you…" she motioned to the woman.
He hung his head but nodded. "Sure."
Ladybug took a few large steps in the other direction, then whirled around. "We'll talk after I recharge."
His eyes and his shoulders perked back up, and he went to help their former enemy.
---
She met him on the top of a bridge overlooking the river just a few minutes later. The sun was starting to set. Cars zipped below them. People were making their way home, but the bridge remained empty of pedestrians, even at the busy hour.
They were too far away to hear the rushing of the water over the roar of the traffic below them. The noise was steady except for a few stray honks.
He wasn't looking at her. It was easier that way. It meant she didn't need to face him, either.
"So," he asked when she sat down next to him. "Did you mean it? Or was it only a distraction to calm me down?"
She nodded, giving herself time to answer. That was more blunt than she'd been expecting, but she deserved it.
"The trope required a confession," she said. That was the truth. Whether he heard the admission for what it was, she wasn't sure. He gave no reaction.
She'd been following his gaze toward the heart of the city, but after a few seconds he turned to face her.
"My name is Marinette," she said quietly.
"Marin… Like, as in…"
She nodded. "Sorry, it took so long."
After a little time to process, he shook his head. "I don't blame you. That's kind of a lot."
She laughed. "You don't know the half of it." He'd asked her directly as soon as she'd sat down. She took a deep breath. After everything they'd been through today, he deserved a direct answer. "I've had a crush on you forever."
She waited for the truth to sink in, to see some sort of confusion, happiness, annoyance, anger, something, but he only held her gaze steadily, a small smile eventually growing.
"Yeah, that makes sense."
"What?" she asked, "That I'm Marinette, or that I have a huge crush on you?"
The smile widened. "Both just answered a whole lot of questions."
They hung like that, almost in stasis, each waiting for the other to move first. Ladybug finally broke, reaching up to brush the hair off of his forehead. Her fingertips skimmed over his temple, down his cheek, and finally cupped his jaw.
Even with a mask, even with the gloves and the suits, it finally was enough.
The kiss finally calmed the skin hunger that had been plaguing her all day, because he knew who she was, because there were no barriers in the way anymore, and because she knew more kisses were coming.
The end.
---
Author's note: Hey, remember me? I'm back with a new story! And I really like how it turned out. I have a bunch of short one-shots in the works, and then I'm planning on working on some longer stories again. :D If you've never seen a story from me before, hi! I've got a library of like 70 Miraculous stories, mostly one-shots but also several multi-chaps. Go check them out!
(No promises on when those new stories will be out. Working two jobs really puts a damper on my time and my energy. Oof.)
*Peaks out from behind fingers* Is it too early for SOTR fanfic?! Read also on AO3.
“I did something stupid.”
My head snaps up from the register at the sound of her voice. Katniss.
She slams the door behind her and crosses the tiny, half-demolished room me and the District 12 reconstruction crew have fashioned into a workable bakery. It’s not going to pass any health inspections, but hey, the people need bread. They’ll eat it where they can find it.
I come around the counter, already reaching for her, a dozen terrified thoughts crowding my mind. “Are you ok?” I ask.
Her braid is disheveled and there's a goose feather lodged in it. I decide not to risk plucking it out affectionately when she's this agitated, just savor the look of it there, its downy white offset by the flush of her cheeks.
“No, I'm not ok, Peeta.” She opens her foraging bag dramatically. A half dozen goose eggs are nestled inside, wrapped in the old flour sack we scavenged last week. It has “Courtesy of the Capitol” stamped across it, but several of the block letters are rubbed off, making it read: Courtesy of the Ca t. I smile to myself, thinking of how Katniss’ own cat, Buttercup, would surely have reveled in assisting her with this particular task.
“I'm a cradle robber,” continues Katniss miserably.
I can't help the bark of laughter escaping my lips. The sound of it–light, carefree, delighted–startles me. I haven't made that sound in a long time.
“I'm not that much younger,” I say, nudging her playfully. It's hard to resist teasing her when it makes those cheeks–now fuller than I've ever seen them–blossom with a rosy hue I fear is becoming my new favorite color. “Just shy two months.”
Her scowl deepens, a sure sign she's trying hard as possible not to let it flip upside down.
“I'm serious, Peeta, help me, they're going to die.”
“Huh?”
“The progeny of our dinner!” She cries, thrusting the bag into my chest. As she does, her dad’s leather hunting jacket gaps open to reveal what's underneath.
We both freeze for a moment.
It's happening less and less, but there are triggers, and this is one of them.
Blood. There's blood. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the splintery oak of the counter, using the sensation to ground myself. Not her blood. Not yours. Not real. I tell myself firmly. The shiny corners of my memories expand and contract rapidly, then shimmer into nothing like water on a griddle. And when I open my eyes again, I'm able to regard the old honker dangling from her belt with curiosity rather than rage or fear.
“Is that…?”
“It came at me, ok?” says Katniss. Her tone is defensive, but calm. She maintains unwavering eye contact as she slowly slips off the jacket and wraps the goose carcass in it to obscure the blood. Dr. Aurelius says it's best to make smooth, predictable movements in the aftermath of an episode, even a mild one. “It was hissing. And charging. And I didn't have any luck with squirrels today so…”
Another unexpected laugh bubbles within me at the thought of Katniss fighting off a disgruntled goose, but she looks so anxious about the eggs that I swallow my mirth and gather them up into my arms carefully. I know exactly what’s going on here.
“Can't stop thinking about Lenore Dove, huh?”
“Yeah,” she admits, gray eyes twitching to mine. Gray. Like his eyes. Like her name.
“Me too.”
We stare at each other, locked in silent communication. What would it have been like to lose each other? Would one of us have turned to the bottle? To morphling? Worse? I think of Katniss, her teeth ripping open the pouch, desperate for the Nightlock pill. Subconsciously, my left hand finds my right, running over the place she bit down on it.
“Ok, ok,” I sigh, making as if this is some major inconvenience rather than a treasure. The way her lip turns up, I know she knows better. “Let me see what I can do. Can you mind the shop for me?”
Katniss nods, gaze focused on the eggs gathered against my chest, much broader now that we're getting square meals on the regular.
“And maybe…” I continue, gesturing to Katniss' front, splattered with mud and the evidence of our dinner's demise, “Put an apron over that? Don't want people thinking they've mistaken the baker's for the butcher's.”
Careful not to jostle the eggs too much, I make my way toward the back door. I turn over my shoulder just before passing through. “Hey, Katniss?” I call. “You're a hard person sometimes. But you're soft too, you know. Just like him. This is going to make him real happy.”
“Yeah?” she says, still uncertain, I can tell.
“Yeah.”
Katniss turns away quickly under the pretext of donning an old gingham apron, but her shoulders have relaxed.
— — —
The first thing I do is grab a graying dishtowel out of the back and rig up a sling across my chest to keep the eggs warm and my hands free. Then I glance around the storeroom to see what I've got to work with. Delly Cartwright’s family used to raise chickens to supplement their income from the shoe shop, so I've seen an incubator before. Poor, soft-hearted Delly always got attached to the chicks and would inevitably end up crying on my back doorstep when the day came for the soup pot.
An incubator is essentially a bread oven on low temperature. It'll need insulation to keep the heat in and a water source to stabilize humidity. Sometimes I keep a tray of water in the oven for that very purpose. I wrench a milk crate out from under a pile of salvaged scrap wood and then find a smaller cardboard box that can fit inside with about two inches around the perimeter. Into this gap, I stuff some scraps of fabric and wool that we've been saving for the group of volunteer tailors who keep District 12 folk from having to run around in our skivvies. The garments are utilitarian, but I think Cinna and Portia would be impressed by the ingenuity of them, the recycling of every usable fiber.
I inspect my contraction. Okay, this is looking pretty good so far. But how to achieve the heat? A fire is out. Too hot. Too likely to catch on something under the right conditions. Snow learned that lesson the hard way, I think grimly.
Guess it's time to visit the inventor. A guy called Wattson. He's a distant relative of Beetee’s–perhaps the only surviving one given what we've gleaned from Haymitch about Beetee’s rather…electrifying role in not one but several failed rebellions. Wattson toasted with a District 12 man just after the fall of the Capitol and moved out here to start a new life. Some folks in town are still resistant to the union, but they're coming around. Especially seeing as Wattson’s just about the only person in town who can figure out how to keep the power grid up and running. And me? I'd say if you're lucky enough to find someone you love and who loves you back, you'd best hold on tight no matter who they are.
Wattson and I have teamed up for a few projects around town. I've got an eye for design, but I'm no engineer. We started with the industrial bread oven, then the kiln for old Terra, the potter, and a smattering of fun stuff for the few children running around. A bicycle for Sal, an imitation hovercraft for Franny that really flies with a remote control. It feels good to give kids the childhood we never had.
In his cramped workshop, Wattson squints over halfmoon glasses at my incubator.
“Nice work, son,” he says. “Just need the electronics, eh?”
“Mmhmm.”
“You can make a battery out of a potato,” says Wattson, rummaging in a box of spare parts. “Did you know?”
I raise my eyebrows. "I did not "
“Useful things. But today I'll hook you up with a more stable power source. Got this off the supply train last week, so you're in luck.” He holds up a battery pack with only slightly fraying wires, then selects a lightbulb and gets to work. In no time, we have a working heat source.
— — —
Incubator in hand, eggs still safely slung against my chest, I bid farewell to Wattson with a promise to meet up next week to hash out plans for Hazelle's laundry cistern. Then I head toward the Victor's Village– newly christened Mockingjay Row. My old house is now occupied by a family from the Seam who miraculously made it out of the rebellion with seven surviving children, including Franny. She's flying her toy hovercraft on the front lawn, her raven-haired baby brother toddling along after it on chubby legs you'd have been hard-pressed to see on a Seam kid a year ago.
I hurry up the steps to my art room on the second floor of Katniss'--well, our house. It still feels so surreal to say it. Setting the incubator gingerly on the table, I get out my paint set.
Dove is a fascinating color. Not quite gray, not quite cream, not quite purple, not quite blue. It's almost like a lilac bloom dusted with coal ash. Or a gray mist at dawn before the brilliant orange of the rising sun chases away the inky night.
I spend a long time getting the color right, as is my habit.
Katniss is normally impatient as all hell. Any amount of dilly-dallying has her foot a-tapping and her eyes a-twitching. It drives her up a wall the way I like to take my time: slow mornings with a cup of black tea on the porch, methodically arranging the spices in the cabinet, refusing to bake her cheese buns until I'm convinced the dough has achieved the perfect rise. But with painting she lets me be. Never once had she rushed me. In fact, it seems she finds it soothing watching me mix my paints. I often catch her staring at me, a wistful expression on her face, and more often than not she'll come over to plant a kiss on my cheek for no particular reason.
The incubator looks handsome coated in dove. As a finishing touch, I take a slender brush and paint katniss flowers crawling up the sides, then sit back to admire my work.
I think about Haymitch and his girl. For so long I thought I had the market cornered on pining, so it was a surprise to learn of Haymitch's unflappable yearning for Lenore Dove, his fiery devotion to her even after all these years. I always knew he was like Katniss. Whip smart. Stubborn. Intuitive. And kind on a level very rare to see in this world, but hidden beneath so many layers of self doubt and prickliness that the undiscerning eye might miss it. But I never considered that Haymitch might be like me, too.
— — —
I have the fixings for roast goose ready by the time Katniss closes up the bakery at five and returns with the freshly plucked and prepped goose in tow. Not a drop of blood in sight. She steps into my arms in a way that tells me she's been reliving Haymitch’s tale over and over again in her head all day. The story tap-tap-tapping at her consciousness like the raven in Lenore Dove's ballad. I squeeze her tight, tucking my head into the crook of her neck, my
lips finding the skin there. She sighs.
“Haymitch coming for dinner?” I murmur, stroking the length of her braid. It's grown in glossy and thick since I got back from the Capitol and she started taking care of herself again. Since we started taking care of each other again. Right where we left off.
“Yeah,” she says, her response punctuated by the slam of the front door. “That'll be him.”
“Who's a guy gotta bust out of an arena to get some grub around here?” comes Haymitch's drawl from the foyer.
“How’s about you set the table and we'll leave the busting out to District Three, yeah?” I admonish him, taking the goose from Katniss and heading into the kitchen. I want to give Katniss a little time alone with Haymitch.
There's a scrape of chairs and the sound of Haymitch collapsing heavily into one of them. He sounds tired, as usual, but remarkably sober. Maybe Dr. Aurelius is right. Maybe talking about our traumas actually does help…
I cut the goose meat into strips so it will cook faster and stick it in the oven while Katniss presents Haymitch with the eggs in the other room. The circle of life, I think, with a snort. This scenario really is peak Katniss. My golly, I love that girl, but tact will never be her forte.
“Last week the boy was on me about my cholesterol,” I hear Haymitch grouse when presented with the eggs without explanation. “You two better get on the same page.”
“Not to eat, to hatch” Katniss tells him. The stew hisses as it comes to a boil. “Peeta made an incubator. Look!”
After a few minutes of muffled conversation, I go out and lean against the doorframe to the dining room. They're locked in a vice grip embrace, Haymitch's eyes screwed up against the tears that threaten to spill over. He doesn't look up, but seems to sense my presence because he says, “Aw, c’mon you. Get in here. We all know you want to.”
I laugh and join them. A knot of Victors inextricably linked by horror and fate and our own refusal to go down without a fight. Beaten but not broken. Tortured but not transformed. Just a trio of softies crying over a box full of eggs.
The oven timer chimes, and we use it as an excuse to choke back our tears. I dish up roast goose and potatoes with thick slices of sourdough on the side, and we tuck in. Haymitch raises his eyebrows sky high when he realizes the choice of protein, but I give him a deadly warning look as Katniss gnaws on a piece of goose gristle, totally unfazed. To his credit, he shuts his trap. It's like a call back to his old self.
— — —
After dinner, Haymitch stomps back to his house with the incubator under his arm, looking every bit like an angry, protective goose with his wings aloft. Katniss and I watch fondly until he reaches his porch, then retreat to our bedroom feeling warm and full, both our bellies and our hearts.
Katniss has taken to sleeping in one of my old undershirts that hangs nearly to her knees. I catch a glimpse of her lean olive legs before they disappear under the covers and she snuggles into the mattress, her long chocolate tresses free from their braid and fanning across the pillow.
Her head finds the place above my heart, sure as a homing bird comes to roost at dusk. The heart that beats for her. Beats because of her.
We kiss often now. Sometimes chaste, sometimes with passion. A few times we've taken things further, when the hunger consumed us, but not all the way. We know each other's boundaries like we know our own scars, the spots that are still raw and bleeding. We'll know when we're ready.
Katniss almost always initiates physical intimacy. I think she knows it helps me to see her choosing me, and perhaps it helps her, too, to be reminded I'm her choice. Tonight she kisses me slow and deep. It feels like diving into the lake in the woods where she’s teaching me to swim, the thrill of plunging into the cool water and then emerging with a pleasant weightlessness.
When we are sated, we lay wrapped around each other so tightly it’s hard to tell where each of us begins and ends. We saw a starfish in District Four on the victory tour. The way it clung to its rock against the crash of the surf reminds me of how Katniss and I sleep these days. If she's managed to find peaceful slumber, I'll stay inert beneath her all night in the most uncomfortable position imaginable just to see the crease disappear between her eyes, the scowl from her face.
The light is still on across the way, and I imagine Haymitch in his rocker keeping watch over his girl's unborn flock. The eggs are snug in that glowing box, sleeping safe and warm until they break free from those creamy shells and see the sun rise on a world without the reaping for the first time.
Feeling overcome with emotion, I slide my hand up under Katniss’ sleep shirt, running it over her belly, still flat, but not hollow, and imagine it growing big with child. With our child.
As if she can read my thoughts, she whispers, “Someday Peeta. Not now. Not for a long time. But someday, don't you think?”
My breath catches, and I stiffen as my emotions swirl like the colors on my paint palette. Joy. Fear. Uncertainty. Longing. But Katniss doubles down, putting her hot palm over my hand and squeezing. The color evens out. The creamy dove color of longing bites back the black of fear and the yellows of hope and joy win out.
“I think papaw ‘Mitch could do with someone to help tend his gaggle of geese,” I finally say.
I feel the curve of her smile against my chest and the vibration of her mockingjay voice singing that old melody:
Here it’s safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm.
it's wild that Alya would actually hate Marinette if she learned the secrets she'd been keeping from her. I--I actually don't know what to say, I'm so shocked by the fact that she stayed mad the whole time she remembered the secret.
Like others have pointed out in the comments, you can be really upset and disgusted about what a loved one did or has done, be in conflict with them, but it doesn't mean you automatically hate them.
Marinette however interpreted that Rena's justified anger meant that she would hate her.
Alya hates lying. We know that. Marinette knows that. There are secrets that yes, needs to stay secrets. Alya knows and understand this. They had a whole little conversation about that at the beginning of the episode. There are things Alya would love to share about the Miraculous, but for security purpose, she cannot reveal them.
But this secret about Monarch's true identity? Is not one of the acceptable ones to keep. Rena made her point : it shouldn't be a secret. At least, not to Adrien, not to Chat and not to Alya.
Sadly, I think the reaction LB saw out of Rena finding out only further increase Marinette's fear to actually tell the true. And she will of course projects Rena's reaction on how Adrien could potentially react.
Rena gave Ladybug an ultimatum. The memory wipe is to allow a second chance for LB to come clean herself. To make things right. Before the truth comes out of the bag.
And unbeknown to Marinette, there is a time limit of how long the secret can be kept. We have the new Butterfly Holder who knows the truth. We have Alya who even though forgot about LB's secret will try to find out what is burdening her friend.
Because as Alya said : the truth will always find a way.
People can understand if it took someone a lot of time to tell them a difficult truth. But having the main concerned finds out any other way will always be much uglier.
I quite like the small scene where Marinette's parents try to protect their daughter from learning what is going on before realizing that she will find out one way or another and decided to watch the video in question together to be there with her if she wants to talk about it. They set a good example of what Marinette could do with Adrien when she will have to tell him the truth. She could ask Nathalie to be there as well. Maybe Félix if Adrien trusts him too.
But like I have said, while the message is there, loud and clear, I believe the reaction she witnessed amplified Marinette's fear. That people would hate her if they knew. That she would lose her loved ones because she has lied to them. And that is that fear that is withholding her.
ALYS WAS THE MVP IN THIS ONE. ABSOLUTELY love that Alya was mad because throughout all of Miraculous's run we have never seen her be genuinely upset at Marinette, and I think it's completely consistent with her character. She's a journalist; of course she'd despise the fact that Gabriel Agreste got to be seen as a hero and the fact that she even straight up told Mari, "Idgaf; I am not keeping that secret" and basically erasing her memory as a second chance for Mari because she doesn't want to be the source of her suffering but also leaving her with "You don't get to make that decision for him." Someone needed to confront Maribug about her decision, and she was the perfect person. "Why would I hate you Marinette" SHUT UP SHUT SHUT UP
Since fucking when do you ever do that, Marinette? You literally let everyone face whatever emotional (or worse) consequences necessary just so you dont need to have a single uncomfortable conversation.
I see the theory that Chat Noir would Miraculous Chat Noir away his own memories if Ladybug/Marinette lost hers once she gives up guardianship. I love it. HOWEVER.
Consider this:
Miraculous Chat Noir being able to destroy the amnesia spell (or whatever it is) that giving up guardianship puts on Marinette. Miraculous Chat Noir being able to repair her memories by destroying the thing in her that made her forget and created that mental block in the first place.
