#which when he’s being dubbed as ��the detective’ of the bats I completely understand as it does somewhat imply the others aren’t very skilled

[porto-rosso]

Anyone else find it weird when people get super up in arms about saying one of the bats is the best at (insert something here like martial arts/detective work/acrobatics)?

[iggy-of-fans]

Of Being a Ladybug 1.5

Happy Holiday’s! Here is my gift to you!

Previous  Masterlist 

The class, Then 

Monday of the attack

Adrien smiled, satisfied that Marinette hadn’t done anything. He shook his head, ‘really, what could she have done?’ he asked himself. Marinette was a great girl and had designed for or worked with a few famous people, but he doubted that they even remembered a lowly baker’s daughter. He sure didn’t remember most of his fans. He shrugged. Alya really should have just fact checked. Probably an over-zealous fan that sent it to one of the actors mentioned. Marinette also wouldn’t do anything that could hurt Alya. He got to the class and stopped short at the door. There were a lot of long faces in there.

Alya was sobbing into Nino’s shoulder.

Rose was quietly heaving into Juleka’s shoulder as well. Not so much sobbing, but still very upset.

Max sat tense, glaring at his phone, looking like he might set it on fire.

Kim glared ahead at the bored.

Mylene, for once, looked stronger than all the class and like she might punch somebody.

Adrien was confused. As far as he knew or remembered, only Alya had a real reason to be this upset. He frowned.

“Nino? What’s going on? Why is everyone so upset?” Adrien asked, completely lacking the social understanding to perhaps ask someone else. Who wasn’t holding their+

3 crying girlfriend. Nino just glared at him.

It was Alix who answered, “Seriously Adrien? Read the fucking mood. And to answer your question, Lila Fucking Rossi.”

“I don’t understand. What did Lila do?” Adrien asked, passing over the first comment. He just wanted answers.

“Marinette was right. Like always, she was right. Lila is a liar, and a bad liar at that. We were idiots and all fell for it. Rose lost her friendship with Prince Ali because she bought Lila’s tales. Alya is being sued for slander. Mylene and Ivan contributed to her “go green” projects, only for none of them to be legit. Max is being investigated by the school for letting Kim cheat off him and Kim got kicked off the team for it. Then the school NERD club got wind of the napkin incident and apparently even Superman and Wonder Woman can’t throw a napkin hard enough to take out somebody’s eye. And me? I was told I would be meeting pro skater Esmee Visser. We should have listened to Marinette” Alix shook her head. Mari had warned them. Warned them not to cheat, not to listen to Lila, to work their own way up. Marinette always worked so hard but made it all look so easy.

The whole class bowed their heads. Mylene had ended her friendship with Marinette on Tuesday the week before, because Marinette had suggested that she and Ivan not give their combined 400 Euros to Lila’s charity. This morning, Mylene had seen the news coverage of over fifteen people suing Lila Rossi and by extension, Alya Cesaire, for slander, defamation and theft. Lila had been going around getting things put onto tabs for famous people to pay off, claiming she was a niece, goddaughter or assistant.

They waited for Marinette or Lila to come into the class. Marinette so they could apologize. Lila so they could beat her up. When the warning bell rang, and Ms. Bustier entered the room, nobody even batted an eye. When the last bell rang, and Marinette still wasn’t there, they worried. When the sound of a car being tossed through a building reached their ears, the students evacuated.

Alya rushed to the scene. The Ladyblog may be shut down, but she could start fresh. Maybe Ladybug would even call on Rena Rouge! When she got to the scene, Vipereon was hidden on a building with… was that… a new fox? Alya almost started crying again. Another hero made her way there. A new bee, it looked like. And another, a new turtle too. When Ladybug arrived with the dragon, the team huddled for a minute before breaking apart to fight. Alya snuck closer as she watched Guilty Conscience coming at the heroes.

“I never wanted to be a hero. I feel horrible when I have to lie to protect my identity because I hate liars. I wish I had never met the Master or been picked to be Ladybug or had managed to give the Miraculous away before I got too serious. I hate what this has turned me into, I wish I could go back to just being Marinette…”

Alya gasped. Oh! OH! She shut off her video and turned. She’d wanted to earn back her title as a journalist. But not like this. She ran back to her apartment. Not like this.

As Tuesday morning dawned, the class was sitting together again. Adrien kept looking at the door expectantly. If Chat Noir payed a visit to the bakery last night, no body would know. Namely because nobody was there. Adrien’s foot bounced. The minute she walked through the door; he would confess to her.

Nino looked sideways at Adrien. He knew his boy was a bit starstruck with Ladybug. Did he really expect her to come to school, though? Nobody seemed to notice that Juleka was also missing.

Class started, only to be interrupted again when the principle announced all classes should turn on their TVs to the news.

“Good Morning Paris. We interrupt your scheduled programming to bring you breaking news,” on the screen was Lois Lane, world renowned reporter. “This morning, the Mayor of Paris was able to welcome for the first time, Justice League Members Batman and Wonder Woman, to Paris. Already, the world’s greatest detective is solving the matter of ‘who is Hawkmoth?’ and ‘where is he hiding?’. The investigation was started early this morning and is still ongoing now, however, the heroes are confident the matter will be resolved by end of day today. League intervention is also being given to the local Parisian heroes, who are being folded into the League system. The now dubbed Miracle Team will be receiving regular training and adult supervision from the American Heroes. On other news… One moment please. We are now going live to the traffic copter, which has caught sight of Wonder Woman storming a mansion in the heart of Paris. Jean, what can you tell us about the current situation?”

“Thank you, Lois! I am here, on scene as Wonder Woman storms the Agreste Mansion. Parisian’s will remember that Monsier Agreste was Akumatized as the Collector a few months ago. He certainly isn’t putting up any fight, it looks like. And there is Nathalie Sancour. Both are coming out with their hands up. It looks like Monsiour Agreste is doing all the talking. Ms. Sancour is going down in what appears to be a coughing fit! Police is also arriving on the scene. An arrest has been made. I repeat. An arrest has been made! A police car is pulling off, and looks to be heading to Francois-Dupont, commonly dubbed the Akuma school. If I am not mistaken, it is the same school that Gabriel Agreste’s only son, Adrien Agreste attends! AH, one moment. It looks like Wonder Woman is going into the mansion. Paramedics are also pulling up on scene. Ms. Sancour is being taken into an ambulance, but the other set of paramedics is running into the mansion as well. Is that?! It is! Lois, and watchers, for those of you who do not know, this is Emilie Agreste, the wife of Gabriel and mother of Adrien. She went missing and was declared dead three years ago. Paramedics are now rushing her prone body to the ambulance…”

The news continued, but the class was distracted by the door being thrust open. Officer Raincomprix and his partner entered.

“Adrien Agreste, you are under arrest for suspicion on working with Hawkmoth. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you” the officer stated, placing the cuffs on a stunned Adrien Agreste. His mouth hung open. What…? And then he heard the whispers.

“He was supposed to start school the day of the first Akuma…”

“Always defending the bully…”

“Never there during attacks…”

He shook his head mutely. NO! He was a hero!

The class watched mutely. Two in two days.

*!!*

Because he was a minor and could prove, behind closed doors, that he was in fact Chat Noir, Adrien was acquitted and sent to live with his Aunt Amilie and Cousin Felix Graham de Vanily. He took off the Miraculous ring. Plagg had told him Ladybug would need her cat. So, he put the ring in the mail to be sent off to Wilhelm with a letter explaining everything. He heard through the news that the Dupain-Cheng family had left Paris in a rush. Nobody was quite sure where they went, though most guessed to China. When he landed in London, Adrien had no idea what to expect. He hadn’t seen Felix since his mother’s funeral. He had also heard that Felix’s father had died not long ago. Felix and Amilie greeted him at the airport with smiles. He smiled and dared to hope.

*!!*

Alya watched the footage of Marinette revealing herself again. She sighed. Adrien Agreste was publicly deemed innocent and sent away. Lila Rossi, while facing several lawsuits, was only being sent to a remedial school at the outskirts of Paris. Lila’s mother, who had been akumatized as Guilty Conscience, almost lost her job. As it was now, diplomatic immunity was the only thing keeping her from being investigated further for child neglect. Alya was still facing the law herself, but being a minor, she was only facing some fines and heavy warnings, but otherwise she was also grounded until she was eighteen. Her parents were disappointed, her sisters avoided her most of the time. School had become her only escape. But even there was no escape from everything that had happened. Marinette was no longer there, and Ms. Bustier was under investigation for the amount of Akumatizations in her class. Mr. Damoclese was as well, for mismanaged funding to the school. Turns out his Owl suit and “weapons” were being funded from donations to the school. The class was split up into different classes too. Divide and conquer. Alya sighed. They weren’t really allowed to interact with each other, for fear of it causing more trouble. But most of the other students didn’t want to interact with them either. Alya had never noticed it, but their class was isolated by the rest of the school.

*!!*

Luka sighed as he watched Marinette walk into the Zeta Tube, her head bowed. Paris had ruined Marinette. He brushed his hair back and looked at Juleka. The news had confirmed that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth, but he had given his Miraculous to Nathalie to get rid of. They were pawned off to another party, but Gabriel had no idea who, and Nathalie went under and into a coma like Mrs. Agreste.

The League told them that they would be receiving training and supervision, as there were Miraculous everywhere now. They would be needed to step in. Luka being the oldest was made the leader, despite not having the ladybug miraculous. He sighed. What a shit show.

< ( ^ ^ ) >

Bruce closed the journal and replaced it in the secret compartment in the desk. He turned to the bed behind him, where his newest ward was fast asleep, tear tracks staining her young face. He wanted to rage at Diana and Clark. He’d petitioned to have Marinette live with him from the beginning, but had been denied because Diana’s mother had been a Ladybug. Reading about what Diana had done to the poor girl, all with good intentions but completely misguided, Bruce was ready to wage war. Marinette had been through emotional hell. He would make sure to do better by her. He swore then that he would give her a family.

[handlewcaare]

Trauma was an indistinguishable characteristic for some. Not all, but some.

Like a drug, it was inhibited or it was amplified in demeanor. Some preferred to wear their bleeding hearts on their sleeves, others kept it tucked away in their coat pockets. Even in the midst of a dimly lit meeting room—The detective never understood why, it caused a strain to some peoples’ eyes—he could catch the slightest of lines that betrayed his peer’s discretions (or lack thereof).

The newest recruit was no different.

For comparison, Metal Bat is all attitude, barking at Sitch in the midst of the meeting, but his posture would slump over a chair and kick his feet atop of the table. Irritation and caution about being late for his little sister’s school play would often be a greeting. Yet, his arms never folded and there was no friend to accompany him.

The newest recruit—the Demon Cyborg, he was dubbed—was as guarded as the definition would put it. His mechanical arms would fold, securing the humming core trapped within his pleural cavity. Such private furor would only be reserved for someone who spoke out of line (not often, but it has happened) or he would entirely let the wires within his deltoid plating tense.

Once, the detective let his eyes stray too long. As soon as he felt the singeing caution of neon diadems lock onto him, he feigned immediate disinterest and lit up a cigarette.

Shelter was a natural response to guarding a bleeding heart. Said bleeding heart came in the strange form of a bald man wearing a mustard onesie who asked questions even Badd wasn’t bold enough to ask himself. The detective was joking about caped crusaders being part of the HA, but if Tatsumaki could run around without pants, judgment should be reserved.

“Shit!”

The hiss past teeth managed to inch its way from the mental list of chore the Detective had established for himself. His brow arched when he observed the caped Crusader vigorously Pat down his pockets, his mechanical marvel of a friend looking just as excited as he was.

“The coupon—! It—!” high risk red gloves, ones passable for washing dishes, laconically fished out his wallet and began to haphazardly toss expired cards into his friend’s outstretched palm. “—Did I leave it in the meeting??”

“I can go check-!” The Demon Cyborg sounded just like his age; an excitable nineteen year old who hadn’t fully grasped what being an adult entailed. Just as he swiveled to charge and search aimlessly for a piece of paper in a dimly lit room.

“Excuse me,” the detective’s interjection was as phantasmic as the smoke at the end of his cigarette, “you’re missing a coupon?”

In an instant, that guard returned. What excitability perished under the iron glare the detective was subjected to. Did you steal it? Was what the kid looked like he wanted to declare, but knew it was too ridiculous to take seriously.

Fortune came in the crusader’s sheepish murmur, “yeah, but hey- I can just go get it, it’s notta big deal.”

“It’ll be a hard find,” the detective remarked as he fished for his own leather wallet. It��s trauma just as extensive as his favorite black pants he stitched up constantly after his assignments. “You’d think they didn’t have enough money to pay for lighting in there.”

The laugh the crusader emitted was less than graceful, moreso tender over the aspect of him needing to use said coupon.

“Which store is it?”

“E-Z Mart,” just as the Crusader seemed to decline the offer—don’t worry about it, man—his brows raised when he was presented with a coupon that was 50% off all meat products. “No, it’s-!”

“I don’t shop in that place anyways,” the retort was enough to stun the duo, “I usually just get spam mail from them.”

“Did you used to shop there?”

“Only once,” the detective said, “and then my agency got torn to shreds while I was gone.”

The Crusader’s demeanor never flickered into anything but wonder as to how this would somehow backfire comedically. At least it was much more considerate than what heat the demon cyborg brought in his gaze alone. Once he accepted it, however, his incredulity simmered into astonishment.

“Hey, look-! This is a better deal than the one we got!” As those brown eyes lingered toward the detective, there was something borderline childlike in the crusader’s grin. It was unabashed, even when his company didn’t reflect the same radiance, “I seriously appreciate it, Zoombaman!”

The detective suppress the urge to outright snort a laugh. His shoulders lightly quaked when he chuckled. He might just propose that name to the HA, “not a problem.”

Even as he trailed off to complete a case, he hadn’t the slightest idea how imperative that meeting would have become later.

What started off as occasional small talk became something of an opened wound for Genos. He didn’t mind the one act of charity that was completely unwarranted, nor did he mind the sliver of scrutiny he and Saitama were subjected to. What he did mind was the falsetto of companionship the detective provided.

Little queries such as ‘how are you?’ had now lost their value. They were obsolete to what jokes Saitama and he had shared, one making his mentor practically be thrown into stitches as a little grin seared along Zombieman’s lips.

He knew not the name of his ailment, but only that it gave him a gnawing sensation at his base of his stomach. It made him wonder how soon Zombieman would witness Saitama’s power, how he would respond in awe or in pure desire to keep him harbored from everyone—from his own disciple.

He wasn’t irrational, not when his emotions could be shoveled to the side. However, avarocity only made him determined to keep such discretion buried in the yard outside. The need to discover the truth about his mentor’s power should be a task solely for him alone.

What humility The Carcass seemed to radiate could be no better than the masquerade an obnoxious idol hero adorned or the popular girl peer pressure Fubuki subjected into weaker heroes. It would have easily deceived his mentor, but it would have never catch him off guard.

“Hey,”

The voice was not his mentor’s. In an instant, the cyborg swiveled his attention fully on the corpse. He opted to be as polite as he could possibly muster; “what is it?”

Manners seemed to be in vain, as the brusque and sharp accentuation wrought a pause from the detective. His brow raised, almost as if he stepped an inch too close to a land mine.

“I was going to ask if everything is alright.”

“It is,” he was always fine. Genos wasted no time to grovel over what would soon be lost. The world continued to turn and so would he in response to it. He could prevent it’s reoccurrence onto another or himself, but the present was always a second too soon and a second too late.

Had it been another, they would have irritatingly prompted him to speak with his feelings—‘my feelings are saying I’m busy. Go away.’—or to reflect his frustration with a snarl and a seize of his hoodie collar. The algorithm often fluctuated, sometimes he was just tossed to the side by the momentum of verdant ESP and had to call Kuseno early.

The detective seemed to be an exception of that. What should have been a lecture of respecting his elders was met with a deflated sigh, “well, if you need to talk, just let me know.”

“I won’t need it,” another caution that the detective seemed eager to oblige with a nod and a retreat.

He didn’t need anything that could hamper him in a fight. He needed to become stronger, to become more adaptable in any fight; never just one he could scrape by the skin of his teeth. A pathetic excuse of a pep talk would have just grated on his nerves, moreso than any imperative meeting would have.

He could just never understand why Saitama spoke to him more frequently as of late. Why his greeting consisted of him referring to the detective by name and asking about new recipes that were cheap to buy. Just as Zombieman elucidated what sauces would go great with wagyu as he accompanied them to the food market, his gaze flickered toward the various egg cartons and seized his opportunity.

“Uh? Genos?” Saitama paused, “I don’t think we need eggs.”

“It is imperative for dinner tonight,” the authoritative baritone resounded vibrantly. No tone fluctuated beyond what would betray him of his avaricious misdeed. Had he known then that the detective already had a decent read on him, he wouldn’t have acted the way he did.

It was intrusive, to be read, as Genos never allowed his emotions to flourish and he felt defensive at the look the detective provided him. What did he know, what did he care for other than to know what power Saitama housed? All he wanted was something he could not have—that no one could have.

One could envision his astonishment when his competitor wholeheartedly agreed, “yeah- I guess you guys do need some egg yolk,” the detective paused as he rolled his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, “a lot of people add it to the wagyu dish.”

Saitama’s eyes widened, “really?”

“Yeah, you can have it pasteurized as well.”

Such dismissive behavior shouldn’t have grated his nerves so severely. Yet, the handsome drawl of each note only made him want to refuse to accept the genorosity once more. Unfortunately, Saitama was too oblivious and bought the eggs anyway.

How soon would it be until Zombieman implored about housework. When will he start visiting their apartment and remark how the place wasn’t as clean as he would have made it. He might start recommending ridiculous cleaning techniques like using herbs to remove stains.

The ache anchored in his chest, weighing his core ten times heavier than it should be. He would become obsolete and his Sensei would never acknowledge the progress he made, only his failures. He could dismantle an entire army with nothing but his teeth and Saitama would only remark about how he was broken again. All because Zombieman would excel in what Genos lacked in: instant regeneration.

Even now, as he drifted off to let Sitch’s voice fade into obscurity in the midst of another meeting, he felt that future possibility become a reality. Zombieman would progressively win every fight, only to retire with the ability to swat his opponents with but the bite of his bullet. He would have been a hallmark and all because Genos let Saitama go.

“Hey,”

It wasn’t his mentor’s voice he heard again. He wasn’t aware that the meeting was over until he encountered the detective’s demeanor once again. He could pass off as anemic on a good day.

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” stop fucking asking me.

Whether the detective knew it was the same song and dance or he found offense in the rebuttal, neither prevented him from gently settling beside a neglected seat. It was unwarranted, considering how quick Genos was to inch away, but he didn’t cease there.

“About the market,” the detective said surgically, “I wasn’t sure if I was stepping on your toes or not.”

“You weren’t,” another hasty refutation, “you were helping my Sensei with cooking.”

“And that’s something you usually do, right?”

The faintest sound of a pin drop seemed to resonante between the two of them. Even when his mechanical phalanges burrowed and gripped at his knees, the Demon Cyborg was more candid than ever.

“It is,” he was a terrible liar, it would seem.

The detective’s simper was lethargic at the contours, his back eased against the chair. How could anyone be so casual around the likes of Genos? “I think you need to be more aware that people aren’t exactly as materialistic as you expect them to be. That includes yourself.

“At the end of the day, he’s still your friend, right?”

There was no contempt by Saitama this morning, nor was he eager to blatantly ignore his roommate. He wasn’t more irritated, nor was he frustrated that Genos didn’t know a thing about cutting Wagyu. He was Saitama; the same man who could mold the Earth’s core with his limitless strength had sprawled himself over the futon to play one of King’s game consoles.

The epiphany managed to hush his exacerbation, “Well, yes,” there was an eventual pause when Genos caressed his own chin, “he hasn’t treated me any differently lately.”

“I just thought it’d be a nice reminder is all,” the detective assured. Before the cyborg would interject with his usual declaration of being busy, the detective cut in, “I know, you’re busy. I won’t lecture you if you don’t need it.”

If he didn’t need it, Genos would have scoffed. Yet, he could only find a small semblance of reassurance that he wasn’t being replaced. It was minuscule, barely a flicker of submission, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind.

For a moment, he wondered if the detective was lying through his damn teeth. It would have been feasible enough to assume he would, especially to avoid a confrontation he wouldn’t win in. By the time the evening fell, Genos proposed a query past the plumbs of steam in the hotpot. His brow arched when he watched Saitama ground his teeth and comedically groan when he lost another pocket monster—Pokémon?—match.

“Sensei?” Maybe now wouldn’t be the best of times.

“Yeah?” The defeated sigh singed more than the chirping boiling.

“How would you describe our relationship?”

What acrimonious loss from the gym battle had been replaced by a combatative demeanor of perplexity and astonishment. “Well, I say we’re pretty good friends.”

“... even if I don’t have everything you need?”

The personification of an immovable mountain only sighed. Saitama might not have much credit when it comes to intelligence, but he could still hone in on the tirade of emotions Genos conjured. There was always a resonance as evident in how his outburst was diminished by the calm the blasphemous cyborg surprisingly radiated.

“You’re not my butler, man,” though he had a bad habit of thinking he was, “you have all that you got and that’s more than enough. I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

What sprout of assurance bloomed at the root of his core. It couldn’t answer for Zombieman’s stunning humility nor did it provide Genos the promise that he could harness the world exclusively for his Sensei, but that he was enough. Maybe not for later, when his strength would progress, but for now.

Had Saitama not known him, he would have missed the small phantasmic smile, “dinner’s ready.”

Genos was himself

and that was okay.