In a Paris marred by huge social divide, being born in the privileged Predateur class will give you every opportunity you could want, while being born a lowly Insecte will make achieving your dreams an uphill struggle. For the first time in centuries, this system is being challenged - by a viral new social justice movement known as 'Miraculous'. But a movement is only as strong as those who lead it, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng doesn't feel strong at all. By day, she struggles to cope with her underwhelming job as a maid and her one sided infatuation with her employer's son, Adrien Agreste. By night, she feels the pressure of being Ladybug, responsible for the hopes of the city. It doesn't help that her partner is a Predateur boy with a penchant for cat puns, or that they're up against a frighteningly well organised terrorist organisation. Well, no one said the road to equality would be an easy one. Marinette just hopes she can keep a hold on the many threads of her life until then, before everything starts to unravel...


Chapter 1: In which life is generally disappointing

Rule 8: No Insecte shall ever be chosen above a Predateur for a job.

6 Months Ago

Marinette stared down at the rejection letter in her hands, resisting the urge to shred it as tears crept into her eyes.

…Your work was of an outstanding quality, but, regrettably, there were no spaces for Insecte candidates on this year's program.

We wish you every success for the future.

Agreste Designs

She'd known this would happen; had known that there was virtually no chance that she'd get the spot. This was an apprenticeship with one the cities largest garment designers, after all. But she hadn't realised how much hope she'd had. Stupid.

She kicked at the scuffed legs of her tiny wooden desk. So stupid.

It just wasn't fair. She knew she was good. Her clothes had never garnered a criticism. Talent like hers was the 'cream of the crop' that Agreste Designs was looking for. But those precious apprenticeships were being granted to Preds with half her skill. Just because they could boast of being born as Preds.

Taking a deep breath, she blinked and put the letter to one side, picking up the other one she'd received that day. Heavy paper, and an instantly recognisable crest - she thought she knew what it was.

Cher Mme. Dupain-Cheng, it read,

Congratulations! As a tenant under the Agreste estate, you are entitled to a position in the house after completing your mandatory education. As our records indicate that you have recently finished college, you are hereby offered the position of:

Janitorial Assistant to the Main House

If you have secured further training for yourself, and do not require this job, please let us know as soon as possible. The position comes with accommodation and meals, for which a fee will be deducted from your salary. If you are taking this position, please report to the below-stairs admin in person on August 15th. Further information can be provided to you then.

Kind regards,

Agreste Estate Management

This was it. Marinette's hands shook. This was the job she hadn't wanted to have to consider. The fall-back option. The worst case scenario. Marinette looked at the stack of rejection letters placed neatly at the back of the desk. Well, it looked like she was doomed to be a.. what, again? A Janitorial Assistant to the Main House. Oh, God. A maid. And what was that the letter said again? Accommodation is provided. So she'd have to move away. Well, she didn't have to; the Agreste house was a ten minute walk away after all. But she looked around her tiny, sparsely furnished room, and knew she ought to. Her father was a senior manager in a large bakery, and while the salary was good enough to let her mother work part time as a librarian, it wouldn't do to put extra strain on her parents by insisting she stay at home.

The sudden reality of her future hit her like a ton of bricks, and, shoulders shaking, she cried.


Present Day

Fumbling with her vacuum cleaner, unable to persuade the power lead to extend any further, Marinette trudged to the wall socket and moved the plug down to the next power source. She'd been cleaning this corridor three times a week for five months now, and she hadn't gotten any more proficient at cleaning it. Nor had it gotten any more interesting to clean.

Even after living in the Agreste mansion for almost half a year - albeit in the badly insulated outhouse - she still could barely believe the scope of it. Sure, even amongst Preds, the Agreste family was prolific, and sure, they weren't all this wealthy, but still. They had servants for their servants. They had so many hierarchies of servants that some of the upper jobs were done by Preds themselves. This corridor alone had double the floor space of Marinette's parents entire apartment, and it wasn't even a main corridor, just another of the large wings.

Marinette had struggled with it, initially. Struggled with the idea that, to all intents and purposes, her future -her life, her everything - was limited to cleaning this house. Though she'd made friends with the other Bugs in her cleaning team, and had quickly fitted into the large servant community, she'd still been depressed for a good month or so after starting. She'd been homesick, as well. Sure, she visited her parents almost every other day, but it wasn't the same. Her narrow bedroom in the Agreste outhouse wasn't home.

According to Alya, her best friend, life wasn't much better even if you hadn't been forced to take 'the patron's offer'. Alya, unlike Marinette, had been able to turn down the Bourgeois family's offer of a job as a dish washer after securing an apprenticeship with a local media company. She'd been overjoyed - until she'd found out exactly how much work she was expected to do.

'They pay me €2 per 500 words, Marinette,' she'd bemoaned during her first week. 'And they expect 8000 words a day. How is anyone supposed to produce quality journalism like that?'

Life, reflected Mari, really wasn't fair. And here were the Pred children the same age as them, either waltzing into apprenticeships that they'd never even had to try to get, or - the ultimate luxury - staying on at lycee for further education. Marinette tried to imaging sitting in a classroom now, at 17, learning about… books, or maths, or whatever she'd learned about. Imagine having few enough responsibilities to do that.

Fuelled by her frustration, she ploughed forward, pushing the vacuum cleaner so hard it made furrows in the carpet. She was meant to hoover in perfect, unbroken stripes, but who cared? It wasn't as if anyone ever noticed. She could be as disorganised as she liked. Smiling at the thought, she pulled on the vacuum, and spun a large semicircle with it, watching the velvet of the carpet fluff up in the wrong direction. She turned to complete the circle…. and collided solidly with a figure who had moved up behind her.

She would have fallen over in shock, had the person not held her up and lifted her onto her feet again. As it was, she dropped the vacuum, and it whirred uselessly and noisily on the floor. Dread in her stomach, she turned. Oh god.

'M… M….monsieur Ad…Ag..Agreste,' she eventually managed to stammer out, blushing deep red at her incompetence. She bowed, as was expected, thankful for the opportunity to drop her eyes to the floor. They couldn't stay there forever, unfortunately, and after a moment of silence she flicked them back up, trying to gauge the expression on Adrien Agreste's face.

He didn't look angry - though, to be fair, Marianette had never seen him look angry. He was admiring her handiwork with the vacuum, but met her eyes, and responded.

'Bonjour… Marion? No, Marinette. Sorry.'

'S..sorry? No, not at all, you have nothing to be sorry for; I'm the one who's sorry, I was just vacuum the sorting… Ah, I mean… The sort vacuum. Ah! Sorry, I meant…' Her tirade of nonsense didn't really finish, it just… faded out in shame. He looked at her with an uncertain smile (Oh lord, he though she was a lunatic), then carried on walking down the corridor. She watched him enter a room further down, then flopped in distress.

'Urgh!' Of course, she'd forgotten: she was a walking cliché, and a complete failure to the world of social activism. How nice to be reminded. In world where over half the population were treated as inferior beings; where her future was decided and limited by people who had no right to do so; what did she do? Fall hopelessly and one-sidedly in love with Adrien Agreste, their generation's embodiment of privileged birth.

It wasn't her fault, though, as she'd explained to Alya after confessing her infatuation. She'd walked into the Agreste house with every intention of finding Adrien, the model son, and heir to the estate, obnoxiously elitist. Her first glimpses of him, normally wrapped in the arms of the curse on humanity that was Chloe Bourgeois, did nothing to avail her of that perspective. And when she'd seen him running away following a prank that involved messing up a marble table she'd spent all morning polishing, she'd been sure he was just a spoiled Pred brat.

But then, things changed. 'You don't understand,' she'd moaned to Alya. 'He helped polish the table again. He actually apologised to me. And he gave me an umbrella to walk home with.' She'd waved the umbrella, now a cherished possession, as proof. 'I.. I think he's actually considerate. Everyone else says so. Do you know, he tries to learn the names of all the servants? And that he once gave one of the plumbing boys a gift when he found out it was his birthday? And.,.'

'Alright, enough already,' Alya said good-naturedly. 'I get it, Adrien is God's gift to the earth. I'm sure I'll hear a lot more about him.'

'Argh,' Marinette said, 'I doubt it. He's convinced I'm a total klutz. I can barely speak to him. I go bright red, completely, and I stutter.'

Alya burst out laughing. 'You, stutter? Marinette 'outspoken' Dupain-Cheng? Now that's something I'd like to see.'

'Shut up,' Marinette moaned, hitting her arm playfully.

'You know, Marinette,' Alya said, looking at her thoughtfully, 'This is not what I thought you'd be worried about at all. I thought for sure you'd be wanting to know about this new movement. You know - 'Miraculous.''

Marinette gulped. 'I thought it was called 'The Miraculous Truth'?'

'Yes, but that's so cumbersome. 'Miraculous' is much snappier. It fits into headline much better.'

'You're writing about it? It's only two weeks old!'

'Yeah, but this is big, Marinette. I can feel it. This isn't like all those other social justice movements. These guys have got more popularity in two weeks than the Akumas got in a year - and from Predateurs as well as Insectes. That's never happened before.'

Marinette cringed, trying to turn the conversation away before it became incriminating. 'Eh, well, we don't know how big it is yet. There might only be the two of them.'

It was the wrong thing to say. Alya's eyes lit up in anticipation. 'That doesn't matter. Those two are brilliant.'

'Ladybug and Chat Noir? Come on, Alya, do you think they can make that much of a difference?'

'A member of the Insecte class and a member of the Predateur class working together for 'peace and equality for all'? Yes, I think they can. And I'm surprised you're not jumping on their bandwagon. You're passionate about equality.'

Marinette thudded her head on the table. 'Not passionate enough to resist the allure of Adrien Agreste,' She pouted. 'What sort of equality fighter does that make me?'

'A young female one.' Alya shook her head sadly. 'Who is incredibly susceptible to good looks.'

Marinette laughed, and the conversation turned to more frivolous matters.

Now that she thought about it, her first two weeks at the Agreste household had been incredibly busy. What with moving away, finding a new group of friends, the intensity of her crush on Adrien, and… that other business, it was a miracle she hadn't had a breakdown.

She stood quietly, reminiscing, until a glance at one of the ornate mantle clocks reminded her that it was twenty minutes until her lunch break. The lunch break that she had an important meeting in. Cursing, she flew back into action, racing down the corridor with the vacuum flying beside her. She polished off the corridor in ten minutes. Not her best piece of hoovering, but she doubted anyone would notice. Tucking the cumbersome thing into the nearest cleaning supplies cupboard she saw, she retrieved her bag from the potted plant she'd hidden it in. Then, she made her way into the Agreste garden, looking for a concealed spot near the wall. She'd need the privacy for what she planned to do next.

Stripping off the black top, trousers, and shoes that made up her maid outfit, she dumped them in the bag, allowing the clothes she'd put in underneath them to be seen. A tight halterneck top in a spandex material, red with black polka-dots, and waist high matching leggings, designed so that the spots matched up. From the bag, she pulled a black leather jacket, again as tight as possible while still allowing mobility, and black gloves. Practical black knee boots with red soles that gave excellent grip. The jacket had various straps inside it, allowing her to place a set of grapplers and some multipurpose tools inside. They weighed her down, but not impossibly.

Clothes sorted, she then changed her hair, pulling it from the aggressively tight bun she normally wore at work to two pigtails that let her long bangs sweep across her forehead. She exchanged her plain black earrings for a bright red pair. Finally, a swipe of red paint across the eyes - heavy stage makeup - changed her face just enough to make it hard to recognise her. She was ready. Hiding her bag under a nearby hollow stump, she pulled out the grapplers and quickly scaled the wall at the edge of the Agreste estate.

Five minutes later and she was dashing across one of the flat rooftops in one of the more middle class areas of Paris. She was late.

Glancing at her phone, the tiny one she used as Ladybug, she saw a message.

0814 687345: Where are mew? :3

She rolled her eyes. There wasn't much point in replying, since, with one last bound, she landed on the roof that was their prearranged meeting spot. He was waiting.

'It's about time, my lady,' her partner said, smirking. 'I was all ready to have a cat-nap.'

'Very cute, Chaton, but we've got bigger things to talk about. Unless, of course, you've got better things to be doing? Laser pointers to chase?'

'So sar-cat-stic today; has something happened?'

Marinette groaned, and flopped onto the raised chimney on the roof. 'Of course something's happened. Didn't you see the news? Another appeal to overturn an amendment to rule 8 was lost. It's completely wrecked the Budel case. The poor man's lost his job and is sentenced to six months in prison. It's just not fair.'

'No,' her partner said, in a serious tone, 'It isn't. It's not right.' After a moment or two he scooted closer to her, invading her personal space, and picked up her hand, leaning in. 'But is there anything else?' He asked with a smirk, voice low and smarmy. 'Anything in your… purr-sonal life?'

She smiled and took her hand back, using her other one to cheerfully push his face away. 'Wouldn't you like to know? But come on! We have a campaign to organise. Do you have those plans?' He looked mock offended for a moment, then turned back to business.

'But of course. Your wish is my command, my lady.'

Marinette sighed. It had been over five months since the enigma known as Chat Noir had come in to her life and claimed a spot as Ladybug's partner, and she still couldn't make head or tail of him.

Every time she saw him, she was reminded again of how bizarre their situation was. A Predateur playboy with an interest in activism, and a random Insecte girl with nothing more to her name than a passion for equality, thrown together to try and make a small dent in the social system they lived in. All while knowing nothing more about each other than the fact they shared the same goal - a fact she'd doubted more often than not when they'd first started. He stood before her, all in black, his leather jacket thrown over a skintight thermal jumper marked with paw-prints and skinny jeans, boots and gloves completing the look. Unlike her, her wore an actual mask over his eyes - eyes which were so vibrantly green that she suspected contact lenses. She'd made his outfit for him. When they'd first met he'd been in nothing more concealing than a hoodie and a cornerstore mask. Once they'd decided on their theme and approach, she'd made up outfits that made them look more like a pair. Even now, she was pleased with them.

If only the rest of him was as easy to pin down as his clothes.

When she'd been told that someone else had been recruited along with her - that she was going to have a partner, and a Pred one at that - this guy was not what she'd imagined. For starters, she thought that he'd be older. Experienced. It took most Predateur's until middle age to realise that the system they lived in didn't really benefit the economy or culture as a whole; or to develop the modicum of empathy required to perceive it's unfairness. And regardless of age, she expected someone with knowledge. Someone who lived and breathed activism. Why else would you risk your life for it?

When she'd run into Chat Noir, then, on her first outing as Ladybug, she'd been boggled. Frivolous, completely apathetic, and altogether too reliant on puns, she'd quickly decided that the only reason this flirt was in the game at all - considering his every action spoke of privilege - was for fun. And she'd resented it. It was hard to work effectively as a team when she was constantly doubting her partners commitment to the cause.

After a while, her anxiety had started to fade. It was nothing conscious on her part; just the gradual realisation that he would always be around and eager to handle a situation. She thought he might have quit of his own accord once he realised vigilante activism wasn't all fun and games, but the scratches and scrapes and bruising he gradually accumulated just made him run in all the faster next time. Before she knew it, Ladybug found she enjoyed his company. Their banter was refreshing, and once she'd gotten used to the puns they weren't all that bad. And, while she was forced to be the more leader-like of the two of them (despite feeling vastly out of her depth), he was loyal to her plans to a fault. She quickly and almost subconsciously began to trust him to have her back.

His voice broke into her thoughts. 'Not that I mind you staring, but I thought it was the plans you wanted to see.'

She ignored his smirk and took the crumpled paper he offered. 'This is the complete Palace Hotel floor plan? Are you sure? How did you get it?'

He looked suitably unimpressed by her interrogation. 'Yes, it's complete. I got it by a very complex spy method.'

'Really?'

'Mm, I walked in without my disguise on and pretended I was interested in a room. They gave me a full tour.' He grinned at her.

'Well, forgive me. You forget that they don't even let Bugs in there unless they work. We can't all be as privileged as you, chaton.'

'The honour of your company is all the privilege I need, my lady.'

She raised her eyes on despair and turned back to the plans. 'Now, where will they be?'

'Are you sure that an Akuma will attack?' Chat Noir asked.

Ladybug nodded. 'They have to. They've made such a big deal over the court case that they can't just back down now that the Bug side lost. Think about it.' She lifted up her hand, striking the points off on her finger as she spoke them. 'Judge Carade is well known as one of the most biased justices in Paris, and he's just ruled against a member of the Insecte class in a very public case. This case marks the end of 40 years on the bench, and he's having a celebratory dinner - tomorrow - in the palace hotel, with old friends, including the Mayor. When are the Akumas going to get a better time to strike? It's a gathering of some of the most elite Preds in the city, in one of the cities most elitist locations. An attack there would be perfect for them.'

Chat Noir nodded. 'So you think that Papillon will have been planning this strike for a while?'

'Almost certainly as long as he's known about the dinner. Which depends on who he is, but if he's close to anyone close to Carade, potentially a couple of months.'

'Great. How did we miss it until the night before?'

'Ah, calm down, kitty. It's not like either of us were invited, after all.'

Her partner shifted uncomfortably.

'Anyway,' she continued, 'the issue isn't what we haven't done, it's what we're going to do.'

'Carade will know of the threat. He'll have every security in place.'

'Yes, but as we've seen in the past, Papillon's capable of having his Akumas run rings around normal security measures.'

'Well, there's only one place that the celebration could be happening, and that's the main dining room. There are too many people attending for it to be anywhere else.'

'That's useful to know. What are the entrance ways into the room?'

He pointed on the map. 'It's on the fourth floor. There's a large door into the corridor, a side door to the kitchen, another to an elevator and stairs, large French doors onto a balcony, and a dumbwaiter in the kitchen.'

'Great.' Ladybug hrumphed. 'That won't be difficult to secure at all.'

'Maybe,but there will be lots of bodyguards around. And they'll sweep the whole place for bombs beforehand.'

'Hmmm.' She sat still for a minute, fingers tapping. 'Chat Noir, I've got an idea.'


Why is it that my first writing foray in a new fandom has to be an epic scale AU requiring precise plotting, careful characterisation and lots and lots of words? I was going to to continue this chapter, but then realised that if I did that I'd have a book on my hands before I knew it. So I've settled for this tentative chapter to establish the context, and we'll see how it goes. This AU will take a slightly more serious look at the exploits of our two favourite superheroes - though don't worry, I intend to prioritise their relationship. This story will definitely feature all four sides of the love square at some point. Anyway, do let me know what you think - is this an idea that ought to have stayed in my head? Is anything not clear about it? Thanks for reading!