Maribug Split

Chapter 1: Antibug

Mornings were always difficult, even before life became a three-ring circus. Daily shows of flying trapeze, acrobatics, gymnastics and target shooting, with her being the target more often than not.

Her public persona, the superhero with the mask, performing acts to be proud of. The toughest act was juggling. Always juggling. Day in and day out, in costume and out, always juggling. Hero, idol, star, student, daughter, friend, girl.

Until she was no longer juggling. None of the other acts existed anymore. She was not a hero or idol or a star. All that remained was the student, the daughter, the friend.

She was just a girl.

She had one act - the clown. The only act she remembered doing, the only one she knew. Awkward and clumsy, her very presence inspired jokes. Everyone around her must burst with laughter at the comedy which is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

School.

That had its own level of difficulty.

Picking an outfit was usually easy, with always a pang of regret. She had many outfits she designed and made herself, but could never bring herself to wear in public. She always reverted to a t-shirt and jeans with a blazer of sorts. Her black hair pulled back into twin-tails. Nothing fancy, nothing special - just like Marinette.

She always admired how Ladybug wore that skin-tight bodysuit showing all her curves to the world, with plenty of curves as she got older. She has seen the sites dedicated to Ladybug. The pictures and art and meme were quite startling. Some were gross, even freaky. But most were entertaining, even flattering. There were photos, GIFS, stories, and even songs all dedicated to Ladybug. It could get very overwhelming.

Perhaps it was for Ladybug. But for Marinette, it was just another thing that Ladybug had that she didn't.

------------------------------------------------

“Marinette,” that’s her name, she was certain.

“Marinette!”

Marinette’s head snapped up to attention. This was class and she was sleeping. Again.

Let me think. Where am I? Yes, Physics. That would explain the sleeping.

“Marinette, please sit up and pay attention. I do not tolerate this rude behavior. I expect more of you.”

That was Mr. Belrose. He was nice. She used to like his lessons.

“I am sorry, Mr. Belrose,” piped Marinette in the most awake voice she could summon, “I’m listening. This won’t happen again.”

“I sure hope so. Now everyone please turn to page one hundred and twenty-seven and work through items six to ten.”

Marinette’s eyes were drifting again as the words swam on the page. She could not find item six. All the numbers on the page looked to be eight.

Ok, item eight it is. I’ll do all the eights.

“What’s going on, Marinette? Still insomnia. Did you get those pills I suggested?”

The elbow in her side indicated Alya was the one pestering her. At least she still cared.

“Sort-of and no. I told you I don’t think they’ll help.”

“I’m sure they will. They helped me last year. I spent a whole week awake when you-know-what with you-know-who. These pills dropped me like a sack of green beans into a pleasant comatose.”

“Since I have no you-know-what or any you-know-who, then they will not work on me.”

“Really?” you could hear the slyness creeping into Alya’s voice, “You-know-who is two rows in front on the right. I would think he would inspire pill taking.”