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It is an unspoken consensus among Parisians that Ladybug’s suit is…well. Even next to Chat Noir’s outfit which evokes the image of an anime cat girl more than that of a stereotypical superhero, Ladybug’s costume leaves much to be desired. A spandex onesie painted red with black spots, a pair of pigtails held in place by red ribbons—if one was feeling uncharitable, they could even describe Ladybug’s ‘suit’ as a crime against fashion, an attack upon sighted individuals, a blight only marginally better than the garish eyesores known as akumas.
This doesn't mean people respect Ladybug any less, of course. In fact, Ladybug (in addition to being a literal superhero) is a hero and inspiration to fashion-blind teenage girls everywhere in the world. Still, nobody would complain if Ladybug were to upgrade her outfit into something befitting a superhero of her status.
Unbeknownst to Parisians, all of this is by design. When Ladybug first fastened the Ladybug miraculous to her ears, she had been gripped by an all-consuming terror that originated well beyond this lifetime. She didn't know why she so feared being a superhero magical girl at the time, but the magic of the miraculous had molded itself according to her subconscious desires, making Ladybug as uncute and unlike a magical girl as possible.
But a lot has changed since that fateful day. Ladybug has changed a lot since then, and as much as her ugly onesie has served its purpose, Ladybug’s subconscious is slowly coming to the same conclusion that Parisians have held since her debut—her outfit of choice does not fit the aspiring fashion designer at all.
As a loveliness of ladybugs washes over Paris, Ladybug turns to her partner with a grin. She holds out her fist, bumping it lightly against Chat Noir’s. “Pound it!”
“Pound it, m’Lady.” Chat grins back. He deftly unhooks his baton from his belt. “See you tonight for patrol?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Ladybug says, removing her yo-yo from her own belt, “You still have to help me save my physics grade, remember? I will get at least a C on this test or I’ll die trying.” Ladybug turns around to leave, the black fabric on her back fluttering with the movement. “See you later, Chaton.”
“Huh.” Chat blinks, his finger pausing above the pawprint button on his baton. “I like your new cape. Capes. Are they a pair of elytra?”
Ladybug pauses, her hand half-extended in preparation to toss her yo-yo. She lowers her hand, turning her head to stare at Chat Noir. “My what?”
Chat gestures at Ladybug’s back. “Your elytra…?”
Ladybug twists to look at the back of her suit. There are indeed two flaps of thick black fabric hanging down her back, their convex hemline brushing her waist. It’s quite a creative design, the fashion designer part of her comments, a playful but minimalistic imitation of the elytra her namesake possesses.
“Huh.” Ladybug says intelligently.
“Did you…not add that?” Chat blinks, tilting his head. “I just thought you wanted to spice up your costume.”
Ladybug shakes her head. “I didn’t notice until you pointed it out.” She pauses, parsing her partner’s words. “…wait. We can change our costumes? Since when!?”
Chat opens his mouth. He pauses, closes his mouth, then reopens it again. “Wait, you didn’t know!?”
“Of course I didn’t!” Ladybug huffs, crossing her arms. “Do you think I wear the world’s ugliest onsie pyjamas every time I go out on purpose? Do you think I enjoy it!?”
Chat Noir doesn’t reply.
“Oh my kwamis, you did.” Ladybug gapes in disbelief. She rubs her face with the hand not holding her yo-yo. “You know I want to be a fashion designer when I grow up! Why do you think I’d subject myself to such—such torture on a daily basis? Did you just assume I have bad taste!?”
“…I assumed you have your reasons.” Chat replies evasively. He does not point out that his father, nobility of the fashion empire, has approximately similar tastes in clothes.
“Well, my reason is that a certain kwami forgot to tell me I could change my costume!” Ladybug scowls. She wishes she could detransform right now just to throttle Tikki. “I can’t believe it. This is betrayal of the highest order.”
“But if you didn’t change your outfit, why did those…” Chat gestures at her cape elytra, “just randomly appear?”
“Weird miraculous magic stuff?” Ladybug shrugs, making a face. “I dunno much about that. You’re the one training to be Guardian, not me.”
“Hm,” Chat’s leather ears swivel in thought. “Plagg told me our suits conform to our preferences, and they tell us a lot about our personalities. He…uh…and then he immediately called me a weeb—I don’t even want to know how he learnt that word—but that’s not the point. Do you think your costume change might be due to you…recovering your memories?”
“I would’ve thought that would make my miraculous suit more like my magical girl dress, not…this.”
Chat shrugs, then frowns. A contemplative expression blooms across his face. “Do you want your suit to look like your magical girl dress, though?”
“Of course not!” Ladybug scoffs immediately, “I left that past behind me. That isn’t who I am anymore.”
“Maybe that’s why.” Chat suggests, “Perhaps you’ve outgrown your previous suit, and that’s why it’s morphing to match your current self.”
“Like a larva breaking free from their pupa into a full-fledged ladybug?” Ladybug’s face grows contemplative as well. “I guess that’s…yeah. To be honest, the only part of my superhero outfit I liked was my hairstyle.”
She chose this hairstyle—pigtails decorated with red ribbons—as a child, before she was consciously aware of what it meant to her. (kindness, hope, absolution, the Goddess cradling Marinette’s soul as they ascend into a realm beyond the suffering of her first life) Now, it is a way of honouring the Law of Cycles, and the girl she no longer is.
“Then you have your answer.” Chat Noir smiles, “I can’t wait to see what new designs you’ll come up with, m'Lady.”
Ladybug manages to scrape a B on her physics test, or so she tells Chat Noir as she presents him with a Dupain-Cheng cake as thanks for tutoring her. So did Marinette, Chat doesn't comment, glancing at the logo on the cake box. He wonders if she's eating a cake as celebration in her apartment too.
They cut up the cake with the plastic knife attached to the box, tearing up the cardboard to form makeshift plates. Chat Noir enthusiastically gobbles down his share, smearing a streak of white frosting from the tip of his nose to the edge of his mask. Ladybug eats her slice in a slightly more dignified manner, spooning bites into her mouth with the flat of her plastic knife.
Soon enough, Chat scrapes the last crumbs of cake into his mouth and sets his empty plate down. He cleans the frosting from his face with a swipe of his fingers, quickly licking his claws clean before Ladybug can lecture him about hygiene.
Except the lecture doesn’t come. Leather ears flicking in surprise, Chat glances to his side. He finds his partner staring intently at her half-eaten cake, the hand holding her makeshift knife-spoon hovering absently above the plate.
Chat clears his throat, “Hey, m’Lady, what’s on your mind?”
Ladybug blinks, startled out of her thoughts. “Nothing.” she shrugs, slicing off a chunk of cake with the knife-spoon and pressing it into her mouth. She swallows before continuing, “I was just thinking about my costume upgrade. It sucks that I can’t move my elytra.”
Chat feels his eyebrows shoot up, “Well, they are just two flaps of fabric that happen to be positioned like wings.”
Ladybug makes a face, “But so are your belt tail and ears! And yet you get to move your furry costume. Why shouldn’t I get to move my wings as well?” Ladybug pauses, her eyes lighting up in the way they do when she thinks of a particularly insane plan. “Maybe if I jump off a building—”
“Please don’t do that.”
“Why not? I read somewhere that’s how baby birds learn to fly.”
“But you’re not a bird, you’re a bug.” Chat Noir shoots back, “And I’d much rather not have to scrape you off the pavement, like a bug.”
Ladybug huffs. She shoves another bite of cake into her mouth, “Since when did you become the reasonable one, Chaton?”
“And I hate it, thanks.” Chat replies, deadpan. “So please don’t do anything else that will force me to become the voice of reason. It’s giving me the urge to wash the taste out of my mouth with cheese, and we all know how much I hate cheese.”
The next time they meet for patrol, Chat Noir finds his partner bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, the twin capes on her back fluttering up and down with the movement. No, wait—the previously immobile flaps are buzzing of their own accord, out of sync with Ladybug’s movement. Which means—
Ladybug turns around, noticing Chat’s arrival on the roof. “Hey, Chaton!” she laughs in delight, her fabric wings fluttering behind her. “Look! My elytra can move now!”
Chat’s belt tail wags in response to his partner’s enthusiasm. “Wow, that’s so cool.”
“I know, right!?” Ladybug replies. A devious grin creeps across her face. Chat immediately knows he’ll hate whatever comes out of her mouth next. “You know, maybe if I jump off a building now—”
Chat Noir despairs for the death of common sense. “Why are you so caught up on that?” he complains, “You can just use your yo-yo to travel around—you don’t even need to fly!”
“Exactly! It’s not like the fall will kill me.” Ladybug laughs, the movement of her wings only growing more erratic in her excitement. “Bye, minou~”
Chat has never regretted the fact their so-called base of operations is on a roof more than he does in this moment. “m’Lady, wait—!”
Too late. With her impressive leg strength, Ladybug flings herself off the building, yo-yo still firmly attached to her hip. She disappears over the ledge before Chat can even start to reach for his baton.
As it turns out, Ladybug can’t fly, but she manages to glide down to the ground just fine with her synthetic wings.
Ladybug might survive jumping off buildings without her yo-yo, but if his partner’s sudden adrenaline junkie streak continues, Chat Noir isn’t sure his heart will hold out for much longer.
After that, Chat Noir and Ladybug next meet during an akuma attack. At first, Chat is too busy trying not to sneeze his internal organs out to pay much attention to anything other than Mr Pigeon (at this point, he’s fairly certain Hawkmoth only akumatises poor M. Ramier because of Chat’s pigeon allergy, it isn’t like Mr Pigeon has ever become more than a minor nuisance in the few dozen times he appeared). Ladybug manages to snatch Mr Pigeon’s bird whistle soon enough, tossing it to Chat who easily crushes it with his enhanced strength, not even bothering to call upon Cataclysm. Ladybug purifies the escaping butterfly and casts the miraculous cure, soothing Chat Noir’s irritated nose better than any nasal spray. M. Ramier blinks as he comes back to himself, offering Ladybug and Chat Noir a slight bow before walking off, too accustomed to being akumatized to be bothered for long.
It is only after waving M. Ramier goodbye that Chat turns to Ladybug for their ritualistic fist bump. He pauses with his fist in the air, taking in the latest version of his partner’s outfit.
Fabric now gathers around Ladybug’s hips, forming a red-spotted skirt that stretches to her knees. The bottom half of Ladybug’s suit remain as tights beneath her dress, but the sleeves of her suit have disappeared, leaving behind elbow-length gloves.
With adrenaline fading from her system and Chat Noir’s eyes upon her, Ladybug unconsciously hunches forward. She shivers, clutching her exposed shoulders as if to protect them from the elements despite the fairly sunny weather.
“Yeah…no.” Chat shakes his head. Ladybug looks good in this iteration—not a surprise there, she looked good even in her original spandex onesie, which would’ve been impossible for anybody else. But she seems so uncomfortable in this hybrid dress-suit version of her costume, it cannot stay.
That startles a laugh out of his partner. “No,” Ladybug agrees, and that is the last time Chat sees Ladybug incorporate a dress into her superhero costume.
The time after that, Ladybug’s dress is replaced by a waist cape with inverted black-and-red colours on the inside. Her sleeves are back again, covering the full length of her arms so that no skin is showing.
“What do you think?” Ladybug asks, twirling around in demonstration. Her capes—all three of them—flare out around her. It’s…very flashy. “I don’t know about this. I don’t mind the butt cape, but with my cape wings this feels…a bit too much.”
“You’re right,” Chat frowns, “Go back to your bodysuit design. It suits you better.”
Ladybug goes back to her bodysuit, with the sole addition of her cape wings. It remains the same for several akuma attacks, until Chat begins thinking Ladybug has decided this outfit suits her well enough for its purpose.
He’s proven wrong when Ladybug lands on their rooftop for patrol, the red armour plates on her bodysuits clattering against each other. “Oh. Your suit changed again.”
Ladybug strikes a pose, jutting her hips with her arms held out to her sides. A sheepish grin flashes across her face, and she drops the pose just as quickly to rub the back of her neck. Clack, goes her armour again “Do you like it? I’m still trying to figure out which one I like the best.”
“The design’s great,” Chat nods with the confidence of a supportive friend who thinks his partner looks great in everything. “It's supposed to represent a ladybug's exoskeleton, right? It's just…hm.” Chat’s leather ears flick. “Your armour’s loud.”
Ladybug's shoulders slump, her armour plates clambering in sympathetic asynchrony. “Yeah, I thought so.” she sighs, “I gotta tell Tikki to tone it down.”
The armour plates grow smaller every time Chat Noir sees his partner, until one patrol they disappear entirely to leave Ladybug’s outfit looking the same as before. Ladybug then begins experimenting with the pattern of her polka dots. Bigger dots, smaller dots, black dotless areas around her hands and feet that makes it appear as if Ladybug is wearing gloves and boots, lines across her waist and down her chest to break up the monotony. There is even an occasion where Ladybug transforms her dots into hearts, driving Paris’ preteen girls (and one shoujo-loving Chat Noir) crazy in the process. And then:
One iconic incident where Ladybug shows up with red dots over a black bodysuit, the colour scheme of her yo-yo inverted as well. Going the extra mile as always, she swaps the red ribbons in her hair for black ones, painting crimson streaks in her hair.
Adrien transforms to the headline Threat Level 10: Ladybug Akumatised!! screaming on his phone, his heart pounding in his chest. Chat arrives at their rooftop to find Ladybug already returned to her usual colour scheme, her ears as red as her suit and her face smothered in Shark’s flank. He laughs himself breathless at the mishap, trying to pretend his heart didn’t nearly jump out of his chest at the thought of losing his Lady forever.
“I’m sorry!” Ladybug says, her voice muffled, and her ears glowing redder still. “I thought it’d look cool…”
Chat, once his laughter peters out, “If you’re really sorry, you’d come with me to do a press conference and apologise.”
“What!?” Ladybug sits up, aghast. She hold Chat’s plushie Shark between the two of them like a shield. “No way—that’s even more embarrassing!”
“If you have a problem with our PR team’s decision,” Chat intones blandly, “You can take the issue up with HR.”
“Wha—but—but you’re both our PR and our HR??”
“Exactly,” Chat nods solemnly, “Now scoot over and stop monopolising my Shark. You almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”
Ladybug flushes. She obediently shifts over, clearing space for Chat to sit down next to her. She hands him the Ikea plushie, and draws her knees to her chest.
“…I really am sorry. I just wanted to see what an inverted colour scheme would look like. I didn’t think everyone would…”
“I know,” Chat sighs, squeezing Shark to his chest. He leans against her shoulder—tentatively at first, then relaxing fully when Ladybug doesn’t move away. “That’s why it’s important for us to address this on our terms. Would you rather Alya—or kwamis forbid, Nadja—chase us down after an akuma attack?”
Ladybug shudders, and acquiesces.
By the time the dust settles, fake-akuma-Ladybug is ranked the No. 1!!! – if only Hawkmoth is as fashionable as Our Lady of the Bugs akuma on the Ladyblog. When Alya first sends Marinette the link to the article, Marinette laughs so hard it summons Papa to her room, worried that she’s having a mental breakdown. Wasn’t it only yesterday that Ladybug’s suit was considered as plain as the akuma’s outfits were garish? Now Ladybug has become a fashion icon, a paradigm shift which appears symbolic of her two lifetimes, and she really doesn’t want to dwell on that too much for fear of triggering an actual mental breakdown. She’s had enough of those to last a third or even fourth lifetime.
Predictably, the article launches a series of akumas somewhat more fashionable than usual. Hawkmoth’s poor imitation of a fashion show culminates with Duchess Bug—an akuma wearing fake-akuma-Ladybug’s now-famous outfit, complete with red highlights over blue-black hair. Hawkmoth probably meant to trip up Paris with this akuma, except Duchess Bug immediately summons a machete as her Unlucky Charm and begins hacking at everything within her reach, destroying any illusion that she isn’t an akuma. Ladybug shows up soon after, reassuring everyone that the real fake-akuma-Ladybug isn’t genuinely an akumatized Ladybug. She summons a barbeque fork as her Lucky Charm, and promptly starts a swordfight with Duchess Bug that lasts until Chat Noir arrives.
#give ladybug a sword begins trending, in addition to #fake-akuma-ladybug and #real fake-akuma-ladybug. As the Ladyblog gleefully points out a few months later, Hawkmoth never creates an akuma who uses a sword as their primary weapon again.
Alya gets the bright idea to ask Ladybug about the changes to her costume design after an akuma attack. Ladybug stammers at the phone camera shoved into her face, trying and failing to come up with a good excuse because it isn’t like she can admit she finally got over her trauma related to magical outfits without opening an entire can of worms—er, ladybugs. Chat carefully positions himself out of range of the camera before snickering at Ladybug’s misfortune, the unhelpful jerk.
The video of Ladybug’s stammered non-answer makes its way to the Ladyblog, and suddenly it’s as if Paris has nothing better to do than discuss Ladybug’s fashion choices. Ladybug’s evolving costume becomes all Alya wants to talk about during recess and lunch breaks. She keeps trying to get Marinette and Adrien to guest-star on her vlog to discuss Ladybug’s outfits, being the only amateur fashion designer and professional model she knows.
Marinette is this close to threatening to eat lunch with Alix and Kim until Alya finds another hyperfixation, but Adrien only declares, “I don’t think it matters what Ladybug decides to wear. Any outfit that Ladybug is comfortable in is a good outfit.”
“Friendship ended with Alya.” Marinette replies solemnly. “Now Adrien is my best friend.”
Nino sighs and shoves another forkful of pasta into his mouth.
Search 🔎: ladybug costume change
Ladybug’s costume change counter
Current count: 24 (updated 2 days ago)
Ladybug’s costume changes: vote which one is your favourite!
Ladybug’s new outfits have stirred up much excitement among her fans. Personally, my favourite is Ladybug’s cape elytra (a complementation to Chat Noir’s belt tail—rise up Ladynoir nation!) but what is yours? Vote…[read more]
Ladybug’s costume changes and what they mean
Paris’ local superheroine, previously sporting a bold red-spotted spandex, has decided to become a true fashion icon of France! Why did Ladybug spice up her outfit, and does this mean Chat Noir will soon follow…[read more]
Ladybug declines to comment on recent costume changes
Chat Noir: “My Lady looks beautiful no matter what she's wearing—because what's important is what's on the inside! Of course I support her experimenting with her style (…) as long as she's comfortable with what she's wearing, I am too.”
People also ask:
🔎Did Ladybug change her costume?
🔎Is Ladybug real?
🔎Is Ladybug a comic book character?
🔎Does Ladybug have trauma?
Ladybug groans as she flops onto Chat’s blanket-nest, rolling around until she is encased in a blanket like a burrito. She wriggles over to Chat’s side, evidently enjoying being burrito-ed too much to move like a normal person. Chat, who arrived early and was re-reading his manga stash while lying prone, his feet kicking in the air, glances up to snort at his partner’s predicament.
Ladybug makes a face at him. She continues to wriggle until the two are lying with their faces parallel to each other. “Why are people acting like I decided to defeat akumas wearing a bikini?” she complains, immediately making it clear what this is about. “With the way they're talking, you’d think I’m dressed like one of the female characters in—hm.” she lifts her head to squint at the illustrations on Chat’s manga, then wriggles her hand out of her burrito prison to poke a deliberate finger at one of the characters. “Like her.”
Chat gasps loudly, snatching his sacred manga volume out of Ladybug’s blasphemous fingers. “How dare you. First of all, One Piece is a literary classic, and just because Oda-sensei—”
Ladybug waves her hand to stave off the rant. “Yeah, I know. Just because a character is questionably designed doesn’t mean they aren’t well-developed, multi-faceted beings worth fanboying over, et cetera, et cetera. Did I get your lecture right, sensei?” she doesn’t wait for Chat’s indignant reply. “I’d still rather not have my boobs out while fighting akumas, thank you very much. Or have people think my perfectly reasonable bodysuit is just as bad as trampling across the city in my underwear, ugh. What do they mean it’s too skintight and revealing? It literally covers my entire body, even most of my face! And too skintight—it’s been like that since day one. I should’ve known putting myself more out there would make people act weird—”
Chat carefully sets aside his manga. He rolls onto his side, using an arm to prop up his head so he can look at Ladybug properly. “You googled yourself, didn’t you.”
“…maybe.” Ladybug admits. “After Alya, and the Ladyblog…I just wanted to know what everyone else was saying about me.” she uses her free hand to tug the closest pillow to her chest, which happens to be a pink heart-shaped one squished under Chat. He graciously lets her have it. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? I never really cared what Paris thought of me before—this was just a job I had to do, I didn’t even want to be there, why should I care if Paris wanted me? But now—now that I’ve embraced Tikki, and being Ladybug…it actually feels like me they’re talking about. And I…” she shrugs. At least, Chat thinks she does. Being a human burrito, Ladybug’s motion looks more like a full-body burrito shudder.
Chat pats what he thinks is Ladybug’s shoulder, under the burrito blanket. She doesn’t complain, so he must’ve gotten it mostly right. “It’s normal to want to know what people think about you, but…hm. It’s probably not a good idea to google yourself. There’s a reason most celebrities let their PR teams run their social media.”
Ladybug frowns. She sits up, nearly knocking her head on Chat’s chin in the process. Her burrito blanket slides to her waist. “Wait. What do you mean I’m a celebrity?”
Chat blinks. “You…” he sits up as well. “You’re a literal superhero? In a world where we are the only two superheroes to ever exist in public consciousness? Of course we’re celebrities.” a pause, “…you never realised that?”
“Oh my kwamis.” Ladybug mutters, squeezing the heart-shaped pillow in horror. “I—I…” she laughs, slightly hysterical, “I should’ve expected that. I guess…it’s just…the whole thing with magical girls and witches and wraiths are a secret hidden from the public—normal people can’t even see transformed magical girls! I never thought…” she shakes her head. “I think I’m having a crisis.”
Chat Noir, whose civilian self has been a celebrity even before he knew what the word meant, squeezes Ladybug’s shoulder in sympathy.
Evidently, something happened between Marc and Nathaniel, François Dupont Collège’s resident writer and artist duo. Marinette, who isn’t in possession of Alya’s gossip network but is guilty of avoiding her friend because she still hasn’t gotten over the realisation that Ladybug is a celebrity, discovers this when Evillustrator traps Marc in an ivory tower and draws an origami dragon to stop anybody from getting close.
“That dragon sure looks cool, but what is it gonna do, give us papercuts?” Chat quips, moments before the dragon turns its head in their direction and breathes a plume of flames at them. Chat swears as he dances back. “Oh, come on. That’s just stupidly overpowered!”
Spinning her yo-yo to dispel the flames, Ladybug silently agrees. Out loud, before the dragon can rear its head back for another blast of fire, she reels her yo-yo into her palm and tosses it into the air, “Lucky Charm!”
The resulting object falls out of the air, heavy and solid. Ladybug grabs the Lucky Charm, and the familiar weight of a leather tome almost startles her into dropping it again. She glances down, dread and anticipation battling for dominance in her chest, but even before that she already knows what she will find—a sketchbook, with fine cartridge paper bound between a leather-wrapped cover. The leather is black instead of grey, the delicate swirls and gems decorating the cover red instead of pink, but this Lucky Charm feels like an exact replica of the weapon her former magical self—[pink] used to wield, a lifetime ago.
[pink] Marinette Ladybug swallows. The sketchbook feels so much heavier than she knows it to be (and she knows it, she knows it as well as she knew [pink]’s calloused fingers and knows Marinette’s slender limbs. it had once been her weapon, her lifeline, a symbol of her empowerment and a monument to her failures. she knows it as well as she knows the contours of her crystallised soul, far better than she knows the borrowed magic of Tikki’s miraculous). Energy almost seems to dance between her gloved fingers, but whether it is unnatural soul magic, unbridled Creation magic, or the trembling excesses of her own nerves—she has no idea.
But in front of her, Chat is dancing between the origami dragon’s fiery attacks. At some point in her distraction, Evillustrator has added a saddle onto the dragon’s back. He is currently riding the dragon while scribbling furiously—oh, she can see now, he’s controlling the dragon’s movements by adjusting the illustration of it on his smartpad, how clever, but even without having to worry about his magic reserves he will certainly burn out soon.
Still, all it will take is one careless slip for Chat Noir to burn, and she cannot allow that—cannot let history repeat, cannot permit Chat to be hurt while she fuels the flames with her inaction—
The trembling of her fingers still.
I’m not scared of you anymore, Ladybug thinks.
She flips open the sketchbook. It’s time for an art fight.
“Chat,” Ladybug calls, “throw me a pencil!”
Her partner is familiar enough with Ladybug’s plans not to question her bizarre request. Chat pauses in his fluid dance between the flames, long enough for Evillustrator to draw the dragon sending a plume of fire his way. Chat spins his baton into a shield, dispelling the flames. In the pause between Evillustrator making the dragon attack again, he retracts the baton and slides it open.
“Catch!” he yells, flinging an entire pencil case at her.
Ladybug catches. That works as well.
She unzips the pencil case, grabbing a writing appendage at random. A pen. Not as good as a pencil, but this will do. Tossing the pencil case aside, Ladybug presses pen to paper, and begins to draw.
The next time Ladybug transforms, her suit has settled. Two elytra capes flutter behind her, attached to a bodysuit of black spots on red fabric—aside from her midriff and arms, where the colour scheme is inverted.
But more significantly, hanging on her hips right next to Ladybug’s signature yo-yo, is a black leatherbound sketchbook decorated with red.
Chat Noir’s brows rise as he notices the latest addition to Ladybug’s costume. But a skyscraper-tall mech akuma is currently treating Paris as its personal playground, so he settles for grinning, “I like this version of your outfit, m’Lady! You ready to teach that oversized robot a lesson?”
Ladybug flips her sketchbook open. It takes a slide of her yo-yo to grab a pencil from her pocket dimension. Then, she starts drawing—one large circle, five dots within. Creation magic gathers as she presses her fingertips to the page—warm tingling energy dancing between her palm and the page—and Ladybug pulls. A red circle, five black dots within. Anticipation lighting up her face, Ladybug watches as the red glow of Creation magic recedes, revealing an exact replica of her signature yo-yo in her hand.
Ladybug attaches the sketchbook back onto her waist. Palming a yo-yo in each of her hands, she turns to Chat and grins. “Now I’m ready.”