hello! so i’m somewhere with my work,,,kinda. Yanno, like i said before, i still don’t really know where i’m at and my blog will be a lil bit everywhere but thankyou for sticking with me. I reached 2000 followers, thankyou all so so so so much <3 i needed a gift to part of my thanks- so these cute undies are a thing now! and real talk the preview took a while. regardless, please forgive me for my allovertheplace-ness and feel free to drop me a message anytime as i’m still about.
Hiyaaaaaaaaaaaaa… I did it! Finally managed to finish this one! Thank you for everyone who enjoyed the preview, I really hope you buys enjoy the full thing. Please let me know what you thought of it! Lots of love, B xx
They’re funny little things.
Sometimes they take over your body and make you do things that you wouldn’t ever do if it weren’t for the obscene amount of hormones coursing through your bloodstream - you’d never eat a plate full of pasta and a whole chocolate bar right after or cry at the butter commercial cause that family looks just so damn happy that they have their butter and each other… And you would not, under any circumstances, be thinking about how much you want your friend to fuck you into oblivion if it weren’t for the hormones.
But also me with the internet back and the first thing i saw was the Ninjago Movie image preview:
For some reason Lloyd have green eyes, kinda weird cuz the rest of the cast have black eyes together with the rest of normal Lego minifigures lol so is what i did. Sorry for the laziness i drew this only to keep me awake until my mom came home.
rational thing that Marinette could figure was that she was dreaming. Or maybe
even in the midst of a nightmare. Yes, a nightmare. That was the only
conclusion that made sense.
Yet, it was the little things that
contradicted what she would like to think was certainty. The cool feeling of
the porcelain toilet lid seeping through her shorts and searing her skin like a
burn. The familiar grain of the hardwood floor beneath her feet. The soft
murmur of voices in the other room. But what was most jarring was the too-close
sound of scissors shearing through hair. It wasn’t consistent like everything
else. It stabbed through her ears like a dull, choppy blade—like being sick
with the flu only to be shaken every few seconds.
She wanted it to end, but was afraid
that if she said anything, she’d be forced to recognize what was real. So,
instead, she stared at the floor as chunks of black hair fell softly down
around her feet, the weight gradually lifting from her head with each sharp, grating
slice of the scissors.
Her mother’s hands were gentle as
they sifted through her hair, evening the strands and snipping at flyaways.
Until, finally, the shearing stopped.
Finally, Marinette could close her
eyes and convince herself that none of it was real.
That everything was fine.
“How does it look?” Her mother’s
voice, though even and calm, was nearly as jarring as the scissors had been. Marinette snapped her eyes open to see that a hand mirror was being held out in
front of her.
Out of expected habit—because her
body knew motions well enough to substitute for her lagging brain—she reached
up and took the mirror, before holding it up so she could see the reflection of
the back of her head in the large bathroom vanity.
“It looks fine,” she replied, voice
rough from misuse. No more pigtails. Though her heavy bangs remained, the back
and sides of her hair had been trimmed within millimeters of her head, so as to
even out where Queen Bee as cut away the strands during their battle.
Queen Bee… The battle…
Marinette didn’t want to think about
She wasn’t too torn up over the loss
of her hair—she’d had short hair before. Not this short, but it’d grow back.
There were worse things, after all.
“Marinette,” her mother said softly,
touching her shoulder. She sat down on the edge of the tub a moment later, so
they were facing one another. “Are you alright?”
She didn’t want to talk about it.
She didn’t want to think about it.
Changing the subject to anything
else was better.
“You were Ladybug before I was,
right?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer
Sabine’s hold tensed on her
shoulder, before her hand fell away. Much like her gaze did, becoming distant
as she peered to the side.
“I was. But that… was a long time
“You’ve known I was Ladybug this
whole time,” she determined.
“I realized it shortly after your
first encounter with Hawkmoth, yes. I’d know those earrings anywhere. And the
ring too.” She took a deep breath. “I knew Adrien was Chat Noir the first time
I met him.”
Which was before Marinette had known.
“The miraculouses extend their users
lifespans,” Marinette went on. “How old are you?”
“Much older than I look,” Sabine
replied, finally looking back at her daughter and able to wear a small smile. Yet,
Marinette said nothing, and so Sabine gave in. “I turned 97 this year, one year
younger than Gabriel. I was Ladybug for most of my life.”
“Is that how you and Mr. Agreste
know one another?”
“Yes. Gabriel is… a very old friend.
We fought together during World War II, myself, him, and… And we stayed
together for many years after, the three of us. Then the four of us.” Reaching
up, she touched her forehead, looking wearied. “Thinking so far back really
makes me feel my age.”
“Don’t be.” Reaching out, Sabine
patted her knee. “I’m not nearly as old as some.”