you won't make yourself a name if you follow the rules

from a currently untitled fluffthing (read: "Fluff and Angst" to modify "Angst with a Happy Ending"):

Ladybug's off her game today—reacting too slowly to Horrificator's upgraded slime projectiles, trying too hard to keep her partner in sight—and Chat Noir can't help but worry.

And then he gets slimed and the slime promptly sets, immobilizing him for the rest of the battle in an awkward and painfully off-balance pose with his ring hand sticking uselessly, unguardedly into the air, and then Chat Noir has nothing to do but worry.

…And shout cues to Ladybug when anything useful is in the half of the battlefield he can see, and call Cataclysm when he hears footsteps he can't see—no one goes to dust, which, if he's right about whose footsteps those were, is a damn shame—and catch the pinback button Ladybug wings at his ring hand. But, you know, that's just him trying to be as little of a liability to her as possible.

(He regrets nothing.)

Also it seems I only gave you three or maybe four sentences last week for the probably-psychological-horror angstfest now titled "Sanguine", so let me make up for that:

You are in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike.

It is not pitch black. They are unlikely to be eaten by a grue.