#but each page i had to impromptu justify whatever was going on

[runawaycatwalker]

Part 8. Coming Apart (Maternal Instinct, part C)

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Description below the cut

Author’s note: This comic page is structured with a left side and a right side that sometimes interact with each other and sometimes does not.  The format of the Image Description will jump around accordingly.

(Image Description starts for the left side of comic)

The akumatized phone continues to emit magical tendrils as it falls through the sky.

Maternal Instinct (akumatized!Nathalie) and Ladybug share a look before they race towards where the phone was last spotted.

The phone faces a reflective surface and it zaps itself away.

Ladybug: Where did it...?

Ladybug kicks against Maternal Instinct's sentimonster (Mothership) and ties the akuma up with her yo-yo with an excessive amount of string.

Maternal Instinct: Mothership—

Ladybug (interrupting): Oh no you don't!

Ladybug ties Maternal Instinct to the gates of the Agreste mansion.

Ladybug: You aren't going anywhere!

Close up of Maternal Instinct as her hands are tied and her mouth is gagged.

Ladybug: You can't follow him!

Ladybug looks off to the side with a close-up of the third spot on her earrings disappearing with a "beep!"

Ladybug (internally): At least... Not until my yo-yo disappears...

Ladybug taps at the earpiece that's still in her ear.

Ladybug: Catwalker?

(Image Description jumps back to the top of the comic, this time following the right side)

An establishing shot of Emilie's stasis pod.

Catwalker: Mother?

A close-up of Catwalker's face in shock.

A close-up of the lower half of Emilie's face.

Emilie's hand touches Catwalker's upper back, bound there with magical tendrils.

Catwalker: You're...

Catwalker tries to move away but he's stuck in the stasis pod and the magical tendrils prevent him from letting her go.

Catwalker: I can't...

Catwalker contorts his hand as his ring charges with power.

Catwalker: Cataclysm!

Emilie's stasis pod crumbles to black dust around an unharmed Emilie and Catwalker.

Catwalker looks away as he starts to scramble away, Emilie being dragged behind him.

Catwalker (internally): Why?

A side-view of Catwalker looking towards the earpiece in his ear.

Ladybug (over comm): Catwalker, are you there?

Catwalker touches his earpiece, his eyes full of relief.

Catwalker: Ladybug?

(Image Description shifts to covering both the left and right sides of the comic)

Ladybug looks forlornly to the sky, holding the ends of her yo-yo's string that is the only thing keeping Maternal Instinct in check.

Ladybug: I've tied up the villain for now, but the akumatized object teleported away and I have no idea where it is... and I still have no idea what's really happened to Adrien, and Chat's still gone, and I lost you too, and your mom now knows who you are, and everything's a disaster--

Catwalker lays on his side next to Emilie, reaching away from her.

Catwalker: You haven't lost me...  My.... my mom hasn't noticed me.  I can't really explain why not.  But my identity is still safe.  It's not a total disaster, Ladybug.  Everything's going to be fine, I promise.  You can still save the day.  You always have.

A close-up of Ladybug looking right next to a close-up of Catwalker looking left.

Ladybug: But how?  The phone could be anywhere by now and I don't have enough time to find it—as soon as I change back, the villain will escape again.  And if I ask the other heroes for help, they'll probably end up zapped to their mothers too.

Catwalker: I may not be beside you right now, but I'm still here for you.  And not just me—compromised or not, you still have a multitude of people who can help you.  You don't have to solve it all by yourself, Ladybug.

Ladybug looks at her lucky charm (a bobbin) in realization.

Ladybug: Or maybe I can... Okay, I've got a plan.  But I'm going to have to go radio silent to pull this off.  You'll be okay without me?

Catwalker forces a smile, touching the back of his neck.

Catwalker: Nothing to worry about!  It'll just be me and my mother here, no one else around, doing absolutely nothing. Good luck!

(Image Description returns to splitting left and right halves, again starting on the left side)

Ladybug wears the Mouse miraculous.

Ladybug: Mullo, Tikki, Unify!

Multibug is wrapped in her jump rope to activate her power.

Multibug: Multitude!

An army of Multimouses charge in every direction.  Multibug (the copy that still has the Ladybug miraculous and therefore the only one with spots) holds the bobbin above her head while a couple Multimouses keep the yo-yo strings secure.

A close-up of a Multimouse.

Multimouse: Multibug, I found the—

The Multimouse falls into the phone's magical tendrils.

Multimouse: Aack!

Cut to Sabine Cheng, startled to have a Multimouse suddenly appear, attached to her arm.

Multimouse: Sorry! Don't worry about little ol' me! Just helping Ladybug!

Multibug converges on the phone, using the bobbin's thread to Lasso!, Yoink!, and Flip! the phone. Two Multimouses throw the yo-yo at the phone with a Crack!, causing the akuma and amok to emerge from it.

Multibug poses as she holds the yo-yo string above her head.

Multibug: Time to de-evilize!

The yo-yo cleanses the akuma and amok.

Multibug throws the bobbin in the air.

Multibug: Miraculous Multibug!

(Image Description jumps back up to the top of the last split, following the right side this time)

Emilie and Catwalker lay on their backs together, with Emilie still on the destroyed stasis pod and Catwalker laying in the grass.

Catwalker: That was Ladybug. She's amazing, Mother.  You would have loved her.

Catwalker: I'm sorry I ran away.  I couldn't think of what else I could do.  My friends are going to believe it's all Father's fault when he didn't do anything. It's just... it's been hard to be his son after you...  But that doesn't mean I don't love him anymore.  He just... misses you.

Catwalker curls up in fetal position facing towards Emilie.

Catwalker: I guess he's the one who left you here... wherever 'here' is.  A garden, I guess?  You would have loved being in a place like this.  I just wish I'd known how to find you.

Catwalker looks down at Emilie's face, his free hand starting to reach towards her.

Catwalker: And now that I've run away, it'll be impossible to ask Father why he hid you here.  So I guess this is the only time I'll be able to tell you that I—

A swarm of magical ladybugs sweep in, restoring Emilie's stasis pod to perfect condition and depositing Catwalker alone outside.

Catwalker: —love you, Mother.

(Image Description resumes covering both left and right halves of the comic)

A shot of Catwalker's feet, with Multibug looking at him from behind as she calls over her earpiece.

Multibug: You're safe! No time for the 'Pound it!' today, but I'm sure you're exhausted.  Go home and get some rest!

Catwalker looks completely burnt out on what has been a strong contender for the worst 24 hours of his life.

Catwalker: Sure.

A shot of the ladder going down from an open manhole.

Catwalker (internally): Home.  Rest.

Catwalker curls up in the same spot in the sewers where he went with Ladybug during Heroes' Day.

Catwalker (internally): That sounds nice.

Below is the same image as above, only without text: 

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

chapter 1 --- next chapter 

Harry Potter fic masterlist

Set in the course of his Sixth Year, this story follows Slytherin's finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.

Sixth year had started nicely: Blaise had been asked to join the Slug Club, and his mother had yet to find a new disposable rich husband and was leaving him the space to do whatever he wanted. Despite Draco's father being thrown in Azkaban and the sudden sulkiness of the blonde boy, the atmosphere wasn't much tenser than usual.

Sure, Draco probably was going to kill someone by the glares he gave and might have punched Saint Potter on the train, completely justifiable, and The Dark Lord had officially risen, sending everyone in a constant state of panic; but things were not that erratic, especially for a Slytherin Pureblood like him. The world was his oyster.

Which was why he was about to kick Pansy Parkinson off the Astronomy Tower.

They had agreed upon a seating chart that allowed all of them to maximize their brain capacities in order to gain as many House Points as possible. Since Draco was the Slytherin on top of every class, damned little miss perfect Granger and her habit of beating his friend up on the podium, the settlements revolved around the blonde and each individual strength. Pansy got Charms, her silver tongue finally useful on an academic level and not only on dark corners with older students; Theodore had Potions, his natural talent ready to expose himself in front of Slughorn, who had decided to keep him out of the little impromptu meeting on the train and to whom Theo had sworn vengeance; he would get Transfiguration, being the most skilled at changing various things in different states almost flawlessly and also due to the fact that he was the best behaved Slytherin. Amongst the members of Draco's Inner Circle anyway: Crabble and Goyle were bullies and lost causes, Millicent was as dull as a wall, Theo was too impulse, Draco was, well, Draco and Pansy was, for lack of a better word, a bucchinara. Only Blaise was polite and respectful and tried to keep his personal vendettas hidden and managed to deal with them without a fuzz, and that, plus his innate aptitude for Transfiguration, meant he went along with Professor McGonagall pretty smoothly.

Which meant that Transfiguration was his.

The other classes were not as important and therefore their seatings could be random, but for those they came prepared. Slytherin was going to win the House Cup that year, unless Draco revealed that he was already a marked Death Eater, which would've made them lose a shitton of points but nothing more. After all, no one had ever been expelled from Hogwarts during Dumbledore's Reign and Blaise was positive it would never happen.

But he was about to get his first detention of the year, possibly, if that bitch didn't move. That would have not been a great way to start, but deep down he was sure it would've been worth it. "Pansy, move your white ass off that chair at this instant" he said through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips and avoiding creasing his flawless smile. 'Rule number one' his mother had taught him, 'always appear kind and gentle and then stab them in the back and get them coins.'

"Why would I do that, Zabini? I'm comfortable here" claimed the annoying girl that was very close to getting hexed, leaning back with a lazy smile on her face.

Blaise had many great qualities, but he also had no room in his body for bullshit. 'Rule number two: never hit first but obliterate them after they start. And don't forget, never ruin a manicure.' He mentally counted to ten, trying to calm himself before he did something he might've regretted, "We agreed yesterday on this" he said, slowly losing his patience. He had very little disregard for those who didn't appreciate his careful planning.

Pansy gave him a poisonous smile, her bold red lips giving her extra points in the vicious department. "Change of plans, pretty boy" she said, voice saccharine and melodious that managed to hide perfectly her true nature.

'Rule number three' his mind recalled 'do not have witnesses nor explicit motif in case you do remove someone from this Earth'. That threw a wrench in his immediate future.

Breathing deeply inwards and closing his eyes, he imagined the petite girl being slowly entrapped in a Devil's Snare and painfully dying. It made him feel instantaneously better. When he opened his eyes again, unfortunately, one of his main causes of stress was still there, now joined by Draco, who took the golden medal in the 'giving Blaise headaches' category. His roommate was puzzled by the sight but decided not to complain and chose to poke holes into Saint Potter's head with his consistent stare.

Blaise wondered, not for the first time, what would've happened first, a make-out session in a broom closet between the Saviour of the Wizarding World and his friend, or a murder. Things would be less boring around Hogwarts if either event happened, even if the school was not boring to begin with.

One of the many topics he didn't agree on with Draco, especially this year, revolved around the blonde's complete annoyance to school life, despite maintaining stellar markings. Hogwarts was full of life and joy and unexpectedness.

Which was why Blaise didn't exactly want to start the year with a detention. "Very well" he said eventually, scanning the room for a proper desk to sit at. He would've avoided Gryffindors as if they carried the Plague, of course, but it seemed that the only empty chair was alongside one of them.

"Holy burning hell" he thought to himself, scolding his face into a bored and superior expression as he carefully watched Neville Fucking Longbottom casually reading his textbook with a Muggle pencil behind his ear. Blaise hadn't had all the time in the world back at the Hogwarts Express to see anyone other than his close friends, too much preoccupied to make a good first impression with Professor Slughorn to care about his fellow classmates, let alone someone as insignificant as 'Schlongbottom', as the other Slytherins called him.

"Boy oh boy, have I made a mistake!" his mind screamed.

He used to be lanky and chubby, but he must have definitely worked out during the summer, for he didn't look that way anymore. Under the shirt and vest, it was possible to see the beginning of some seriously well-kept muscles and, despite his slouched position, he an aura of confidence that he was missing the previous year. "Fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry surely left its mark, uh?" he wondered as he watched the Gryffindor move his head to talk to Weasley. There were so many of them that Blaise couldn't be bothered to keep notice of them all, but he recognized the one into his year as a general individual, blending the remaining white boys into a general identity.

He was almost immediately broken from his mind and brought to reality: "I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes" Draco snickered as he also noticed the only empty spot in the classroom, drawing also Pansy's attention to his misery. The witch gave him another vicious smile, before slowly and purposefully turning into her seat as Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. She had won that round, but Blaise was positive the unexpected outcome would see him victorious as well. 'Rule number fifteen, ogling a hot person is a great past time.'

Unbothered on the outside, he moved lazily towards the Gryffindor, noticing the surprise on the boy's face as he moved the chair next to him and took his place silently. Immediately he tensed, waiting for Blaise to attack him as his roommates had done many times, and it almost pained him to see all the confidence disappear under a cautious mask. But he had to give it to him, Longbottom didn't even flinch as he unceremoniously dumped his textbook and notebook on his side of the desk. He would've gotten a lot of dirty looks from his friends if he was somebody else carrying a Muggle object, but since he was Blaise Zabini no one said anything. After all, countless meters of parchment were as impractical as eating soup with a fork.

He also didn't miss the slightest nod of approval to ever been given him, directly from Professor McGonagall herself, before she began her first lecture of the sixth year.

And with that, they started.

***

Two hours later and with six pages of notes and the tiniest smidge of ink from a Muggle pen on his hands, 'I'll be damned if I have to write every day with a messy quill", the lecture was over. Professor McGonagall had done a brilliant job as usual, with her being the most competent, if not the only, teacher in the school, but one thing was absolutely clear as day to Blaise: the recently very attractive Gryffindor boy seated next to him was absolutely useless at Transfiguration. His grandfather would've used the word chiavica with a disapproving look at his way and forced him to sit and eat twelve different dishes, as if that would've made him improve.

The problem wasn't that he lacked the proper concentration and magical talent, but rather that he wasn't as passionate about the subject as Blaise was. The boy had also taken countless notes, writing them at the corners of his book in a minute calligraphy with his Muggle graphite, and he seemed to grasp the general concept, yet failed almost comically at properly producing the magic.

Needless to say, the Slytherin dreaded the day his favourite teacher would give them a project to be done in pairs.

Not a single word had been uttered between the two boys, as it should have been. They had no communal interests nor any shared group of acquaintances, even if they were both Purebloods. Their Houses were rivals, their roommates were arch-nemesis, and yet here they both were, seated in silence next to each other.

But there had been guarded glances from both sides, of that he was sure. He looked at the Gryffindor with fretted disinterest, desperately trying not to get caught staring at the hot guy next to him like a creep, while Longbottom looked occasionally back with something akin of fear and disdain. He wasn't really surprised by the reaction and couldn't really blame him. Blaise wasn't sure if his family had remained neutral or had been hurt at the hands of Death Eaters before Saint Potter saved everyone, but nevertheless, the Slytherin house suffered an image decline due to their notorious works. The House reputation was turbid and getting dirtier by the hour, with all the alumni tarnishing the good name of their former house with their debauchery. Of course, not all Slytherins were evil, but it was the fucking coincidence of the majority of those evildoers being Slytherins that gave way to all the hate.

"You're just giving into the stereotype" he had ranted at Draco on the train, after the blonde told him the news, "and yours is such a bloody shitton of bullshit l cannot tolerate anymore!"

And just like that, the class was over and students packed their bags to migrate into their next lecture. He had now a free period, as the majority of his friends took Divination for reasons unknown to him, and decided to make it count as much as possible by staying in the library before going to 6th year History of Magic.

After signalling a little goodbye to his housemates, he turned around to the pretty useless boy next to him to begrudgingly salute him as well and perhaps ask him to trade place with someone less inept at the subject, only to find said incredibly tall and gorgeous beefcake standing in all his height with a bag draped over his shoulder. Despite the sudden tough exterior, he had a kind and polite smile and a softness in his voice that Blaise would've never guessed. "Apparently we have to seat next to each other now" he said with a shy tone, and then immediately went to nervously bite his lips. Blaise was dumbfounded, unable to form words at the sight hovering over him. He definitely wasn't the lanky boy he remembered.

Unsettled by his lack of response and probably taking his silence as a sign of disgust, Longbottom let out a shaky laugh, trying to ease the tension. Bringing a hand up to scratch his neck. "Look, I get it if you want to switch" he began, looking down at his shoes, "but I don't think Professor McGonagall would let us."

That brought him back on Earth. He had not mistaken the look of approval the Professor had given him and he'd be damned if he ever let down the best teacher Hogwarts had ever seen over something so futile as a seating partner.

Also it didn't hurt that his deskmate was a bloody vision, incompetent maybe, but most definitely his type. And now more than ever he needed to know for which team this asshole beat for.

"Yeah, no. I know, it's fine or whatever" he stuttered nonchalantly, knowing that he sounded dismissal while on the inside he was a bubbling mess. Trying to regain his composure and to remember his reputation, he spat out with as little venom as possible, "I guess there could be worse of you lot to sit next to."

"Wrong. Fucking. Thing. To. Say. Genius" his mind yelled as he internally cringed at his choice of words while maintaining a disinterested exterior. He saw the exact moment Longbottom's face went from kind and polite to pissed off. In all the years they had spent at school together they had never really talked or acknowledged each other's existence, not as much as he had with members of the other two Houses, yet Longbottom would've never stroke him as the type of person that could get angry.

"That's cause you never spoke to him until now. Stop thinking with your dick" his brain fired as he rose from his seat and stood a few centimetres short of the Gryffindor. He had to admit that it was incredibly hard to stop thinking with his dick at the moment, but managed to maintain a neutral expression.

"Yeah, well. I guess so too" replied rather childishly the other boy, folding his arms over his chest and giving him what must've been his best glare.  "I was trying to be polite, but I guess there is no way for a civilized conversation or partnership with you lot" he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Now it was Blaise's turn to appear pissed and he mustered his worst killing glare, created by years of training,  "Do not generalize me and I won't generalize you."

Longbottom was looking down at him, almost as if he was a puzzle that was not behaving. He supposed that from his perspective it was like that, since generally speaking they were supposed to hate each other's guts and here they were, one clearly trying not to lust for the other and the other apparently disapproving of the one's entire existence.

He eventually conceded, "Very well. See you around, Zabini." And with that Longbottom left, joining Thomas and that Fire Kid from his House.

Blaise was left alone, baffled and shocked, before he shook violently his head and left also the classroom and began walking in solitude towards the library.

This had the potential to become a great or a terrible year, and he supposed that the majority of the chances rested on the unexpected outcome of the Transfiguration class.

GLOSSARY: 

'bucchinara' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone who gives blowjobs'

'chiavica' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone that really really sucks at something'

[loughlinpatrick]

5 Big Mistakes That Can Set Back Your Writing Career

Before you put pen to paper, read this. Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

If you’re considering getting into writing or you’re just starting out on your first project, then this is exactly what you should be reading right now. No matter what type of writing you’re planning on getting into – whether it’s a fictional novel, a new blog, or something else entirely – all beginner writers are prone to making 5 big mistakes, and these mistakes have the potential to set you back years in your writing career. From the craft itself to your attitudes towards it, reading this article should give you the guidelines for success in writing.

1. Giving Up.

You’re not going to be the next J.K. Rowling on your first attempt.

Acheiving your dreams isn’t something that’ll happen overnight. Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

Make no mistake: if you want to pursue writing as a career, or even just dabble in it as a fun hobby, it will not be easy. The actual process of getting your thoughts out of your head and onto the page can be extremely time-consuming, and you’re definitely not going to be the next J.K. Rowling on your very first attempt.

I have two friends who tried to get into writing by penning young adult novels, and only one of them still writes today. The first, who was a very proficient writer normally, gave up after being unsatisfied with the first chapter of her novel. Keep in mind that she hadn’t even written a second draft yet; this was her very first draft.

Her main issue was with the plot. In her words:

“I can’t even write a hundred words without simultaneously plagiarising all of the romance novels ever written.”

Thus, she never returned to her novel again.

I have another friend who persisted. Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

My other friend was not as proficient of a writer. Whilst she had ideas for a plot, she had a shakier grasp of grammar, and thus also wasn’t impressed with what she was producing. However, instead of giving up, this friend took a break, came back, and kept persisting. Now, even though this second friend started off at a worse skill level than my first friend, she didn’t give up and is now the superior fiction writer.

The lesson here is clear: keep persisting. Keep writing as often as possible to hone your craft and then eventually – some day soon – you’ll be able to write very, very well.

2. Seeking Perfection.

The best writing happens when you’re in a flow state.

Focus is the name of the game. Photo by Chase Clark on Unsplash

You need to turn off spell-check in whatever you use to write right now.

The best writing happens when you’re in a flow state. This isn’t some new pseudo-scientific buzzword, it’s actually a phenomenon proven and backed by psychology that originated way back in 1975 (before I was born!). In fact, the National Center for Biotechnology Information describes the state as something that “expands self-esteem and the individual’s capabilities through learning new optimisations that increase the feelings of continuity and fluidity in attention and action.” In plain English, this means that when your brain is in a flow state, it can figure how to do do things faster and more effectively.

Be as attentive as this cat. Photo by Mafer Benitez on Unsplash

But what does your flow have to do with your writing?

Well, if you do your best work when in a flow state, then it isn’t ideal to disrupt that by turning your attention to other tasks. Multiple scientific studies even prove that multi-tasking can have a detrimental effect on not only your overall productivity, but also your performance in the task at hand. So, if your goal is to stay in the zone and do your best writing for as long as possible, then multi-tasking is going to be very harmful to your writing. This means that trying to be perfect on your first try by editing as you go is not ideal.

So, how do you stay in your flow state for as long as possible? By focusing on the one task at hand. This means turning spell-check off while you write your first draft and banning yourself from using the backspace button. When you stop seeking perfection and interrupting your writing with impromptu editing, you’ll be able to do your best possible writing for longer.

Essentially, by keeping writing time for writing and doing editing once you’re done, you’ll be able to access your flow state and do your best possible work.

3. Writing Without Passion.

I have a third friend who also tried to get into writing by writing a novella, and she had a very different problem from the first two.

She had far too many ideas.

Sometimes, having a head full of dreams can be a problem. Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

This doesn’t seem like it would be an issue. After all, the whole point of writing is the act of sharing ideas with audiences, whether the audience is just yourself or as many people as possible. Hence, I didn’t quite understand her issue at first.

However, I now realise that she lacked passion. This is not to say that she didn’t have a passion for writing, or a passion for making up stories; no one has that many ideas with no passion at all. However, she didn’t have passion for ideas on an individual basis.

Every time she would have a new idea, she would immediately stop work on her current writing project – even if she’d just started it – and start writing her new story. Due to this, she never gave her ideas any time to marinate. She never sat with her ideas and gave her stories space to be fleshed out, and as such, she never had time to develop a passion for her current project.

This is what would lead to a perpetual cycle that she went through for several months. She would have an idea, start writing immediately and let the initial passion fizzle out, and then a new idea would come along to replace her lack of passion for the original. However, all hope was not lost.

In the midst of her unfinished ideas, there was something different. Photo by Kristopher Roller on Unsplash

In the midst of the graveyard of unfinished novellas that reside on her devices is a completed short story. It’s an idea that she had sat with, fleshed out and really explored, and thus it became the first completed story that she’s written.

So, never forget your passion; you’ll need it in the long run.

4. Getting Too Attached.

Once you finish writing your first draft, it’s time to trim the fat.

Be ruthless, like this lion. Photo by Ivan Diaz on Unsplash

Before, I discussed how editing should wait until after one is finished writing their first draft. This is a very difficult rule to follow for perfectionists like me, and I’ll admit that I actually broke it several times in the process of writing this article. However, there’s another editing mistake that most first time writers make, and that’s getting too attached.

Many first time writers are prone to get too attached to what they’ve just created. This is completely understandable. After all, writing something for the very first time is a massive achievement that takes a lot of work and I cannot underestimate how proud you should be of yourself for that! There are so many more people who haven’t written a thing, including those who’ve considered writing but didn’t go through with it because they’re too scared to put themselves out there; you should be applauded for breaking out of the majority and rising to the top!

Congratulations for reaching the top of your mountain! Photo by Julentto Photography on Unsplash

However, once you finish writing your first draft, it’s time to trim the fat.

Many writers will justify to themselves why it’s okay to include a certain section of the content they’ve created that is clearly sub-par. I’ve fallen into that trap myself several times, thinking that it’s okay for a scene that isn’t good enough for the final version of my novel to remain because I put so much work into it. However, that is never true.

The editing phase of your writing is not a time for mercy.

You need to be willing to cut out anything that doesn’t move your narrative forward, and this doesn’t just apply to novels. Any phrase, sentence or paragraph that doesn’t provide new information, emphasise existing information, or add to the flow of what you created must go. If it doesn’t serve a purpose, it doesn’t belong in your final product.

Be a ruthless editor, and only let the fittest parts of your writing survive.

5. Not Writing With a Plan.

I have a confession to make.

I have to tell you something. Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

I had the idea for this article while planning out lots of my blog content in advance, and because I was in a flow state (discussed earlier), I had so many more ideas for writing mistakes to discuss. In fact, I wanted to expand this article from a list of five mistakes to a list of seven, because I came up with so many ideas.

Unfortunately, I never wrote any of these ideas down.

This led to me not only forgetting the extra ideas that I came up with to lengthen this article, but also some of the original five that I’d thought of in the first place. Some of the ideas came back to me in the process of actually writing this article right now, but one remained elusive.

Writing mistake number five.

The missing piece. Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

As I tried to think of the mistake I’d forgotten in order to finish this article, I realised that I had made a monumental one of my own: I hadn’t written this article with a plan to guide me. This is a massive mistake, as the loss of any idea is the loss of potential. Potential for you to share an amazing concept with the world. Potential for you to improve as a writer. Potential for you to finish an article that you actually expect to earn money from.

When I was writing my novels, my planning documents were some of the most useful resources I had. I used a note on my phone to keep a list of characters in my story, a short synopsis for each chapter I had planned, and then extra details on particular sub-plots that I needed to flesh out.

That’s right – a note on my phone.

Could this be the solution to your planning woes? Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash

Your planning document can take any shape or form. If you prefer the feeling of physically writing things down, you can purchase a notebook and pen down all of your thoughts in there. If you have a lot of stuff to organise, you can also use a spreadsheet on your laptop, and have different sheets for different aspects of your book. If that all seems a bit overwhelming, you can take the route that I took and just keep a note on your phone with all the essential details you need to know.

Whatever form your plan takes, know this: you have to write it down as soon as possible.

Conclusion

I hope that this list of writing mistakes and how to avoid them helped you out. To recap, here are the mistakes once more:

Giving up.

Seeking perfection.

Writing without passion.

Getting too attached.

Not writing with a plan.

Thank you so much for your time! Photo by Hanny Naibaho on Unsplash

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[jetbootcollection]

A Hero’s Vacation

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Characters:  Marinette/Ladybug, Adrien/Chat Noir, Alya, OC(s)

Summary: A hero from another city comes to Paris.

Tags: Fluff, Self-Indulgent Fluff, No Romance (for canon characters), Gratuitous use of OCs, Headcanons abound

Words: 6575

Chapters: 1/?

Chapter 2>>

Marinette was lucky to live right next to the school she attended. Not because it was across the street, but because it was selective. Every student there had a passion and the potential to excel. And while the school was not picky when it came to the subject, they made it clear that the degree of commitment to each student’s chosen career was paramount. ‘The road to success can lead anywhere’ was engraved into a gold plaque that hung on the wall of the headmaster’s office, and would be printed on banners that were put up during exam weeks.

Which is why, far from the first time, Marinette thanked her lucky stars that she had managed to hold it together long enough to present her design portfolio at the end of a lengthy application process. Looking around the courtyard, she saw musicians, programmers, painters, even mechanics. Not to mention the hottest teen model in France and longtime crush, Adrien. Her best friend Alya had gotten in with her passion for journalism. Chloe, as insufferable as she may be, had her sights set on parliament and had the skills to make it there. Even Lila the pathological liar was a published author, though few of her classmates believed her until she brought forth a sizable sample of her work to prove it.

So when Marinette walked into class and saw an unfamiliar face standing at the front of the room, she knew he had to be good at whatever it was he did.

“Has he introduced himself yet?” she asked Alya as she sat down.

“Not yet. But he’s been watching everyone come in, in perfect silence. Kinda creepy if you ask me.” Alya was the kind of girl that weighted a person based on what they said and how they said it. People that didn’t talk must be hiding something. Some secret she would have to dig up.

Marinette turned forward to see the boy and jumped a little when he was looking right at her. He gave a forgiving smile, lifting his hand to make a gesture to say he had not been offended before turning his attention elsewhere.

“Alya! That was rude.”

“I thought I was being quiet! Not even Nino should have been able to hear that!” Alya defended with a hint of panic. If there was a skill she was proud of, it was her ability to talk to her best friend in class or livestream breaking Ladybug news from an active battle without being heard.

“Hear what?” Nino asked, spinning around on his bench in front of the girls.

“Nothing!” the two said in unison.

Marinette looked back to the silent boy. What was this guy’s talent? His simple collared shirt and slacks suggested a more intellectual field of study. He wore a sleek metal pin that looked like a feather on his collar but had no other accessories. Nothing really stood out about him physically except for a pair of slightly oversized eyes. Miss Bustier pulled her attention away before she could formulate a guess.

“Good morning, class. Today we have a new student joining us. Amoux, would you please tell us about yourself?”

The boy stepped forward without a hint of nervousness.

“I am Amoux Grégoire. I was born in France but have been overseas for years many…um, many years, I mean. With my talents of observation, I wish to be a therapist someday. Patience with me as I relearning French.” He was clearly out of practice, speaking in fluent but disjointed sentences.

Out of the corner of her eye Marinette could see Alya shrink into her seat as she realized just how rude she had been. Chloe took it upon herself to surpass her.

“What good’s a therapist that can’t speak French?” She said in that snide tone she takes whenever she wants to get a rise out of someone. Adrien was about to come Amoux’s aid when the boy defended himself with surprising grace.

“A good listener.” He said simply, calmly walking past Chloe without even looking her in the face on his way to the empty seat next to Ivan. Miss Bustier gave him a proud smile for not taking the bait and turned to begin writing the day’s assignment on the board.

“I wish I could shut Chloe down like that.” Marinette whispered. Chloe had her eyes closed and nose turned up as if still waiting for a response.

“Well I’m going to apologize at lunch, so you should come with me and get some pointers.”

“Now remember, your homework for tonight is question four on page sixty. I want a full explanation of the triple point of water, why or why not it exists, and a hand drawn graph of temperature versus concentration to justify your reasoning.” Ms. Mendeleiev bookended her lecture.

As the bell rang to let them out of Chemistry, Alya walked after Amoux with Marinette in tow, catching up to him at the base of the stairs that led down to the courtyard. He looked confused as to where to go next.

“Something wrong, Amoux?” Alya asked.

“Is there no lunchroom?” He asked in return, puzzled by the students leaving through the front entrance.

“Lunchroom? No, no. Students go home to eat during the lunch break.” Alya said, trying to her hardest to not sound condescending. She had flubbed her first impression and didn’t want to make it worse by answering what she thought was an obvious question.

“Oh…I had not planned this. I live far.” He said with a worried look, a hand absently resting on his stomach.

“Why not join us at my bakery? Wouldn’t want you to go hungry over an honest mistake.” Marinette offered.

Amoux lit up and could not find the words to thank her, so he nodded with a thankful smile instead.

A quick walk across the street, an apology from Alya for calling Amoux creepy that was accepted readily, and pushing through the lunch rush later, Marinette led them up to her living room with a basket of bread under her arm. The three of them sat down to the muffled noises of the busy bakery below them.

Over the first bite of her roll, Alya checked the Ladyblog out of habit. She scrolled the news feeds for a few seconds before putting her phone down.

“Been awhile since the last akuma attack. You think Hawkmoth finally ran out of butterflies?”

Amoux slowly turned to face Alya with a look of confusion written on his face. What she had just said sounded insane to him.

“A-Akuma?  What is this? And butterflies?”

“OH, right.” Alya quickly flipped through her phone to find an artist’s rendition of an akuma butterfly and some pictures of their victims.

“There is a supervillain here in Paris named Hawkmoth that sends out these dark butterflies to take advantage of people’s negative emotions to turn them into his minions. But don’t worry. We’ve got superheroes to take care of it, and everything gets fixed in the end.” She explained, showing before and after photos of various monuments going from rubble to pristine.

When Alya’s impromptu slideshow came to pictures of Chat Noir and Ladybug, Amoux seemed to recognize them.

“They look of heroes in Seattle. Expect ours are a… salmon and… deer? No, moose! We had an eagle hero, but he left.” Remembering the names of animals was difficult, though some were easier than others.

Alya nearly exploded at the news.

“THERE ARE MORE SUPERHEROES! EEEEEEEHEHEHE!” She couldn’t help herself, needing to run around the room a bit to calm down.

“What happened to the Eagle?” Marinette asked, trying to be heard over the bakery noise and her friend’s fangirling without yelling. It was not an easy balance to strike.

“He said he was needed elsewhere. In a new sky, he said.” Amoux seemed almost saddened by his own words, as if describing a lost friend. Before Marinette could even think of asking more, Alya all but threw herself between them.

“WOULDN’T IT BE COOL IF HE CAME TO PARIS!? THIS EAGLE GUY COULD TEAM UP WITH LADYBUG AND KICK MAJOR-“

“ALYA! Calm down.”

It was a few nights later when the next akuma showed up. Marinette had a custom text alert on her phone for when an akuma was spotted, and when it went off in the middle of doing her homework she bookmarked her text book and put her spots on as soon as she stood up. Four more steps and she was already out the window in one fluid motion. A quick toss of her yo-yo to her favorite chimney and she was off.

Running along a roof top to quickly check exactly where she was going on her communicator, Chat Noir jumped to her side out of the night.

“I’ll save you the search, bugaboo. It’s in the river.”

“Thanks, kitty.” She relied a little dryer than she wanted.

“You wound me, My Lady. ‘Hello Chat, it’s been a while. I’ve missed you so much.’ Nothing?” The boy’s impression of her was superb, if a little mocking. Ladybug rolled her eyes as she jumped to the next roof.

“Alright, I might have missed you a little. It’s only been…” She had honestly lost track.

“Three weeks.” Chat finished for her, extending his staff to vault across a large plaza.

Arriving at the bridge that led to the base of the Eifel Tower, the pair have no trouble finding the giant mass of green slime oozing up the river. Garbage of all kinds could be seen floating inside the transparent goo.

“Maybe we should stretch first. Wouldn’t want to pull a muscle just because we’ve been on vacation.”

“Nothing’s working! The akuma could be in anything!” Ladybug called to Chat after coming back from her third transformation of the night.

She had used Lucky Charm twice now, and both times the item produced had gotten stuck in the slime without doing anything useful. How was a pie plate or a water bottle supposed to help in the first place?

“Could we freeze it?” Chat called back, swatting away a slimy tentacle with his staff. He had tried Cataclysm during his first transformation, but the slime was not solid enough for the effect to spread.

“Something that big would take days to-“

Ladybug was interrupted by a sharp whistling sound flying past her. Whatever it was imbedded itself in the slime creature just deep enough to skewer an oddly purple banana peel. The slime dissolved in a wave of light, leaving behind a black butterfly. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ladybug captured and purified the akuma.

Chat went off to fish an apologetic janitor out of the river. Ladybug set to retrieving the two failed Charms from the garbage that was still raining down, finding the arrow that had saved the day along the way. She repaired the broken bridge and the damage caused by the flooding, but couldn’t help but wonder who or what had helped them.

“How did you do that?” Chat asked, looking at the totally not red and black polka dot arrow while ringing the water out of his tail.

“It wasn’t me.” Ladybug looked off into the distance where the arrow must have come from. There were no buildings to be seen in that direction, only the river and the night sky.

Convinced they were not going to find the answer tonight, the two were just about to leave when they heard a voice overhead.

“Well aren’t you fancy, patchin’ all that up.”

Looking up they saw a young man with wings for arms, flapping to slow his descent to them. He wore a white mask much like theirs, but with a yellow piece that covered his nose and kept going to form a beak. His costume resembled a wrestler’s outfit colored with simple bands of red, white, and blue. A bow was slung on his back and a quiver on his hip. But what stood out the most was that anywhere there should have been skin, he was covered with short fluffy feathers.

“Sorry it took so long to get over here. Shot that from two miles out, and I couldn’t find a good thermal to ride. Name’s Eagle, by the way.” He looked and sounded American but spoke perfect French.

The two of them were not sure what to make of him. Of what they knew of the Miraculous from Master Fu, all of them should be in France, if not Paris itself. How did a foreigner get his hands on one? Speaking of hands, his transformation was so complete that he didn’t have them.

Not wanting to be rude or jump to conclusions about this new Miraculous holder, Ladybug introduced herself and her partner.

“I’m Ladybug, and this is Chat Noir. What brings you to Paris?”

“Um. Hmm…” Eagle stalled for time, trying to come up with an answer. He had jumped into the fight without really thinking, and was so impressed by the red girl’s ability to repair the damaged city that he just had to say hello.

“No reason, really. Just wanted to stretch my wings, see the world. But it looks to me like you rookies could use the help. I might just stick around to lend a talon.” Eagle continued to flap his wings to hover about a meter off the ground, extending a yellow claw-like foot. Chat Noir was the first to recognize the strange gesture, taking the talon in his hand to awkwardly shake it.

“I wouldn’t say we’re rookies anymore. We’ve been at this since late 2015, and my partner is a quick learner.” He said, motioning to Ladybug with his free hand.

“This fight might not have been the best measure of skill. We’ve had better.” Ladybug said with confidence.

“That was a great shot, by the way. How do you even aim from that far away?” It was more of a compliment than a question.

Eagle preened a bit at the praise, but a realization sank in and he started looking left and right for something.

“I’m happy to talk. But I need a perch.” He said with a pant. The bridge they were speaking on had wide stone banisters that where just as bad to land on at the road. Finding a railing on the nearby riverbank, he glided over to rest. His new acquaintances joined him shortly.

“Much better. Big birds like me are better suited for soarin’ than stayin’ in one spot. Talons aren’t great for standin’ around either. Now, you mind tell me what on Earth I just shot?”

The three heroes talked for a few minutes, discussing the nature of the local supervillain and how to fight his victims, when they were interrupted by the sound skidding bike tires. Looking over, they saw Alya all but rip off her helmet as she jogged over to them.

“I was wondering when our favorite junior reporter would show up.” Chat said to no one in particular. He then turned to his feathered friend and added, “I don’t know what I was like where you come from, but we stay in character for interviews here.”

“Gotcha.” Eagle said, articulating a feather near the end of his wing to give a make shift thumbs up. Alya descended upon him a second later while demanding an interview.

Adrien walked into class the next morning to find Alya snoring quietly on her desk. He knew exactly what had kept her up last night, but he needed to act natural. So he did what he would do naturally and let the girl sleep by asking Nino instead.

“I’m used to seeing Marinette tired in the morning, but not Alya. Something happen?”

“Dude, you didn’t hear? She snagged an exclusive interview with the new hero in town. Couldn’t sleep at all, she was so stoked.”

Alya awoke suddenly at the words, startling everyone in the classroom.

“Eagle was so nice, he’s great at interviews. And his powers are so cool! Perfect vision all the way to the horizon and he can shoot anything he can see and fly and…” Alya lost steam mid-sentence and fell back asleep.

Marinette had heard her friend’s outburst from the hall and giggled as she walked in. She, too, knew exactly why Alya was so tired. What she didn’t know was why Amoux looked completely drained as well. The boy was mumbling something in his sleep that she could not quite understand.

“Little guy’s been sleep talking in English all morning. Something about fish, I think.” Ivan answered Marinette’s question before she could even ask. The large boy may not be the best at expressing himself verbally, but he could be downright poetic when he wrote. Just last month he had won a writing competition, yet could barely speak two words in front of the class without getting tongue tied.

“The jetlag must have finally caught up with him. I’ll make sure to take good notes for him.” Ivan and Amoux had made quick friends, bonding over their shared difficulties with French. Sharing a desk meant Amoux had someone to turn to whenever he was at a loss for words in class, and he returned the favor the best he could when Ivan couldn’t think of what to say.

Adrien overheard all this and couldn’t help but wonder just how far Amoux had moved to come to Paris.

8000 kilometers away, a young woman flops on the couch after a long night. She loves her job, but her hours are ridiculous. Flipping on the tv, she starts the recording of the news from that morning right as her roommate gets her key in the door.

“[One of these nights I’m gonna beat you home.]” Comes the voice from the entry way.

“[Fat chance, babe. You know I can outrun lightning.]”

She was about to formulate another brag when she was distracted from there friendly competition by the first headline.

“[Alex! Get in here!]”

“[Sophia, what’s wrong? Did we miss something?]” Said Alex, dropping her purse as her roommate rewound the recorded new cast. The two of them got most of their info from the news but were too busy to watch it in the morning. It was not uncommon for them to hear the news of some important event happening in the next town over a day late.

“[Breaking news this morning, local superhero Eagle has resurfaced in Paris after going into an unofficial retirement last fall.]” The broadcast cuts to a surprisingly professional cellphone interview with Eagle, speaking in subtitled French with the Eifel Tower serving as a backdrop. A pause symbol appears on the screen, covering the hero’s face.

Alex was speechless, fiddling with her damp hair out of habit. She looks down at her roommate on the couch and finds a growing grin on her face. But it was not just a happy-to-know-he’s-alive grin. It was much more than that.

“[Sophia, I know that look.]” She said with some hesitation.

“[Hey. How long do you think it would take you to swim to Europe?]” She asked, hopping up to her knees to better speak with her roommate behind the couch. There was no hypothetical tone to be had.

Accustomed to interviewers and bystanders asking similar questions, Alex gave a canned response without thinking.

“[Well if we’re smart and go through Canada, Greenland, Iceland, and the UK so I can rest, it would be about as fast as flying if you…Wait, you don’t really mean-]”

“[HELL YEAH! Grab your passports and the Red Visas! We’re going to Paris!]” Sophia shouted loud enough to earn a thump of a broom handle through the floor from an annoyed neighbor.

“[I want to see our little fledgling as much as you do but we can’t just…]” Alex started, but found herself disarmed by the puppy dog pout on Sophia’s face. How can this woman can go from ecstatic to puppy pout so fast?

“[Fiiiiiine. I’ll call the mayor. You handle the border crossings. And let me sleep in, please?]” Alex said, preemptively covering Sophia’s mouth to keep her from screaming again. Moving her hand away once the excitement had cooled a bit, her roommate gave her a quick peck on the check.

“[Babe, I’ll make you French Toast when you wake up. We should compare with the real French Toast when we get there.]”

“[I look forward to it. Let’s just hope Phoenix can cover for us while we are gone.]” Alex mused. Phoenix didn’t have any powers, but manages to defuse the situation well enough when only civilians are involved. A buff stranger in a spandex suit showing up out of nowhere is enough to make most people reconsider their actions.

“[Relax. Phoenix and the police can handle the petty crime, and the National Guard is more than ready for any natural disasters. We just need to give them the heads up before we go.]”

Alex sighed. Once her roommate got an idea going she charged right on through to the end, sometimes literally. The only thing that could stop her was the ground giving out. Resigning herself to the inevitable, Alex turned her thoughts to the logistics of the trip.

“[Better head down to the store then. We’re gonna need a lot of almonds and chocolate.]”

By the lunch break, Marinette’s sleepy friends had more or less recovered. Amoux had promised to repay her kindness by bring her lunch once his family had unpacked the kitchen enough to make a proper dish, and Alya had brought her own lunch to join them. They went to the park to sit in the grass.

Marinette had been expecting a stereotypical American dish, so she was surprised when she was presented with something shiny.

“This is honey-molasses chicken. It’s baked in a sweet and sticky sauce and can be enjoyed cold or hot.” He handed her a container that unfolded into a plate, as well as a cloth napkin.

“I prefer it cold because it is easier to picnic.” He then picked up his own piece of chicken with both hands and began eating. The girls were taken aback by his lack of table manners. Sensing this, Amoux continued.

“It’s meant to be eaten in hand. Just use your thumb and two fingers on each hand for better control and you won’t make a mess of yourself.” He said with a smile, as if finding it laughable to use silverware when fingers were the superior utensil.

Marinette did her best to copy his technique and took a dainty bite. Then another. Soon she didn’t care how barbaric any passerby thought her eating was. This chicken was unlike anything she had tasted before and she needed the recipe.

As she was cleaning her lips, she felt two familiar presences behind her. She wasn’t sure which would be worse seeing her like this, Adrien or Chloe, so with uncommon bravery she turned to face both.

“Adrien! Hi.” She said as sweetly as she could to cover up her internal screaming. If anything, her crush seemed amused with the tiny amounts of sauce on the corners of her mouth. He raised his hand in greeting but was cut short by Chloe, waving her phone at her target.

“Marinette, you absolute slob. Go clean yourself up before you make the whole park dirty.” Marinette had half a mind to use Chloe herself as a napkin. But a calm voice to her side stopped her, and Chloe.

“Miss? Are you not terribly late?”

Chloe froze and her eyes went wide. Scrambling for the phone already in her hand to check the time, she unsilenced it and was immediately inundated with text messages. She gave a panicked yelp and ran off towards the school. The stunned silence that followed lasted until Chloe was out of sight.

“How did you do that?” Marinette and Alya asked breathlessly.

“Simple. She was receiving texts nonstop but was too distracted to notice. The…um…small yellow faces? They looked urgent.”

“You knew she was late from emojis?” Adrien asked in disbelief. He had seen his classmates do amazing things as if it was nothing, but this took the cake.

“Phones are built to be read. People are what is hard to read.”

That was all the explanation they were likely going to get. Yet another cryptic, figurative wave of the hand to shed a little light on his skills.

“The mean yellow girl was partially right. We do need to clean ourselves.” Amoux said while getting to his feet. He offered a napkin covered hand to assist Marinette, and they were off to the bakery to wash their hands in peace.

Alex woke up at noon to the smell of French Toast and practically floated down the hall to the kitchen.

“[Morning, babe. Better eat quick. We need to head out by one if we want to be in France at a reasonable hour.]” Sophia greeted her roommate. She set down a plate of eight slices of French Toast, a full bottle of syrup, a two sliced bananas, and a fork.

“[You’re the best.]” Alex said with only a hint of sleep, hugging her roommate and nuzzling her ear before sitting down to breakfast. As she ate, Sophia went to the phone to make some last-minute calls.

“[You think I should call the Mariners to cancel my appearance next Saturday?]” She asked from the hall, just out of sight of the kitchen.

“[If we’re not back by then we have bigger problems.]” Alex replied, already cutting up her second slice. Her roommate nodded in agreement. Sophia instead dialed the non-emergency number for the Emergency Dispatch Center and cleared her throat. A small voice came over the phone once it connected.

“[Hi Paula, good to hear you back in the call center after that ferry accident…]”

Alex tuned her out as she ate the rest of her breakfast. She was not usually the kind of girl to lick her plate, but she knew she would need the calories today. Walking over to the pantry, she pushed aside the five-pound bag of chocolate chips to retrieve an unopened jar of almonds. Eating a few and setting the open jar on the counter, she checked the calendar on the refrigerator. The only thing of note she would be missing in her civilian life was the start of Copper River season. It was a guilty pleasure to say the least, but she was searching for an old friend and sacrifices needed to be made.

“[I could only get a hold of the KOMO news network, but they said they would get the word out to the other stations.]” Sophia said, popping her head back into the kitchen.

“[Cool. Let’s make sure we have everything ready.]” Alex picked up the large bags of almonds and chocolate chips and walked to the bedroom, passing the now empty jar on the counter. The tiny grey mermaid lying next to it was rubbing its belly.

“[Pack ‘em in the best you can, Oncoor. You’ll need it.]” All she got as a response was a tiny wave of a hand and an equally tiny burp.

The two young women spread everything they would need for the trip out on the bed. Alex read off the check list for her roommate, while Sophia made a show of holding up whatever item was called.

“[Snacks?]” “[Totally.]” “[Cell phones?]” “[With water proof cases and roaming plan.]” “[GPS?]” “[Military grade.]” “[Passports?]” “[Two for you, Two for me.]” “[Visas?]” “[Full diplomatic immunity.]” “[Jewelry?]” “[Like we ever take those off.]” “[Money?]” “[1346 Euros in cash.]”

Alex looked up from the list to give Sophia a questioning look.

“[What? I know you have a big wad to Canadian money in the sock drawer.]”

“[It’s not the money I’m worried about. Do you really not take that off to wash your hair?]”

Sophia gave a nervous laugh and set to packing. Behind her on the nightstand sat a small elk-like creature trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“[Itippa would get lonely if I did.]”

Ladybug crotched on a high ledge of Notre Dame. She had been forced to give up patrolling on a regular basis because of school and fashion projects. Some weeks she barely had time to fight an akuma when one appeared, let alone actively searching for one. Chat assured her that he could patrol the city well enough and would put the word out if he found anything too serious. And he had been a cat of his word.

Tonight, she wasn’t looking for crime or akumas. Ladybug was looking for the hero she had met the night before. They had talked shop, but she next to nothing about him. Sure, she had rewatched the interview on the Ladyblog and knew what his powers were, but she needed to know if Eagle could be trusted. While it seemed to be a rule that only one akuma could exist at a time, the resent dip in activity might be an omen of that no longer being the case. One akuma to be the monster and another to be the hero. Volpina had pretended to be a hero and turned out evil, so who could say it wouldn’t happen again. The fact that Eagle had some uncanny similarities with Dark Cupid only deepened her worries.

“You seem pensive, My Lady.” Chat Noir said a few paces away. Ladybug had gotten used to Chat sneaking up on her, so she didn’t jump. She stood to meet him at eye level.

“I just want to talk with Eagle again. To make sure we are all on the same page. Superhero culture is different in America, so I wanted to lay some ground rules before something goes wrong.” She said, condensing her thoughts from the last half hour.

“Well if yer looking for a bird of prey, you need to look up.” Came a familiar voice from above. Looking up the two saw Eagle holding onto a spire with both talons, holding himself vertical with a curled wingtip. He dismounted and glided silently down to them, finding the head of a gargoyle the perfect size to perch on.

“Look out Chat. Might have some competition for stealthiest hero.”

“That’s unfair, My Lady! He has no footsteps to speak of.” He defended dramatically. He knew Ladybug was joking. Eagle certainly found it funny and had a hearty chuckle at their banter.

“Now, what are these ground rule you want me to know?”

Ladybug took a moment to collect her talking points before speaking.

“Well first of all, you should know we have the government’s cooperation, not their support. We’ve on our own for the most part, and we certainly are not paid to do this. Don’t start giving orders to law enforcement unless you have to.” This seemed to take Eagle by surprise, but he did not interrupt.

“Second, we keep our identities secret, even from each other. The fewer people know, the better. Might as well keep that number at zero.” At this Eagle looked a little shocked, as if it was useful information being locked away from the people that could use it most.

“And lately, we prioritize saving civilians over preventing property damage. As you have seen, I can repair any physical damage. But I can’t fix the phycological damage from people getting hurt.” This seemed to stir up some bad memories in Eagle.

“Wait, American heroes get paid? Not that I need the money but…whoa, hey, you okay buddy?” Chat read Eagle’s ashamed look and knew right away that late rule had struck a chord. Ladybug noticed once her partner mentioned it and was already mentally backpedaling to come up with something to make him feel better.

“I’m fine. Just remembering what led up to me leaving Seattle. Saved ten lives at the cost of a corporate headquarters burning down. Whole lot of investors threatened to pull their companies out of the superhero program. It…was a bad week for all of us.” He said with empty eyes. It seemed like a small miracle to hold his composure, but that accent of his had fallen completely.

Ladybug reached up to run her hand along his wing in what she hoped was a soothing manner. Chat empathized with his distaste of money focused authority figures.

“Do your partners know? Why you left?” Ladybug asked quietly. Now it was Eagle’s turn to collect his thoughts.

“They do. They came to my defense anytime I spoke out against the program, even if they would not speak themselves. But…I kinda fell off the face of the Earth when I left. They’ve done well enough on their own, from what I’ve heard.”

The three heroes stood in silence for a few moments, not sure how to move on from such weighty revelations in the presence of those they did not know well. Eagle was the first to speak again.

“If those were the ground rules you wanted, then I accept. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have a letter to write.” With that, he spread his wings and disappeared into the night.

Chat and Ladybug lingered, still processing. Without speaking they mutually agreed to start their patrol, if only to clear their heads.

A few blocks away, two damp young women climbed the stairs up the river bank to an open plaza. One woman had an arm slung across the shoulders of the other for support.

“[You really didn’t have to swim that last leg. It was my turn.]” Sophia said to an exhausted Alex.

“[Oh, no. I’m not having you running at a thousand miles an hour on a sprained wrist. Besides, you ran out of chocolate to feed your kwami back in Oxford.]”

“[Possibly sprained wrist. And I would have been faster. The Seine was super bendy.]”

Years of experience had taught them that they could openly talk about their powers in public and people would either think they were massive nerds, drunk, or both. The fact that only tourists spoke English here helped too.

Alex was about to point out that her partner still wouldn’t have been able to run across northern France on account of a lack of chocolate. But a realization made her stop walking, bringing Sophia to a stop with her. It was a moment before she was able to admit to the problem, having made the checklist.

“[We forgot to get a hotel, didn’t we?]”

Sophia went from curious as to why they stopped to concern for where they were going. With all the chaos of putting together the trip on such short notice they had both focused on the journey, with no thought of what to do once they got there other than tracking down Eagle and get some solid answers.

Both women looked up and down the streets that came to the plaza, but everything just looked residential to them. Would it kill them to put up some hotel-looking signs?

“You ladies look a little lost.” Came an unnaturally clear male voice from a nearby rooftop. The two sighed in relief as they recognized the standard Hero Voice that they themselves used when they were on the clock. Too bad they didn’t understand a word he said.

A second later they were joined by a boy in black leather with cat ears and a girl in red and black polka dot seamless spandex. Both wore familiar shaped masks.

Sophia acted fast and pulled the English to French dictionary out of her backpack while reciting the French version of ‘we don’t speak your language’ she had memorized. Fortunately, she had been to Canada enough times to know where in the dictionary to look for what she needed.

“Our travel plans failed. We need a hotel.” She managed to say without much delay.

“I got this, Chat. [You sound like you are from America. I speak some English, so you can put the dictionary away.]” Little miss red said in academic English. The cat boy seemed impressed that his partner had the ability.

“[Oh thank god. We just need some directions to a place we can stay until morning. Then we can figure out how to handle the rest of our trip.]” Said Alex, who could feel her feet throbbing from all the swimming she had done. Powered up, she might have been able to swim another ten miles. But the thought of going even a city block on dry land felt like torture.

As Chat Noir and Ladybug leapt away from the lost travelers they had helped, they both found it easier to talk. The weight to their discussion with Eagle no longer bogged them down.

“It’s nice to just help out civilians in need for a change. Feels like all we ever do is fight akumas and muggers.” Ladybug said brightly. She liked the feeling of being a good Samaritan.

“You need to come out on patrol more often, then. It’s not all about catching crooks.” Chat said with a smirk. Ladybug could only sigh at the pun. She wouldn’t admit it, at least not tonight, that she did enjoy his puns. It was a shame that he seemed to be off him game from not seeing her during the break in akuma activity.

“Speaking of civilians, did you notice anything odd about those tourists?” Chat asked with a semi-serious tone, prompting Ladybug to give it some semi-serious thought.

“Now that you mention it, their hair was soaked but their clothes were dry. They looked exhausted and were by the river…You don’t think…”

Chat Noir paused his rooftop running and Ladybug followed suit. They exchanged a long look of contemplation, wordlessly going over the facts. Surely they had not been swimming this late at night.

“Nah!” The two heroes said in unison, both stretching out an arm and flicking their wrists downward as if to swat the ridiculous idea out of the air. They laughed at the thought of the two of them coming to the same conclusion on such flimsy evidence.

“But did you see her red pearl earrings? I should have asked where she got them.” Ladybug said while flipping her hair to flash her own earrings.

“I was too distracted by the other woman’s jewelry. It looked like she had little antlers wrapped around her ear.”

“It was a pretty nice ear cuff. Too bad it’s not really my style.”

The duo went back to their patrol, lightheartedly discussing what accessory they would pick to hold their Miraculous if they had to choose a new one.

Amoux sat down to his writing desk in a bedroom that was still new to him. Call him old fashioned, but he wanted to write this letter by hand. He had neglected to tell his friends back in Seattle that he was moving to Paris, and they deserved an explanation. Two friends in particular deserved the whole truth.

He briefly considered writing two letters, but they shared an address. Reading such an important message would best be done together.

As he wrote, he started over many times until he was sure he had included everything. Signing his name, he added a drawing of a sleek black feather to match the pin on his collar. It was only when the envelope was sealed that he remembered he would need international postage stamps.

“[If only I could hand deliver this.]”

  Author’s Notes:

-This was very much a test fic when it started, to see if I could write in this universe. It just spiraled out of control with all the headcanons I wanted to throw in.

-As long as this fic was, it doesn’t contain the scene I day dreamed that inspired the rest of the fic. Expect at least one more chapter.

-At first I wanted to sprinkle in some French like I see in other author’s fics, but with the whole [brackets for English] business going on it didn’t make sense. 

Chapter 2>>