#cw: mentions of drowning

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

part i: leo

(tags for cw)

~

One: Leo

A Nightmare, A Dream

Amsterdam

So far, Leo had been able to hide the dreams. They hadn’t happened during the nights he’d shared with Finn, but that was probably because he never slept those nights. Not deeply. He’d been too wired by the idea of Finn beside him, and too worried by how the pained lines of Finn’s face didn’t relax even in his sleep.

The dreams hadn’t happened with James on the train, but he’d figured that was because Logan had been just one wall away. Safe. As safe as he could be. Logan wasn’t dead. Logan wasn’t dead, he hadn’t drowned, you didn’t let him drown, you didn’t lose him, someone cut the tracker out, you didn’t lose him, it wasn’t you.

And yet.

He should have asked Logan more questions. He should have forced him to tell him what was going on—why he wanted a direct line to Finn, why he had such a faraway look on his face, why he took phone calls where he barely said a word. He should have seen something coming. He should have forced Logan to tell him.

And now, he was here in a safe house, sitting up on the couch he’d volunteered to take, and watching snow fall in the streetlights outside. Stalling. Afraid to sleep. Logan was right there. It should be fine. But if it wasn’t…

He looked towards the bed, which he’d given to Finn and Logan. They hadn’t slept beside each other like that yet, he realized. Not since Logan got back. The train had been bunk beds. No wonder Finn had laid down so carefully. No wonder he’d kept glancing at Logan as they’d all sat up for a little while, wary of the strange new place, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off so they could actually fall asleep. Finn had managed it. Leo knew his breathing patterns by now. He’d spent so many nights listening to the hitching after-math of a hard cry fade, exhausted.

Logan was awake. He was on his side, facing Finn and staring. Just staring at him in the darkness. He’d shift every once in a while, and it took Leo a moment to realize that he had his ankles tangled in Finn’s beneath the quilt. Leo knew Finn did that sort of thing in his sleep. It was painfully sweet that Logan didn’t pull away.

“Can I ask you something?” Logan whispered suddenly.

Leo nodded. Ten thousand possible questions went through his mind. Some of them real, some of them a fantasy. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I never stopped looking for you.

Yes, Logan, I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the love of your life, too. I’m sorry.

“Was I a bad person?” Logan finally asked. “Was I bad?” He looked down at Finn’s sleeping form. “To him?”

Leo sat up fast, hands pushing into the overly plush couch cushions. Logan, slowly so as not to disturb Finn, sat up, too. He looked so perfect in this light. He looked warm and alive—and a bit guilty.

“It’s only that,” Logan paused, uncertain. “I’m not with you. I know that, I…there are parts of my wedding that I can see.”

“What can you see?” Because Leo was awful, and Leo wanted to know. He hadn’t been there. He wanted every detail. “I mean…No. We’re not together.”

“But I kissed you.”

“No,” Leo said. Exactly was he was afraid of. “No, I kissed you.”

“I kissed back.”

“No.” Leo almost wanted to get up. He wanted to sit on the edge of Logan’s side of the bed and shake him. “It was a moment. We were scared and exhausted and lonely. And it didn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why that’s—something that would come back, I…”

The words sounded like some part of a torn up script in his mouth, ashy and rehearsed.

“You…” Leo tried to think how to explain this. How did he explain, to Logan, about the way Logan loved Finn. About the notes. About 1017 and about the weight he saw Logan drop like a heavy cloak whenever they touched onto English ground again. When Finn met them somewhere, how did he explain what it was like to watch them take each other in, uncaring of where they were or who was watching. How did he explain to Logan that he was the richest person in the world because he had found everything, everything, from ease to lust to comfort to love, in one person? 

“1017,” Leo said. “You asked me to break basically the most sacred rule we’re given because you refused to let him worry about you if something went wrong. You protected him, Logan, at risk to yourself. You could never…never be bad to him. You love him so much, it hurts to look at.”

A brief silence as Logan took this in. No blood, though, so Leo thought he’d done all right.

“That’s how I found you. 1017.” Logan shifted again, pillows piled behind him. “I saw those numbers for months, I just didn’t…I woke up one day and I knew what to do with them. Just like I woke up one day and I knew French was my first language. Just like I suddenly knew my wedding band had been silver.”

Leo involuntarily looked to the hand it had once rested on. Logan was touching his ring finger. “Do you remember what happened to it?”

Leo felt bad for asking instantly. Logan’s face turned so hopelessly inconsolable, even if just for a second, that he wanted to yank the words back in.

“Non,” Logan said softly. He closed a fist around his hand. “No.”

“You could never be bad to him,” Leo said. “When your memories come back, you’ll understand.”

“If, you mean. If they come back.”

“They’re already coming back, Lo.”

The nickname made Logan look up, but he seemed to settle into it. “Not everything.”

Leo could argue with that. He had no way of helping Logan. None at all.

“You have to be patient with yourself,” he said in the end. Logan just looked back down at Finn’s sleeping face.

They were quiet again after that, but neither of them lay back down. Logan began to card his fingers through Finn’s hair. Leo didn’t know if he knew how natural that gesture was. How often Leo had seen him do it.

“You can sleep,” Logan said. “I’m not tired. I will keep watch.”

Leo began to protest, but Logan shook his head.

“Leo, please. I’ll never sleep. I don’t feel like I can.” He looked down at Finn again, then back to Leo. “I’ve been exhausted these last couple days, but now I’m just…awake. There is so much I can see. It’s just—as though it’s out of the corner of my eye. I need…I need to keep letting it come back. Please, rest.”

Leo wasn’t sure how to refuse. He didn’t want to tell Logan about the dreams, and Logan obviously wouldn’t take Leo wanting to keep him company as an excuse. He was exhausted. More than exhausted—the ear-ringing, thirsty sort of tired.

“If you’re sure,” Leo said.

Logan’s half smile brought him almost no comfort at all as he lay back against the couch.

He would pretend. He would lay here, close his eyes, keep his breathing regular. But he couldn’t fall asleep. Out of Logan’s sight he dug his nails into his palm. He couldn’t fall asleep.

The next thing he knew, he was plunged into something cold and deep and blue. Salt water filled his mouth.

It started like it always did. The weightlessness of the open ocean was pleasant for no more than a few moments—until he realized how deep he was.

Holding his breath, Leo looked up towards the glimmering surface far, far above. In his head it was miles, fathoms above him. Unreachable. The panic they were trained to master began to squirm. He seemed to be sinking, too. The light from the sun dimmed as the ocean took over. There was the shadow of a boat up there. He didn’t know who’s. He looked around, as if there was something he could push off of, give himself some leverage beyond his own desperate strokes and kicks—and he saw him.

Logan, his eyes closed, dark hair a halo around his slack face, was sinking into the dark waters below him. Remus was a few feet away.

Choose, something said. You’ll never reach them both. Choose.

Leo turned ice cold. Remus was drifting down, his limbs loose and weak in the water. Leo would have to go farther to reach him, and he’d never make it back for Logan.

And that was always the point when, suddenly, Remus’ face turned into Finn’s.

Leo let out a silent scream of his name. Because that was wrong. Finn had been no where near them, that was wrong, Finn was safe.

Choose. You’ll never reach them both.

Finn’s thick, red hair brushed across his forehead as a current swayed him just a little towards Leo. He was pale. So, so pale in the ocean’s thin light.

Leo began to swim down. He pushed, harder and harder, but it was like there was a force working against him. He stretched out a hand towards Finn, reaching even as his other hand worked to pull himself towards Logan.

But they were being swallowed by the water. He was shaking. Finn was being pulled farther and farther away. The next time Leo looked, he was just a shadow in the blue. There was no more air. Logan’s face slipped out of view and Leo shouted his name, letting the water in. When a sob forced an inhale, the water went with that, too, and Leo scratched at his own throat. He couldn’t see the water’s surface anymore. He couldn’t see anything. Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan. Leo—

“Leo.”

Leo was forced back into the apartment like a bright light being slammed on. His entire body was slick with sweat. He could feel it sliding down his temples and soaking the neck of his shirt. He sat up, trying to gasp for air, but none came. None came. None ever came. Finn was kneeling beside the couch with his hands on Leo’s shoulders.

“What…” Finn asked, frantically looking around Leo’s for signs of danger, of a wound. “Le, come on, what’s wrong. Hey, what happened, look at me, Leo.”

But Leo couldn’t answer. Air wouldn’t come. He couldn’t explain to Finn that everything was fine, it was okay, you’re okay—

“Leo?”

That soft voice. That gentle accent cupping the two sounds of his name. Lay-oh. Drowning. Pale, ocean skin, never see him again—

Leo’s eyes met Logan’s, who knelt beside Finn and put a hand on his chest. His eyes were nearly the color of summer in the wash of the yellow lamp Finn had turned on. Leo tried to gasp, but all that came was an awful, retched sound. His heart began to pound in his temples, he could feel the heat of his neck and cheeks as he struggled.

The crease between Logan’s brow was full of emotion, of life, of worry. It was nothing like the death Leo had seem on him in the dream. Nothing.

Breathe, Leo willed himself. He’s right there, you idiot, breathe, breathe.

Finally, it came back. The air. Leo gasped, then coughed hard, swinging his legs down from the couch so he could sit up and cough again, draw air again, even as Finn put a hand on his back.

“Fuck. God, can you breathe?” Finn asked hurriedly. “Leo? Leo, can you breathe?”

“I’m sorry,” Leo said hoarsely. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh my God,” Finn whispered. His fingers were pushing through the back of Leo’s hair now. “Oh my God, Leo. Leo?”

“I’m okay,” Leo said. His voice sounded awful. His chest ached. Blood rushed through him and brought small sparks to the edges of his vision. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong. That’s all me. I can explain.”

Which of course sounded ridiculous to them. Finn pressed his forehead to Leo’s shoulder and let out a harsh breath.

“Leo,” he panted. “Jesus.”

Leo’s arms were trapped between them, but he patted Finn’s side, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m sorry, I…” How did he explain? How on earth did he explain? “It’s just a dream I have.”

Finn pulled back and stared at him, still horrified. “That makes you not be able to breathe? That’s not just a dream.”

“It is just a dream,” Leo said. He groaned rubbing at his eyes. “Thank God it’s just a dream…”

He peeked through his fingers at Logan, who was still watching him. He still had his hands on him. For a moment, it was almost as if he knew who Leo was completely.

To have both of them sitting next to each other again, looking at him, was more than Leo could ever have wanted. He never thought he’d see it again.

“I lost you in the ocean,” Leo said to Logan. “I lost you in the ocean, and so I’m…I’m in the ocean and you’re below me and you’re sinking.” He had to draw in a quick, ragged breath. He rubbed at his chest. “You’re sinking, you’re drowning, maybe you’re already dead, and I’m trying to reach you and then Finn is sinking, drowning, and I never reach you. I never do and—and when I wake up, I just…I can’t breathe. Nothing is wrong with me, but I just can’t. For a few seconds, I can’t.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Finn asked. “To me, why did you never—”

“Because…” Leo shook his head. “Why would I tell you something like that? That’s a horrible image, I didn’t want that in your head, Finn.”

“Why would you…” Finn rose up on his knees, closer. “Leo. You watched me fall asleep crying and wake up crying for months. And you think you can’t tell me?”

Leo, very suddenly, felt that he might cry himself. “I…”

Finn saw it immediately and put his hand back on Leo’s chest. “You know how bad it was. You know I would have understood. You heard those messages I left Lo. Those hundreds of messages…”

Leo’s eyes widened, new heat rising to his chest. “I—no. No, I didn’t…”

But Finn tilted his head, brown eyes soft and imploring. “It’s okay. It’s okay if you listened. I know they went through you now. You kept us connected when I thought it was all lost.”

Leo shook his head, a surprised, hitching sob clawing up his throat. He covered his eyes briefly and willed it away. “Only when��only when I couldn’t be there. I only listened when I was called away and I couldn’t come over, only when I needed to know you were at least a little all right—”

“All the while you weren’t all right—Leo.” Finn drew him close, pressing their foreheads together.

Beside them, Logan sat back on his heels in a jerky movement, like someone had tried to knock him over. He put a hand over his mouth. Leo looked in time to see blood coat his fingers, and then Logan let out a sound that was half a cry of pain, half a curse. His knuckles were white on Leo’s knee.

Leo didn’t think. He drew the hem of his t-shirt forward and cupped the back of Logan’s head while he pressed the cloth to his nose.

“Shit,” Leo said. “Logan?”

“Oh, Lo,” Finn whispered.

“I don’t know,” Logan gasped. His voice was thick from a blocked up nose and his eyes squeezing shut before opening wide to the ceiling. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Shh,” Leo hushed. “Lo, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

This was too much. Too soon, too heavy. Leo didn’t know how the memories worked, but he’d learned enough to see that these things had to come slowly. Force only brought Logan pain.

“I feel like it was,” Logan said. “I feel—I feel like I knew. Something. I feel…”

Leo could hardly watch him struggle. Leo tilted Logan’s face up towards him to wipe the blood away as best he could. He didn’t realize he was stroking a thumb over Logan’s temple until Logan closed his eyes and leaned into his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” Leo repeated. He looked at Finn, but Finn didn’t seem to mind, so he kept his hand half buried in Logan’s soft hair. “Logan, you didn’t know this would happen.”

“Leo’s right,” Finn said. “Lo, you didn’t know.”

Logan’s voice sounded small. “How can you be sure of that?”

Finn reached out and wiped the last streak of blood from Logan’s nose, then wiped it on his own shirt.

“Because you would never leave me like that,” Finn said firmly. “You never would.”

Leo left them only to splash cold water over his face. He looked ragged and pale to himself in the bathroom mirror. He watched his own chest rise and fall until his breath came easier and his head stopped throbbing. Then he switched off the light and went back into the main room. Finn and Logan were talking in low voices back in bed and Leo made his way to the couch. Maybe he should shower. he was still soaked in sweat. But exhaustion was taking over again.

“Leo,” Logan’s voice came.

Leo looked over his shoulder as he pulled his blanket back. “Yeah?”

Logan looked at Finn, who nodded, then put a hand flat on the mattress between the two of them. “Sleep. Here.”

“I—what?”

Finn patted the space more firmly. “Come here and sleep in a real bed.”

Leo straightened, the blanket falling from his hands. “You want all three of us to sleep in that bed?”

They just looked at him. Logan, a little frustrated now, hit the space.

“Allez.”

Of all the things Leo had expected to do right then, laughing was not among them. Even Finn smiled.

“What?” Logan asked.

“Nothing.” Finn looked at Leo for help.

“That was just…” Leo stopped at the end of the bed. “Very you.”

Logan brightened a bit at that, pleased.

“Oh,” he said, and lay down, folding his hands across his chest expectantly.

Leo felt a little bashful, crawling across the bed, but it was so warm once Leo was under their covers that he shivered and didn’t care whether they were just being kind. Some deeper sort of thaw began to take place in his chest. Finn curled an arm around Leo’s waist, turning into him. He hadn’t even held Logan like that, yet, and here Leo was, wrapped up between them.

“Okay?” Logan whispered, eyes already closing.

“Mhm,” Leo managed to say. Maybe this would keep the dreams at bay.

Finn knocked his forehead gently against Leo’s temple and Leo turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” Leo whispered.

Finn just put a hand on the side of his face and pressed a gentle, soundless kiss to his cheek, just near the corner of Leo’s mouth.

When he pulled back, that familiar worry was there, but muted. At least for now.

“He dreams about you, too,” Finn said, and closed his eyes.

[kudossi]

only god can write this script

“I’m, uh,” Lionblaze mutters, his tail sweeping behind him, “sorry for your loss.”

You would be, wouldn’t you, Dovewing doesn’t say, because she’s ex-ThunderClan, because she’s ex-prophesied, because his sister died for hers and because he’d wanted to kill her son, because she’s the leader’s mate, because her feelings about the cat who practically kidnapped her from her family to raise as a substitute for another are complicated and thorny at best. “Thank you,” she says at last, like she’s expected to. The diplomacy Tawnypelt has spent so long teaching her tastes rotten on her tongue.

Lionblaze wipes his mouth with one paw. Dovewing’s sister is ThunderClan’s deputy now, not him. She wonders how he feels about it. She wonders whether he thinks Hollyleaf should be there instead. She wonders if, just as she had been, Ivypool is just another substitute for a black cat with too-sharp eyes, too much potential. All wasted, of course, because StarClan was nothing if not good at wasting.

She wishes she knew why the she-cats suffered most. She wishes she didn’t know that they did.

She wishes Rowankit had been born a tom, sometimes, in her darkest moments. If he had, he wouldn’t be dead. “Simple as that,” she’d said to Ivypool last Gathering.

“Simple as that,” Ivypool had echoed, hollow. Bristlefrost had died for — what, exactly? So that more toms could live? So that the she-cat didn’t get the happy ending?

“There are never any happy endings for us,” Hollyleaf had murmured to her the morning of her death. The implication had been clear. Dovewing had stared at the only cat who ever understood her with wide, dry eyes until Hollyleaf had set her chin on Dovewing’s head, and then she’d been helpless not to lean in, a sob rattling her chest as she did.

“I approve,” Sorreltail had grinned at her as Briarlight had hissed defiance at the idea of being evacuated.

“Do I need it?” Dovewing had wondered.

“No,” Sorreltail had answered, simple as anything. “If it’s Briarlight, wonderful. But if there lies something for you outside of these borders — take it. Take it and never look back.”

It was the last time she had spoken to Sorreltail until she was cleaning her blood off of Lilykit and Seedkit as another panic swept over the camp. And even then, she was only speaking to a corpse, reassuring a cat who wasn’t there anymore that her kits would be okay.

(And Seedpaw had drowned to keep a stick — the closest memory of her mother she had — in ThunderClan’s possession. Dovewing had wept that night, inconsolable. Another daughter lost to the memory of her mother, a mother who had died because she had been expected to be a mother before a warrior, a mother despite the worst of wounds. A beaver’s dam bursts and is built again, over and over, until Dovewing’s coat drips with invisible blood.)

“Nursery work isn’t simple,” Ferncloud had smiled once, taking her through each task. Her demeanor was gentle, but the undercurrent was hard. Bumblepaw hadn’t taken this lesson. She knew that Lionblaze hadn’t, either.

“Why us?” Dovepaw had asked, looking up at her.

Ferncloud’s gaze, fixed on a point deep in the den, snapped to hers as if pulled there. “Because it’s only us,” she had said after a moment.

Less than a year later, Dovewing would step through Ferncloud’s blood to block a Dark Forest shade, all murk and mire and claws made of filth, from taking a bite out of her corpse.

“Don’t have another litter,” Lionblaze says now, callous in his way. “It never ends well for us.”

She knows — oh, does she ever know — that. No one star-touched could get away with a second litter, not if the stars had touched you young, even if they took the blessings they’d given away. Lionblaze’s first litter had led unremarkable lives — Hollytuft, despite her namesake, was quiet and unobtrusive; Fernsong had stepped a little farther than his bounds with Ivypool (and had paid for it, perhaps, with their daughter drowning in a lake made of rot); and Sorrelstripe’s history seemed to begin and end with her own litter (another dam, rising high; Dovewing looks away, now, because the alternative hollows her chest with rhythmic scraping of dulled teeth — pain comforted by pain). But the second? Two of them kittypets, the third an active rebel who had lost her mate to her own leader’s claws? A gentle fate, all told. They were all still alive, but what did that matter to him? Did the shame of having two living kittypet children outweigh the idea that both were alive, that both were happy, that he could visit them if he cared to?

“He shouldn’t have allowed it,” Jayfeather had said, his blind eyes staring into Dovewing’s soul.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it,” Lionblaze had said, anger toying at the end of every word.

But Dovewing had wanted, and now her tiny, perfect son is dead. “I won’t,” she says, hoarse. After all, she hadn’t ever been allowed to want. What had she expected? That StarClan would grant mercy to one who had only ever done their bidding?

“Guess some of us have to learn our lessons,” Lionblaze mutters. He scratches at an ear and averts his gaze from the direction of ShadowClan’s medicine den when someone stirs within.

Dovewing wonders if she can muster up the energy to be truly angry. She wants to be so badly, like one might want to escape sharpened claws dipped into soft flesh, but it’s hard to muster in this cruel, gray world without her son, with only callous gods to stare down at her. “Guess so,” she says, and wonders which god wrote this script she’s living. Her losses burn hot in her throat, the injustices as cold as ice, but Lionblaze could never fathom a story more unhappy than his own. “I guess so.”

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Ballister got beat up so many times in that movie, poor man

Like-- getting your arm chopped off then falling through a floor, I'd consider that pretty beat up. The incident at the Institute where Todd and his guys beat him up and you hear his agonized SCREAM off-camera, the end where Todd and his guys beat him up so badly he's slipping in and out of consciousness. And like, not to state the obvious, but beating is a pretty agonizing thing to experience. Like I feel like in most media it gets played down in favor of more ✨dramatically agonizing✨ things like burning, drowning, stabbing etc. but let's not forget beating is a very commonly used method of torture

Anyway point is, that man has so much trauma. I imagine he couldn't be touched with anything but the gentlest contact for ages, even from Ambrosius. I can imagine the panic he'd feel if even his hand or arm was grabbed too quickly or too tightly. I imagine how Ambrosius would be so, so, so gentle and patient and would be so incredibly proud once Ballister got back to his rough-housy self

[luck-of-the-drawings]

FOR A BEAT OF HEART, THE BREATH IS SHOT. AND WITHIN A BREATH, THE HEART IS CAUGHT. THE PIPES ARE BURSTING, UNDER GREAT STRESS, BOLTS TORN ASUNDER, MAKING A MESS. A FINAL COUGH, A FINAL RETCH, A GOREY SLOUGH, CLAIMED BY WRETCH.

[sharp-silver4795]

BEN Drowned HCs

I felt like doing some character headcannons so here we are!

Quick warning: THIS IS A LONG POST!! I really like my version of BEN-

Story Elements

⚠️CW!! implied su1c!de, parent divorce, and bullying. I took a few headcanons and a lot of the stories and mashed em together into this mess-

He’s autistic. He struggled a lot as a kid and teen. Especially after his parents divorced, his issues at school seemed to only get worse. He developed some anxiety around being social and tried to stay away from people.

During school he would live with his dad. It was a pretty place. There was a small wooded area behind the neighborhood, but it had a nice clearing with a lake… Ben was too scared to ever go in since he didn’t know how to swim and couldn’t see the bottom.

He got bullied a lot and didn’t have many friends, but found comfort in video games.

He can’t handle being touched and he hates eye contact. The only way he was ever able to communicate was through screens because it made it easier for him.

He loved to get lost in the fantasy of the worlds he played in, especially Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask…

As a young adult, he couldn’t get away from the screens. He felt safe! He felt normal, though hiding from the world.

As time went on, at age 21, he realized he couldn’t live like that. But he was too scared to go… he didn’t want to repeat every other time of his life.

So, he found some chains in his dad’s garage and decided to finally take a ‘swim’ in the lake…

Living in the Screen

So, yes. He’s apart of the Mansion and has the cabin within the Mid-Mansion.

He prefers to live behind the screens though. There’s no sound except the buzzing of the electricity, he’s not having to move around the circuit board, and he has completely privacy.

He’s in the game system, yes, but not too far. It’s almost like he’s in the lights that bring the graphics to life.

He’s not visible unless you put your face right up to the screen. You might see a few green and brown pixels-

That’s BEN.

Social Shocker

Introvert v. Extrovert

He’s pretty quiet and introverted.

Sure, he likes talking to people, and he can strike up a conversation with just about anybody…. But when push comes to shove, at the end of the day…. Leave him alone. Let him sleep in his electronic void.

Friendships

He has a few genuine friends that he holds close: Lost Silver, Dark Link, Neon Spike, Nina the Killer.

Outside of those friends, he doesn’t really hang out with anyone consistently.

Self Esteem

BEN actually has a lot of insecurities.

The water made it so his skin looks like it’s constantly peeling. He’s a sickly bluish green with bleeding eyes and carries chains on his arms and legs.

It makes him feel gross. So, he hides in his electronic void….

Unless he finds one of his “distraction buddies:” Jeff the Killer, Puppeteer, Nathan the Nobody, Clockwork, Jane the Killer, and LJ

These are the ones that he feels he’s better than. If he feels bad in his appearance or skills in murder, why not crush someone in a video game?

Burn Out

Like most people, he can get social burn out- or even video game burn out.

When he’s feeling socially drained he’ll either escape to the screens, or sit with some of the quieter folks.

It seems quite counterproductive to be with people while you’re socially burnt out- but it works for him.

He particularly likes to watch others work on their projects: Jason and his dolls, Liu with metal and woodworking, Helen painting, etc.

Neutrality

You might have noticed that there are members of both the Mansion and the Dungeon in this section.

That’s because the Operator can’t restrict his social life.

It tried to and failed miserably.

It’s not that BEN can move through electronics of any kind- BEN becomes the electronic.

The Operator can’t keep him from getting anywhere and to anyone…

In the Mansion

BEN is really just cybersecurity.

He keeps a tab open for people who he’s told might be getting a bit close to answers.

He’s also the alarm/warning system.

He set up a way to detect if someone who isn’t in the mansion gets within a certain radius, so he notifies the Rebellions.

Murder

BEN has to have his fun too, right?

He likes to challenge his victims and give them a chance at survival.

Basically, it starts by him being summoned (usually by accident).

Then, he gives the typical warning: YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT

After that, he cyber-stalks his victims for a while. Whenever he’s decided he wants to end it, he appears to them again.

He cuts all their power and cell service except for the device they’re on. He challenges them to a game…

If they win, they live. If he wins, they die.

Little does the poor victim know, BEN is a sore loser… in truth, they’re not making it out alive.

They are usually found dead after being electrocuted by their own device. It will be passed off as an electronic malfunction.

Sexuality, Gender, Etc.

He’s not exactly Aromantic, more like gray-romantic. He just doesn’t believe he can be in a relationship.

HE/HIM!! It makes him feel human again and not like a fucking monster.

Divider Creds: sisterlucifergraphics

Header Creds: MEEE!!!

[spitesprite]

[ TRIPTYCH ]

[ COLD OPEN ]

[ CONFRONTATION ]

[ DEAD END ]

My @mcythorrorgiftexchange gift for @margueritte-not-margaret! Hope you enjoy! And a huge thank you as always to the mods for your tireless and wonderful work running this event, it was terrific!

[basilpaste]

〔You Dream of Giving Up.〕

(the following piece contains a brief depiction of drowning. please stay safe!)

post-canon osis thing because i got normal about it.

〔You dream about drowning.〕

〔You dream about everyone drowning. Of watching heads dip under water, of struggling bodies giving in. You dream about not being able to do anything, because the water is also filling your lungs. Of crying out in pain and making no sound, burning from the inside out even though you're freezing.〕

〔You dream of giving up.〕

〔You jerk awake, choking on your own spit.〕

〔No. No no no!〕

〔You've had this dream before.〕

〔Hah! Hahaha! You're back. You must be. If you had that dream again then you're sure you're back. The sound of splashing water roars in your ears.〕

〔You feel like you can't breathe. You gasp for air but you can't get enough in. No! No. C'mon, Isabeau! You'll just go back again if you can't calm down! And that'll just make everything worse.〕

〔You just. You need to breathe.〕

〔Just breathe.〕

*〔In…〕

〔… and out.〕*

"Shhhhhhhh."

〔!!!〕

〔Your breath hissed when you breathed out.〕

〔You jam your lips together with force, sliding them roughly against each other.〕

〔Scar.〕

〔Your scar is right there on your face. You still have a scar. It's still there.〕

〔Just to make sure, you glide your tongue along your top lip. You feel the way it lifts.〕

〔The scar is there. And you are here.〕

〔You're free, Isabeau.〕

〔You've been cut loose. Patched up.〕

〔You're something new.〕

[chimerahyperfix]

CW: Graphic depictions of violence, lots of Death and Gore, Psychological horror for like 3 lines, mentions of drowning. Please read the tags and take caution. This one's more than a little visceral.

-----

The King is here.

You walk through crowded halls of rushing Housemaidens getting into defensive positioning. It's like fighting a wave in the ocean, hard to push through the crowd. You make do anyways, curling through paths you normally wouldn't take.

It's a big deal to everyone but you, at this point. This is the big event, the big fight; to you it's simply where time loops back. Just another day, y'know? You've done it over and over, and you'll probably keep doing it anyways.

It's odd, pushing through the crowd. Everyone is going one way and you are going another. Rushing versus strolling. Your hands are in the pockets of your lab coat. You're practically whistling, for crab's sake!

You simply cannot be bothered this loop. It's a failure from the start: you crabbed up making the bomb, which means you're crabbed from the very beginning. You climbed up the Favor Tree and wedged yourself between the braches for a few hours to pass the time, because looping back would be too much of an inconvenience, and you could just wait until the tears started spawning in the house to go back. The birds had a good time at least, one starting to craft a nest next to you.

You ghosted throughout the day, and now its go time. Everyone else is prepared and ready to fight for time itself, and here you are just. Walking. Realistically you're searching for a tear to stop it all before it starts, but luck isn't on your side this loop.

You can hear it, hear it-- the horrors. All the screams of those unfortunate enough to cross the King's path and fight back. It would be easier, for them, to just bow back and let themselves be frozen-- but no one wants to be frozen, because that's having choice itself stolen from you, a cage of ice to lock yourself in forever. It's just as bad as being dead. Stagnant and eternally screaming.

So they march to their deaths.

The King does not take kindly to the Housemaidens fighting back. Some loops, the House isn't prepared for his attack. Those loops are the nice ones, the less gorey ones. Less dead and more frozen bodies, because no one was prepared to brawl with the monster. He can just... swoop on through and take the House without more than a handful of casualties. This loop is one of the bad ones, because your fellow housemaidens were all prepared. You always think your prepared, too, to see the outcome, but you never truly are.

You turn into the main hall, and freeze still.

No matter how many loops you go through, the carnage always gets to you. There's a nasty, overpowering smell of iron in the air and big dark stains painting the walls, the floors and the roof. Bits and pieces of mashed guts and viscera. There were people in this hallway, once.

Not anymore.

It makes you sick to your stomach like every other time. Just the thought of it. There were people here and now there's only parts of them left. Just ten minutes ago or so, there were people here.

There were people here.

The gore goes in a trail down the hall. Paints practically everything-- including frozen people, if you look down the hall. All frozen with shock and absolute horror on their faces. You recognize some of them.

You try not to think about it.

You push on. Try to ignore the way the blood seeps into your shoes very fabric so they become damp. Try to ignore the fact you're trailing someone's very life behind you now with bloody shoe prints.

There are still no tears.

Plan B, then. The King himself.

You hate going against the King. It always ends terribly with you in agony. But that's the only option left right now, so you chase him down on his little path carved from the blood of the innocent. You find him quickly, too- just down the hall.

He stops before you can get too close. The smell in the air is overpowering, the sharp tang of blood and the burning sensation of the sugar.

"Burning one." He says to you. You're not sure where he pulled that one from: the nickname was something different at some point, but you've long forgotten what it was. Maybe it's the smell of burnt, rotting sugar or maybe it's the potions that burnt your throat. You're not sure anymore.

He just... stands there. Turns around and looks at you. You can feel the dead expression you're pulling as you stare back. Blood glints on his armor, shining and the worst sight in the world and all the same kinda beautiful in its own way? Like the lightless gore is the night sky itself, sparkling with little dots. Makes you feel sick just thinking that.

"How have you done it?" He asks. He asks it every time the two of you face off, the same five words. How. A inquiry. Something you have done, you shouldn't have, and he knows it.

You... think you've gotten it, now. Your hypothesis: How you wished. It's not something you were supposed to do. You did something different something WRONG, and it did something to time itself, tearing a hole in the fabric of space. It's wrong. It's wrong, and you know it and so does the King.

He stares in your direction. You think? Despite his hands, blood-stained as they are, not being infront of his face, the mop of hair is still in the way. You can feel the glare still. Enraged. Daggers in your side.

"I don't know." It's the truth.

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

The King goes silent. It's odd, having an actual conversation with him. Even if it was a tiny exchange, it still throws you off. He's willing to talk, even if just a question. He's never really talked to you-- or anyone, to your knowledge-- before.

"Ouuuuhhhh... of course you don't." He wails. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. "You shouldn't have been able too, oohhh... not at all..."

He raises a fist up. It sparkles like the night sky, dark dripping from between his fingers. There's still someone's remains painted on them. Preemptively you brace and throw your arms up in an attempt to block.

It's a different thing that hits you. A new attack. A giant open palm slams into your chest, and you go flying backwards into the wall. The world turns to slow motion as something in you SNAPS. Crunches. Your bones shatter and explode with the force and speed, shooting little shards of agony everywhere.

It hurts. It HURTS. Pain rips through your entire body, and you realise you've started to scream when your chest begins to hurt. Blood splatters onto your glasses, blotting out your vision.

You look up at the King. How'd you get on the floor? How are you breathing, with no lungs? You can see fragments of bone stuck between the metal of his armor.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Burning one."

Metal clinks, and your vision swims-- dots in the corners, figures blur. Blood drips down into your left eye and paints half of your vision a dark shade. Nothing but pain.

Make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop make it stop-- it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts.

You

Simply stop thinking. Just for a moment.

So your brain can catch up! Yeah, sure. That's a good enough excuse.

Just. Pain. You are pain incarnate, and that's all you will be until you die slowly and loop back.

You

Blink,, and

The King. Is gone. You can hear him leaving, loud stomping footsteps dissapearing down a bloodstained trail, and you just stare.

How lucky, HOW LUCKY of you to be left alive this time. Like this isn't a fate worse than death. You gasp for air, and realise all you have left is blood filling your lungs.

It hurts. You want it to end, now. It's hard to see, over the blood and spots dancing across your eyes, but you see them; tears, floating around you. A quick out. You reach out, and the pain in you flares alive, ripping and tearing you apart. You feel like your flesh is going to peel off.

Your fingers brush into one of the tears, and you sob as the ice rolls down your arm and consumes you. It feels a hundred times better than what you were feeling before.

You freeze in time-- and luckily theres no nightmare you have to endure, you just wake back up at your desk. You spend a good chunk of the morning curled up in the bathroom getting sick, because, wow! That's the worst one yet! It's curled into your very being, the feeling of breaking your bones like rock candy, the feeling of drowning in blood.

You just... have to do it better this time, or... something. Hope is fading away into background static. You can't... do this anymore. It hurts too much. You want it to stop. Please make it stop.

[thewriteone]

Hell

a/n: This is a piece of fanfiction I wrote for the interactive fiction The Lonely Shore (@thelonelyshore-if). If you don't know what that is, go check it out because it is amazing. Contains spoilers for the demo. This 435-word fic truly burst out of me like an alien from that one movie. You know the one.

Written from Willow's perspective. MC isn't named, but I did make them genderqueer (she/he/they pronouns). Please let me know if I missed any potential triggers. This is the first time I have ever written/posted fanfiction, and the first time I've ever posted any of my writing on the internet, so I don't know what I'm doing yet.

cw: sibling death mention, implied drowning (?)

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

Sick.

That was the first thing Willow felt when their older sibling disappeared into the lake without resurfacing. She had jumped in to save them, after all. Guilt curled tightly in the hole that fear clawed into their chest. Their eyes flicked over the lake. They knew they weren't the strongest swimmer, especially not when compared to their sibling, but they hadn't expected this. He just jumped in after them. What kind of idiot does that?

A spark of anger was all it took to consume Willow's guilt. All they had to do was sit back and let Willow show them it was all real. The town on the other side of the lake, the lights, the dreams. But no. She never listened to them about these things, not properly. Never believed they knew what they were doing, not really. He only ever saw them as his precious little sibling (or, on some occasions, a pest). Immature, rash Willow off on another one of their silly little adventures. Surely it wouldn't be a problem to just interrupt the ritual Willow researched and prepared for months to get just right. Yes, clearly this was their fault.

Suddenly, as though they had been dunked in lake water, an ice cold chill washed over them. She still hadn't resurfaced. For the first time in their life, Willow felt paralyzed by indecision. What were they supposed to do? They felt their eyes prickle as a tingle began to buzz at the ends of their extremities. A world with their older sibling was all they had ever known, all they ever wanted to know. How could they possibly be expected to adjust to one without him present, one where he was d—?

No. Willow clenched their fists, closed their eyes, and took a deep breath. They weren't dead. Willow wouldn't allow it. After taking a moment to ground themself, they finally realized something. By this point it had been long enough that even a dead body should have emerged, yet the only thing on the lake surface was the foam being frothed up by the still-angry waves and a misty fog just beginning to unfurl. No sibling. No body.

The ritual. It didn't do as they intended, hadn't even been correctly completed, but it did something. Something Willow was determined to replicate. Whether it meant dragging their sibling back here or joining her on the other side, they didn't care. Jaw set and fueled by sheer willpower, Willow turned on their heel and marched back into the cabin.

Come hell or high water, they will get their sibling back.

[st4rsinthenight]

★stupid little comic I made★

cw: drowning mentions:

⭐| INDIVIDUAL SHOTS ↓

[generic-whumperz]

And I thought writing a depressed telepath and sexual sadist was hard? No, my Moby Dick is the bilingual swamp man :’)

[dreamwinged]

tw mention of being suicidal

playing the songs i used to listen to when i was young and suicidal and realizing there's something inherently sad about me as a kid hoping and praying that things would get better and making that thought my lifeline; dreaming of better circumstances and holding on for that reason, only to get older and find that things DID get better yet i still feel just as shitty as i did then and im still crying over the same old chord progressions and im wondering if anything inside me will ever change or if ill always just be half the person that everybody else is

[kudossi]

carry me to innisfree

She finds herself on a precipice, grass under her paws and gray sky overhead. The smell of salt and the sound of crashing waves fill her senses; her claws dig into sand-strewn soil; her fur lifts with the ocean breeze, strong and stalwart, whipping steadily away from the rising sun. Below her lies ocean, depthless and desperately, achingly blue; beyond her lies water, leaping endlessly toward the golden, rocky shore.

The sun-drown-place, she thinks, and feels at once the age of eight moons and eighty season-cycles. She reaches at once for Feathertail, dead for countless pawsteps; for Tawnypelt, buried seasons ago; for Stormfur, lost to the crags of the mountains; for Crowfeather, who had closed his eyes only moons ago and had never opened them again. She does not reach for Bramblestar; she does not question why. She simply exists, with the ghosts of her friends almost corporeal at her sides, and watches as the wind plays with the waves, salty ocean spray spattering at her paws.

A pale bird swoops overhead, white and soft, feathery gray; with a bolt of delight, Squirrelflight recognizes it as a gull. It had been so long since she had chased them over sand and into the waves, their calls echoing against rocky cliffs. Brambleclaw had snorted, unamused; Feathertail had joined her, swimming through whitecaps and pouncing clumsily on birds until, with the exaggerated air of someone too good for noisy, troublesome birds, she had pulled the largest fish Squirrelflight had ever seen from the waves.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Squirrelpaw had told her, laughing, as Feathertail struggled with a fish bigger than both cats combined.

“Better than looking like a drowned squirrel,” Feathertail had countered, and then Tawnypelt had joined the fray, chasing an odd-looking creature across the shore, all hard shell and hard, straight tail and weird, wiggly, bug-like legs.

“What is this place?” Stormfur had asked, tipping over a bug-prey of his own.

“I don’t know!” Squirrelpaw had replied, delighted, and gotten a mouthful of saltwater for her trouble. She sputtered and spat and dissolved into giggles, lungs seizing and aching and burning, happier than she’d ever been.

[divinedevourer]

baptism. ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [ MEXICO ] i am drowned, cast away. 1:10 ———◦——— 2:20

the second of three christmas commissions... this one is doing things to me, fellas. his empty eyes, the haunted expression... ugh, not to mention the linework and coloring?! it's beautiful... ough... i've been waiting to commission this piece since last year, and it's a pretty important one, i feel. bathtubs have a certain significance to vanth's past, so to have him sitting in one that's been drained, drearily staring ahead was an illustration i really wanted to see come to life, and as always 잡투 did a FANTASTIC JOB. seriously, they're like. THE vanth artist in my eyes, they always draw him exactly as i envision him. thank you again for the jaw-dropping work!

[celestiall0tus]

Tales of Bloody Bug and Chat Noir - Chapter 26 - Reverser and the Return of Evillustrator

Beginning || Previous || Next

            Alix stared up at a blank wall. She tossed a spray paint can in her hand as she raked her brain with ideas. She felt eyes burn into her that flared her annoyance. She sneered under her mask and latched onto it. She put the can down and reached for the red. She covered the blank canvas in it before she went for the black and tagged the red canvas.

            “Well, this is… something, Miss Kubdel,” Mr. Monlataing said.

            “Is there a problem with it? I thought art was supposed to be an expression of the soul,” Alix countered.

            “It is, but why is your soul so angry? Violent even.”

            “A long list that I don’t have the patience, energy, or fucks to give to go through it.”

            “I see. And just how long have you been penting up all this rage?”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Because it’s hurting you, isn’t it?”

            Alix tsked. “It doesn’t matter.”

            “Alix-,” Mr. Monlataing started.

            “Excuse me. Mr. Monlataing? Can I get your input on this?” Nathaniel asked.

            “Hmm? Oh, yes. What do you have here, Nathaniel?”

            Alix glanced over at the recent page of Nathaniel’s Bloody Bug and Chat Noir comic. She noticed a new character that looked exactly like when Nathaniel was Evillustrator.

            “It’s Bloody Bug and Chat Noir teaming up with their latest companion, MightyIllustrator,” Nathaniel said.

            “You mean Evillustrator?” Alix asked.

            “He changed his name after Bloody Bug saved him. Now he fights for justice.”

            “A bad guy that becomes a good guy. I like it. You’re getting better at your storytelling.”

            “Too bad the rest of his writing sucks,” Alix remarked.

            “Miss Kubdel, I’ll allow a lot of things in my class, but we don’t bring down other artists. We must give them the confidence to continue their craft,” Mr. Monlataing scolded.

            “And when does that encouragement feed into arrogance? Do we stop then, or do we keep going until we have an insufferable monster?”

            “Sounds like someone is projecting,” Nathaniel retorted.

            Alix snarled. She reared back her arm and threw the spray paint can she had, but Mr. Monlataing caught it.

            “Alix, I think you should head to the counselor. Whatever is going on is clearly eating away at you. I think you should talk to someone who will listen.”

            Alix opened her mouth when Rose ran over.

            “Mr. Monlataing, I have a better idea to help calm Alix,” Rose said.

            “Oh, this gonna be good. What do you have that could help me?” Alix mocked.

            Rose smiled, took her headphones off, and put them on Alix. Alix opened her mouth to complain until she heard the rock music playing. Alix snorted, rolled her shoulders, and took a seat on the floor. Rose took a seat next to Alix and scribbled on the notepad, then showed it to Alix. Alix tilted her head as she read it.

            I’m sorry, but I had asked Adrien if you were ok. You have been angrier these past few weeks. He didn’t say much, just that you needed time to dwell and not talk about it. I don’t understand what is going on, but I’m here to help in any way I can.

            Alix’s face softened as she smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

            Alix leaned against Rose and Rose leaned against Alix. Rose wrote down song lyrics while Alix watched the room. Mr. Monlataing went around the room, checking on everyone and their projects when a new kid peeked in through the door. Marinette ran up and dragged the guy in and introduced him to Mr. Monlataing, then Nathaniel. Alix watched them until the guy ran out.

            Alix hummed, curious of what that was about, but ignored it. She jammed out to the music until she saw Marinette return with a black journal. She raised a brow when Marinette erased something in it, then gave it to Nathaniel. She furrowed her brows as Nathaniel lost himself to the book. She took off the headphones to confront him when the bell rang. She growled and handed the headphones back to Rose.

            “Thanks again.”

            “Alix, would you like to join Mylene and me on a walk after school? It’s been a while since we’ve talked. But only if you want to.”

            Alix considered then nodded. “Ok. I’ll see you after school.”

            Alix headed out to her next class. She moved through the rest of the day on autopilot as has been her norm for the past few weeks. It worked well enough until someone annoyed her, which wasn’t hard to do. She didn’t like how easily agitated she could be, but it was the price of all this. If she was to get to the root of her problems, she needed to face it alone. No amount of talking was going to help her.

            The final bell rang, and Alix made her way outside. She waited until Mylene, Rose, and Ivan joined her. She was hugged by Mylene and Rose while she fist bumped Ivan. Mylene and Rose each grabbed one of her arms and dragged her along as Ivan followed.

            “I hope we weren’t going for a long walk. It’s really cold now,” Alix remarked.

            “Oh, not at all. Just a short one. We wanted to hang out with you and, well, make sure you’re alright,” Mylene said.

            “I’m not, but I appreciate it.”

            “Adrien said you didn’t want to talk about it. Why is that?” Rose asked.

            “I… it’s stupid.”

            “C’mon, Alix, nothing is stupid,” Ivan encouraged.

            “Fine. Look, I… I want to get better, but I can’t. There’s this… issue at my core that has a death hold on me. I’m trying to get to the root of it, to confront it, but whenever I talk, I feel like I’m running away from it. I can’t let that happen anymore. So, I’m not going to talk as it festers so I can reach it.”

            “But look at what you’re doing to yourself, Alix,” Rose chided.

            “Something needs to be done, Rose. I need to get to the root of all this. My anger, my trauma, everything. Talking hasn’t helped, so I’m not talking anymore until I figure it out.”

            “Alix, you’re going to self-destruct if you do that. And when that happens, Hawkmoth will make you his pawn like he did with all of us,” Ivan warned.

            Rose and Mylene nodded.

            Alix stopped and turned on her heel to face Ivan, Rose, and Mylene. “Do not put me in the same group as you lot. There is nothing Hawkmoth could offer me that would convince me to become a villain. At least, no more than I already am.”

            “Alix, you’re not-!” Rose started.

            “Don’t lie, Rose. I know better. I’m a little monster. I don’t need an Akuma to make me one. I’ve done nothing but hurt and turn on the people that try to get close to me. And when I think I’ve let someone in, they turn around and betray me. I just… there’s just no point. I’m a monster and that’s that. Nothing will change that.”

            Rose, Mylene, and Ivan all exchanged glances while Alix trudged on ahead. They followed behind her as they arrived at Places des Vosages. Alix glanced over to see Nathaniel and the new guy from earlier. She looked away, then back at them as Nathaniel held up the black book and tore apart the pages, devastating the other guy.

            Alix’s eyes widened as red threatened her vision. Her attempts to fight it were in vain as she caved to the rage. She turned into the park and up to Nathaniel. She pushed him down as he tried to leave.

            “Hey! What’s the big-!” Nathaniel yelled.

            Alix grabbed Nathaniel’s coat and pulled him up to her face. “You fucking bastard! What did you do?”

            “I don’t see why you’re yelling at me. That fraud toyed with my feelings with his stupid scribbles. Then has the gall to want to work on my comic with me.”

            “That’s not true. Marinette said she’d help me, but I didn’t want to do this because of this exact reason. Everything is ruined now,” the guy said.

            Alix’s temper wavered seeing the guy’s distress before it ignited again as she glared down at Nathaniel. “You are nothing more than an arrogant little fucking bitch. You are the fraud here, not that poor boy. I think you need to cool the fuck down, bitch!”

            Ivan, Mylene, and Rose yelled out for Alix to stop, but she ignored them. She grabbed Nathaniel’s arm and threw him over her into the fountain, soaking him to the bone in the freezing air. Mylene and Rose stepped between Alix and Nathaniel while Ivan helped him out. Marinette came running to help Nathaniel.

            Alix took several deep breaths as she glared at Nathaniel. Memories resurfaced and mingled with the present as she saw Nathaniel as she once saw Chloe, beaten, bloody, and battered. Her rage shifted to terror as tears fell from her eyes, her heartbeat quickened, and her breathing came in short, rapid gasps. She turned and ran away. She heard them call her, but she ignored them. It happened again. She told herself she wouldn’t let it happen again, and she did. She had to get away to keep the others safe from the monster that refused to be caught.

~~

            Adrien arrived home and headed up to his room as he got a call from Rose. He raised a brow and answered it.

            “Hey, Rose, what’s up?”

            “Oh, Adrien! Thank goodness. Alix is missing! Something happened, she got mad, and then she ran off and we don’t know where she is!”

            Adrien’s eyes widened as he heard yelling in the background between multiple parties. He opened his mouth when he heard screams tearing through the air.

            “Rose? What’s going on?” Adrien demanded.

            “There’s a pair of-!”

            The line cut off.

            “That’s no good. Plagg, Stompp, we have to go. Plagg, claws out!”

            Plagg disappeared into the ring and transformed Adrien. Chat Noir jumped out the window and searched the city for the villains when he came across a guy in a black and white outfit riding a personal paper airplane.

            “Who are you?”

            “I’m Reverser. You’re a strong, fearless hero, but not for long.”

            Chat Noir’s eyes widened as Reverser summoned a small, black paper airplane. He readied to attack it when a green shield came in and destroyed it.

            “What the-?” Reverser yelled.

            The green shield rebounded and knocked Reverser off his ride. Chat Noir beamed when he saw Carapace.

            “Perfect timing, dude!” Chat Noir yelled.

            “Always, my dude. Where’s his Akuma?”

            Chat Noir looked down at Reverser’s ride. He grabbed and broke it, releasing the Akuma. He activated Cataclysm and destroyed the Akuma.

            “Carapace, can you bring the boy that Reverser was. I believe him to be one of a set of Akumas.”

            “Uh, I can, but I need to help some dudettes out first. One of their friends ran away and they can’t find her.”

            “Is it Alix?”

            “Yeah. How’d you know?”

            “Because that’s part of why I’m out here. It was also in response to the Akumas.”

            “Heard. Well, let’s look together.”

            “I actually know where she’d be.”

            “What? Then lead the way. Let’s go.”

            “Give me a minute. I need to recharge.”

            “Oh. Right. Go on, dude. I got the Reverser boy. Just don’t take too long.”

            “Don’t worry, I didn’t plan on it.”

~~

            Alix lay curled up on the freezing ground of her mother’s grave. Tears froze to her face and sealed her eyes closed. Tikki and Ziggy tried to get rid of the ice, but she swiped them away.

            “Alix, please, you need to get home, or transform. You’ll die in the cold,” Tikki squeaked.

            “I don’t care,” Alix muttered.

            “What? What did you say?” Tikki gasped.

            “I. Don’t. Care. I lost it again. I hurt someone again. The monster came back out and retreated before I could stop it. All because I am that monster.”

            “That’s not true. You were caught in a moment of passion. You defended that poor writer from that awful red-haired boy. You weren’t a monster. You were a hero.”

            “But a hero doesn’t hurt people. A monster hurts people. And you can’t say if it’s for a good cause, then it doesn’t matter. The means never justify the ends. And in the end, I was a monster.”

            “I stand by what I said, that’s not true. You are a passionate person, and passion burns bright. Sometimes too bright, yeah, but bright nonetheless. You did the right thing.”

            “No, I didn’t, and nothing will change that.”

            “But-!” Tikki started.

            “Just go. Leave me alone.”

            Tikki and Ziggy exchanged glances before they crawled into Alix’s hood.

            “We’re not going anywhere,” Ziggy stated.

            “That’s right. We’re here and you can’t get rid of us,” Tikki said.

            Alix opened her mouth, but let out a choked gasp when Evillustrator grabbed her and thrust her up.

            “There you are. I’ve been looking for you, Alix,” Evillustrator hissed.

            “Nathaniel?”

            “Not anymore. Evillustrator is back, and I’m here to make you pay for your insults.”

            Alix’s breath caught. Evillustrator’s threat struck her but filled her with sickening hope. Bile rose to her throat as the promise of seeing her mother crossed her mind. She tried to fight it off, to live, but the desire consumed her. She let her body go limp as she stopped fighting him.

            “Make me pay,” Alix begged.

            “Oh, I will, but only in a way fitting a monster like you.”

            Evillustrator threw Alix over his shoulder and headed back to Place des Vosages. He scared off the people in the park as he erased it and replaced it with a giant fountain.

            “Let’s see how much you like being plunged into ice cold water in the middle of winter.”

            Evillustrator threw Alix into the bone-chilling waters. Alix’s body seized up as the cold shocked her entire system. She stared blankly up at the dim winter sun as she lost the feeling in her entire body. Darkness closed in around as the water vanished and she felt herself on solid ground. She saw the figures of Chat Noir, Gallic Chick, Porcelet, and Carapace. They yelled at each other until an Akuma slipped by them and into Alix’s wristwatch. Their yells were drowned up and replaced with the voice of Hawkmoth.

            “Timebreaker, I am Hawkmoth. You face death, but it need not be like this. You can reset everything back to the moment with your mother. You can save her and see her once again. All I ask in return is Bloody Bug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.”

            Alix spurted and coughed. “I don’t… need you. I’ll see my mom soon… in death.”

            “What? You can’t-!”

            “I’ll see… I’ll see her soon. Good-bye, little butterfly.”

            Alix let out a gasp and her body went still.

            Alix opened her eyes to a dark road with little light. She roamed around it until a blinding light shone brightly. She shielded her eyes and blinked against it. It faded as her mother’s spirit stood across from her.

            “Mom!” Alix called.

            Alix ran down the road to her mother, but slowed when she neared her. A lump caught up in her seeing the disappointment and sorrow in her mother’s face.

            “I’m here. We’re together. Everything is as it should be.”

            Alix’s mother shed an ethereal tear as she looked away.

            “Wait, please! I miss you. I need you. Please, don’t leave me!”

            Alix’s mother ignored Alix’s pleas, walked into the darkness, and vanished.

            Alix cried out and reached for where her mother’s spirit once stood. She was stopped as she heard the crow of a rooster. She turned as a majestic, fiery rooster wrapped its wings around her and pulled her back to the world of the living.

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[alabonshay]

Metamorphosis

// Ascension is a ritual of death and rebirth, celebrated in three parts. The first part involves celebration of the previous life. The second involves the somber descent into the Lake itself. The third is the year-long recovery from the Lake's effects, marked by isolation and illness.

The average age of ascension is 27-30. The ceremony is only for a Duchess and her chosen descendants, the Countess and Viscountess. Barons are not allowed ascension, but they still mimic traits, like cheek markings, in makeup.

In order for dendies to change, they must be submerged in the Lake. Exposure to the Lake has an effect like radiation, where it affects certain hormones for years. Dendies spend about 3-5 days in stasis, before they are semi-conscious and try to surface.*

The following seasons are spent bedridden, vomiting corrosive liquid, and wrapping cloth around crusty wounds, where their new eyes are forming. The process is so horrific some families withhold visiting. The exceptions are the Duchess's servants and her spouse, wedded before ascension so they might comfort her. When the Duchess reenters society, it is a major relief for all. It is also the end of false friendships, since the Duchess knows who was there for her and who wasn't.

In the days of Evergreen VIII, aristocracy were sent into a small, metal capsule, lowered into the Lake to drown. Only alcohol was used to numb the senses. Evergreen had enough tolerance remember the sensation of dying. She wishes there had been modern medicine to make the process more humane.

The 8th Duchess is since so terrified of water, she refuses to visit the pond on her own estate. This experience also motivated her to make the first 'safe' passage through the Lake by train. The interior is made to be comforting, with hardly a trace of metal to be seen.

* It is possible for Dendies to survive a few years in the Lake, but their bodies will atrophy until they depend on it. This is an extreme punishment for criminals, who are brought to the verge, then cast on to the streets to die.