cryptounit

[vermillioncrown]

🧠 Lang-zhangmen? Or Shuangfeng?

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

i'll do both

=

lang-zhangmen likes to fish in their spare time. now, the sect knows this, but no one has ever seen this nor admitted to seeing this. they talk about fishing to their personal disciples, sometimes the dinners have fresh catches of the day, and the time that yan xichao was 'fishing' was from word-of-mouth of various fishing techniques as apparently mentioned by lang-zhangmen over the years. however, no one catches them fishing because they use their typically done-up looks as a distraction so when they dress down, they just look like a random elder of the sect (they have a second 'identity' but only their peers know enough to confirm).

=

shuangfeng kids, as you can imagine, are fucking relentless when it comes to roasting their own. like most canto kids being left to their own devices (more or less), they have an extensive list of nicknames for each other and notable people that the sect encounters.

an example that has happened within the last few months of the qishan wen discussion conference is of an older disciple with surname lan, or laan in cantonese (not 'blue' like the gusu lan, but 'orchid' lan).

kid is a known party boy, and i think i've already hinted that shuangfeng doesn't care as long as you don't proverbially shit where you eat. but he finally goes on a bender so bad that he is the spiritual originator of The Hangover, xianxia version, which has him vehemently swear in the middle of heaven's court peak to "QUIT EVERYTHING. I ABSTAIN FROM EVERYTHING". and he does, and practically forces himself to be like a monk. vegetarian and shit.

now, the cantonese word for 'to abstain/to quit' is gaai.

after legendary laan's adventure and officially quitting while he was ahead, everyone now calls him 'gaai laan', which is at least two-fold pun and can be reached for three.

戒蘭 'gaai laan' for his renouncing of all partying, 芥蘭 'gaai laan' as a homophone for chinese broccoli and mocking him for becoming like a real monk, and a subcategory of taunt for him fucking around before bc a unit vegetable [一]條菜 [nei] tiu coi is a derogatory way of referencing someone's girl. their hoe, essentially

and with all canto nicknames i know of, they eventually act like actual titles for that person rather than a way to poke fun at them. we'll never learn disciple laan's full name, sadly

[ohbo-ohno]

Reader who uses malicious compliance against Ghost and Soap?

She'll follow their rules, but she'll ask (borderline demand) they buy her expensive brand name clothes, products, electronics, et cetera. She'll only eat top of the line food products. She won't settle for anything less. They said they would get anything she wanted/needed if she asked, so she'll be their pet while also trying to use up all the money they have. Tries to be an expensive pet.

But. It gets to the point where she pushes too much and acts like a spoiled brat.

They at first let her get away with it. They want to spoil her, but the bratty attitude has to go. Johnny was happy at first at her compliance, but the bratty princess attitude steadily grated on his nerves. And Simon knew what she was doing, it wouldn't work, he wanted to see how far she would push, how far she'd try to take advantage of their love and generosity, but her attitude would need fixing now.

So they train their pet to have manners. Only good little pets get rewards for good attitudes.

And once they instill manners into her they'll have her crying out please, sir and thank you, sir over and over every night.

johnny is soooo happy when you first start asking for things. finally, a chance for him to properly pamper you like he's been promising he would! and he and ghost aren't ever running out of money (dont ask me why just pretend) so he doesn't even really notice when he starts spending like thousands a week. only the best for his girl, yeah? simon notices immediately though. watches you go online and scroll to the most expensive option, text johnny the link without even looking at it for more than a second.

and at first you do it as a "might as well be comfortable in my captivity" thing but then you're like... if i spend all their money will they get rid of me? the answer is no but you don't know that and it can't hurt to try.

but you get a little... spoiled about it. and you feel justified! if these psychos are going to keep you captive, the very fucking least they can do is buy you nice shit. you start getting pissy and offended if they don't want to get you something. a gucci purse is too much to ask for? you don't care that you don't go out so you don't have anywhere to take it, it's the principle of the thing!

"So they train their pet to have manners. Only good little pets get rewards for good attitudes." im actually just a corpse now thanks for that

make her get on her knees and ask real pretty when she wants something. has to look up at them and say "please, sir?" in a polite tone, like good girls do. makes her smile when she asks. jacks off on her face, paints her in cum then makes her ask again.

makes her thank them properly with a little worship when whatever it is arrives. a proper blowjob, one where she has to act like the dick she's sucking is the only thing in the world :/ simon or johnny lounging back in a recliner like a king while their pet thanks them with her mouth :/

[bbygirl-aemond]

When villainizing Alicent backfires (or, how victimizing Rhaenyra can actively make her look worse)

Hi everyone! There's something I've seen happening a lot within the fandom that really frustrates me. Before anyone starts, this post is very explicitly pro Rhaenyra, and I'm going to be arguing that Rhaenyra is actually more intelligent than most people give her credit for. I've seen a lot of fans, in an attempt to defend Rhaenyra by villainizing Alicent, rob Rhaenyra of both her intelligence and her agency.

It's a pretty common criticism of Rhaenyra that she's not good at playing the game of politics, so I think it's interesting when fans who support her will go out of their way to make her seem like a helpless victim in situations where she's not only actively playing the game, but winning. I'm going to discuss one example of this and explain why it actually makes Rhaenyra look better, especially as a future Queen, to let her be antagonistic right back towards Alicent rather than pretending that she was only ever tricked or outsmarted.

I'm talking about the scene where Rhaenyra takes Joffrey to see Alicent right after giving birth. So many people claim that Rhaenyra was only acting here out of fear for her children, which does succeed in making Alicent look bad, but misses the genius of what Rhaenyra's actually doing. Alicent was trying to make a power play here; she was trying to rub it in the court's faces that Rhaenyra was repeatedly having children via an affair. Rhaenyra not only foiled this plan, but actively turned the tables against Alicent. So let's discuss further below the cut:

Rhaenyra does not go with Joffrey because she genuinely thinks Alicent will physically hurt him. At this point in time, pre-Driftmark, Alicent has literally never done anything to suggest she would physically harm a child, let alone a newborn. Stop acting like Alicent was planning on smothering him with a pillow or something equally ridiculous. It's not in Alicent's character (she's quite passive when it comes to violence), and Rhaenyra also doesn't have any information to suggest this.

Rhaenyra goes with Joffrey specifically to shift the court's attention off of Joffrey being a bastard, and onto Alicent being unreasonable. This is the DEFINITION of malicious compliance: She knows it looks bad if the court thinks Alicent demanded Rhaenyra personally bring the baby to her. She WANTS people to see her sweat, she WANTS them to see the trail of blood, and she wants them to think Alicent did this to her, rather than Rhaenyra doing it to herself. She also brings Laenor with her specifically to add to the public perception of legitimacy.

Alicent wanted Rhaenyra to come away from this looking like a shameful harlot, but Rhaenyra turned the tables and came away from this seeming like a hero and a dutiful stepdaughter who bravely endured the pain Alicent forced on her, while simultaneously making Alicent seem evil and unreasonable. This is a calculated political move to shift blame onto Alicent and to paint her as crazy. And from the reactions we get as Rhaenyra walks to and from Alicent's chambers, I think she succeeds.

There's one other example where I think Rhaenyra plays the game of politics against Alicent and wins, and where a lot of fans ignore Rhaenyra's intelligence in favor of trying to make Alicent look as bad as possible. It's the scene where Rhaenyra suggests the betrothal of Jacaerys and Helaena, which I'll talk about eventually since I got an ask about it. But basically: Rhaenyra made a proposal that she knew would look good on the surface but that she knew Alicent couldn't accept without endangering her children, ensuring that when Alicent turned it down she would look bitter and crazy. When I make the post, I'll link it here.

TLDR: If your favorite character's biggest source of criticism is her political ineptitude, don't go out of your way to dumb her down in the scenes where she demonstrates remarkable political intelligence. I promise it'll make your character look better if you allow her these instances of agency and competency.

[partywithoutsmiling]

Does barb hired the bounty hunters again to look for poppy and branch if so I can see them reluctantly accepting just because they are scared of her of turning one of them into monsters and if poppy and branch see hickory again i think they will try kill him especially poppy

Ah, sorry, I don't think you have the hang of the character portrayals as presented in the Canon, let alone in what I have in the AU XD;;

Going by the Movie Canon, it was clear the Bounty Hunters were comfortable in the Rock Territory- if that didn't imply that Rock Trolls were their frequent clients, I don't know what will.

However, up until Barb's little show on the Stage, I don't think either of them actually understood what she was actually planning. It seemed to me, that they thought her little conquest as he just politically suppressing the right of other Genres to freely express their music, not actual brainwashing/mind domination deal, so all of them were fighting essentially for the right to be an independent country (and autonomy I don't think they had up until that point, hence why they were bounty hunters)

In my AU, they would be the first to book it honestly; even if Barb wanted to employ them again (which she would not, as right now she is rather occupied by wrangling some sort of authority over her own trolls and doesn't have the time to deal with Trolls who are loyal to her only for cash at best), they would make sure to be nowhere near where she could threaten them into compliance; I would rather wager they would all run back to their respective Genre communities and spread tales over what happened, and most likely try and get their kin get up and move out of the Trolls Kingdoms.

Then we have the question of Branch and Poppy. Yes, I admit both of then showed rather merciless and violent tendencies when it came to Creek- but honestly, that little sleazeball just sentenced all of their people to death, and there doesn't exist any sort of mercy for the likes of him.

Hickory, on the other hand, while ultimatelly being revealed as one of the enemies, was a reluctant one at best- and even though Branch distrusted him the most, he came around to semi-accepting him at the end before his and Poppy's argument, and when he is in his right mind, I doubt he would just needlessly try and kill a troll; his carnage following his transformation was him acting completely out of control and something he probably won't even remember when he snaps out of it.

Poppy would never try to kill anyone (Creek aside). That's just not who she is- and while Hickory's betrayal hurt her, it was not the kind that she wouldn't forgive. Hickory's betrayal was non-malicious; by the point he did, Poppy was already learning the lesson of trying to appreciate all music, differences and all, and she would be able to understand his reason for lying, even as it hurt. Since he clearly tried to get her to hide the String and run away before she could be discovered (even if it came little too late), that 'redemption' is something she would remember.

So no, I don't believe either Branch or Poppy would act overly hostile towards the Bounty Hunters; maybe towards Chaz, but certainly not to the point of actually wanting to commit murder.

[tokiro07]

Cipher Academy ch.52 thoughts

[Toss a Coin to Your Cipher Soldier]

(Contents: thematic analyses - fairness/friendship, predictions)

"If you let yourself become bound to strange rules, you're basically enslaving yourself." What is this, Undead Unluck?

This was a good showing for Yosaimura, who continues to be easily in my top 5 for this series. I've always been a huge fan of Nisio Isin's mental gymnastics, and this series' running theme of malicious compliance is a particularly fun display of it. Much like Iroha used Anonymity's methods against her by basically saying "well if she got to once, then so do I," Yosaimura literally turns Hakanage's logic on its head by saying "if you're going to say that cheating is fair, then I'm going to play so fair"

Anonymity points out that this is likely only something that Yosaimura even thought to do because she saw Iroha do that during the CLP election, which also reinforces the running theme of growth through interpersonal exposure. Iroha learned how to twist technicalities in his favor from Anonymity, and Yosaimura learned how to do that from Iroha. Everyone's learning something from each other, and apparently that's a quality that only Class A has been able to cultivate

We haven't really learned much about the other classes, but I definitely would believe that everyone else is a lot more...either extremely collectivist to the point of everyone losing their sense of identity (Class E who follow Kubinashi blindly and Class F who are required to hide their faces) or overly individualistic to the point that they can't form connections to each other (Class B's wild sense of expression and Class C's psychic children who have never been depicted interacting). I guess that comes with the territory for the School of Subterfuge, doesn't it?

I'm also always a sucker for character interactions that hinge on trust. Someone trusting their friend to understand a crazy plan, to not hurt them in a wild stunt, or trusting their enemy to behave in a certain way because that's what they've always hated/respected about them; being close enough to someone to rely on them, even if what you're relying on is their unreliability, is so romantic. If you didn't think that Yosaimura and Anonymity were a great ship before, Yosaimura telling her that she trusts her to do something dangerous has to at least help change your mind

For as much of a rapport as they've developed though, it really seems like there's going to be a point where everything falls apart. The fact that everyone's approaching a convergence and we've now completely eliminated Classes D and F suggests that neither of them are going to be the major enemy once we actually reach the bottom of the dungeon, so unless Kubinashi or Yonakiuguisu are bigger threats than they appear, the final conflict is almost assuredly going to be between Class A members. If I had to guess, it's going to come down to the CLP candidates again, but this time it'll be colored by how well everyone has gotten to know each other versus their actions being based on their initial, surface-level impressions of each other

Themes of friendship aside, I feel like the thing that Nisio Isin wants me to take away from this chapter is that cryptocurrency is bad. I don't really get how crypto works (or the economy for that matter), but even I can understand that if a new currency is introduced that is inherently "worth" more than the entire world economy, that's going to cause some issues. Even if we assume that it's worth the exact same amount, doubling the world's money in an instant would theoretically tank the value of all of the world's money, assuming that anyone actually recognizes the value of that currency. I guess the question for me is why anyone would, but again, I don't know how crypto works

If nothing else, it also does raise a good question of how Iroha's plan can actually work - if the value of Morgue is based on the presence of wars, how would he be able to use it to stop wars? If you give someone war-money to stop wars, then the money you paid them is inherently worth less upon receipt because there's less war, right? The best I could see is giving one nation a ton of Morgue and telling everyone else "you know how you can tank that nation's economy? End your wars, their money will become worthless." Honestly, with Nisio at the helm, I won't be too shocked if that's even remotely close

Now that everyone is getting pretty close, I do hope that things will become a bit less episodic soon. Seeing so many different characters in so many different locations is fun, but it's starting to feel kind of..disconnected, I'd say. It's like nothing anyone is doing is having any impact on anyone else, so seeing everyone reunite should help it feel like these stories have consequences outside of floor they occur on

Beyond that, what I'm really looking forward to is seeing how people outside of the dungeon are fairing. Hakanage got knocked out a little too easily; much like Zakuroguchi who I predict is secretly pulling strings from the sidelines, I'm willing to bet that Hakanage is going to do something shady now that no eyes are on her

Until next time

[pinkestmenace]

More Thoughts About Dark Meta Knight

After reading @desultory-novice discovery about Moonlight Mansion and it's suspiciously shaped decorations, Dark Meta Knight has been rotating in my mind again and the whole double agent thing still seems pretty plausible to me. Just because Dark Mind was his master doesn't mean he joined willingly. He doesn't strike me as a guy who happily takes orders. Maybe something wrecked 'his' mansion (and potential allies) and Dark Mind preyed on his despair and frustration? And then messed up his mind and memories to make him a servant.

I've talked about this before in my whole "Mirror, Mirror, From the Sky — Who's the Wickedest and Why?" theory and minific, but it's entirely possible he was rebelling with what little autonomy he still had by creatively interpreting his orders or finding loopholes. He did technically cut Kirby into pieces and sent Meta Knight to 'meet his maker'. Malicious compliance, anyone?

Think about it: he does a number of things that are counterproductive to Dark Mind's goal of taking over the Mirror World. Splitting Kirby into four when that would create more problems for them to keep track of? He's never shown antagonising Shadow Kirby. He was able to defeat Meta Knight, but didn't kill him. Instead he locked him up and shattered the inner Dimension Mirror. But not only does that keep Meta Knight locked in there, it also kept Dark Mind locked in there with him! If Dark Mind were to question his loyalty, Dark Meta Knight could easily spin that as "Look, Master. I have an offering for you. To show my devotion I'll let you have the honour of killing my counterpart." and secretly saddle Dark Mind with a dilemma.

After all, Meta Knight's sword (which may or may not be Galaxia) is shown to be highly effective against Dark Mind. Now Dark Mind has to either:

Risk being hurt by Meta Knight while disposing of him. (Thereby weakening him enough for DMK to break free or finish the job!)

Stay quiet and hidden. (And thereby allow DMK some breathing room to hatch his own machinations!)

Then there's the matter of the Mirror Shards. Instead of grinding them into dust or keeping them on him and hiding where Kirby would never find him, he spread them through the Mirror World and left them with the bosses. This makes life harder for Kirby, sure, but not impossible. (Almost like it's a gauntlet to test him...hmm.) He even lets Kirby have a shard himself. He wasn't unconscious after being defeated. He warped away and left that shard behind of his own volition. Almost like he was fine with Kirby reassembling the mirror.

After all, the half-repaired Dimension Mirror stands practically unguarded in the Central Circle the entire game. At any point he could've returned and shattered it again. But he didn't.

Which makes it all the more tragic that he ends up being trapped in that mirror when he somehow comes back to life. Beaten, humiliated and trapped, and for what? Doing what little he could to protect his world, something he never asked to be responsible for?

I don't think Dark Mind was too happy with him for this, though. Dark Meta Knight's max HP when you fight him in the mirror is reduced from 60 to 48 and he becomes much more aggressive. And this time he shatters instead of warping away. Almost like he was already hurt from being punished and then forced to give everything he still had to prove his loyalty.

Grrraaaahhhhh, I crave DMK backstory! I am so normal about him!

[kyrodo]

What I despise most now is when someone reacts to a reaction to their own actions as if they had no part in it. For example Choskey telling me I could do something else while he's watching stuff, and then getting sour at me for actually doing something else instead of being there with him. That is a classic example, but more importantly it is a reminder of someone from my past who did the exact same thing.

Imagine being someone like me who tends to follow orders rather than direct himself. So you have this commander who tells you to do something. You do it. You do it exactly as instructed. And now that commander is mad at you. THAT is what I hate. Subtext or no subtext, those are the kinds of things that cause me to turn to things like malicious compliance. If you can't trust someone at their word, when do you ever get to? I am traumatized. I am damaged. I don't want to deal with people getting moody because the steps I took were per direction.

I had one person and their friends do that to me for an entire chapter of my life. Take ultronnie's example again. Telegram. Why did I find him on Telegram again?

Oh right because he fucking retweeted something telling me to message him on telegram.

I know the only purpose in that instance was one: to have yet another reason to go after me (looking him up on a messenger).

Two: Get me to click links for the hacking shit.

I took some time thinking about it before I messaged you. Cause it was clear you were telling me to message you but I was blocked. The fact that I was blocked is your defense for that one, but the fact that you did that at all was clearly to trick me so you could hurt me. From your side somebody on the internet is popping up between multiple twitter accounts and poking at you. That in itself is unsettling. They are clearly self-destructive, they keep favoriting/liking the most emo shit imaginable so they might hurt themselves. And they are obsessed with you. You are not happy with them. You want them gone. But you have a crush on them to, so you don't want them gone at the same time. So you keep tricking them. You keep leading them into doing whatever so you can keep stacking up reasons for you friends to come after me, even if you made me do it in the first place. Especially like our last interaction between me and luke.

I will be the first to admit I had my red flags. But I will never get deliberately get people to do things for me so I can point it out to people saying "oh look what this fucker did!" Like the fucking ploy shit that was directly preceded by you as a group harassing me to the fucking edge of the cliff, and then telling me to jump of that very cliff for your own amusement and for yet another thing to point out to everyone "oh look at this guy, look how shitty he is, look how predatory he is" when the reality is you gave me no fucking choice. There are so many fucking layers of bullshit stacked on bullshit and all of it is yours. All you wanted was something on record. All you wanted was a direct message so you have something more tangible to write me off with. And you spent a whole month harassing me in the comfort of my own home to do it.

And the worst part about it all is you got to know me. You got to know me as personally as you possibly could have against my will. And it didn't make any fucking difference. You had one goal. And you hit it. You got me to do one last fucking somersault for you before leaving me to die in a ditch. I am fucking pissed. You know who I am and it didn't make a difference. You watched me cry my fucking eyes out and what few bits of aftermath I saw showed you would have kept going.

This complete total lack of humanity I experienced I have never experienced from anyone else in my life. I have never seen someone go that far to hurt someone and act like they fucking enjoyed it afterwards until I met you. I remember seeing that pen on tsprinkles profile. I remember the fuck you on alshline's feed. You tore my heart to pieces and pissed on it and you were getting ready to do it all again. There is no such thing as too far for you. There is no such thing as they got what they deserved for you. You just want someone to hurt and torture for as long as you can get away with it. And those texts from edgelord? How fucking cruel can you get. When does it fucking end? Where the fuck is your damn conscience.

All this shit about gratitude, and rent, that's some of the most self-serving shit I've ever seen. I've never met anyone like you playing spelunky with someone trying to see how low they can fucking go. Playing with their emotions, playing with what they believe, what they think your telling them, playing with everything they can possibly think up so they can continue to hurt them unimpeded.

Labels can imply someone is abusive. But abuse does more than fucking imply. And your fucking there. I don't have to imply, I don't have to say you're into x y or z, you might be a fucked up person. Your straight up actions are fucked up. They are fucking heavy. And I'm still light as a fucking feather. I don't know how many times I have to remind the person with the gun how dangerous they are but here we are. Justice served by your hand is no justice at all.

You are a lesson in how cruel human beings can be and how little the reasons matter. As long as you don't like someone, rights are fucking optional.

[anne-chloe]

Destined To Survive |10|

| Negan x YA!F!Reader (Ricks Niece) |

Summary: Negan’s punishment comes with a twist.

(Part 9 Here) (Part 11 Here)

Ten | His Wrath

You were relieved when Doctor Carson finally let you leave the medical room. You disliked the way you were cuffed to the bed, even though you fully understood the reasons—you’d become an escape hazard—and you felt like you were suffering from the lack of fresh air.

Staring at the same four walls wasn’t an issue, you were more than satisfied with your own company, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d eventually succumb to going stir crazy. But you should have known that you would only be transferred somewhere just as tense and unwelcoming.

You gazed at the steaming mug with little interest. You weren’t a huge fan of hot drinks, that was more your mothers style when she was still alive. You preferred lemonade and peach iced tea, something sweet and hydrating throughout all seasons. Hot drinks just burnt your mouth and left an uncomfortable taste behind.

“You haven’t touched your tea,” Negan pointed out with a motion of his head, his lips pointing downwards into a slight frown. “Tea leaves are a rarity at the moment, you shouldn’t make me regret blessing you with the luxury of having it.”

You reached for the mug with your good hand and brought the cup to your lips. The steam wafted against your face as you took a forced sip. You wanted to cringe and spit the tasteless liquid out, hating the way it sat on your tongue. But you refrained from being rude and placed the mug back on the table.

Negan seemed somewhat satisfied at your compliance while taking a sip out of his own mug. His fingers drummed the side of the cup, a random tune humming from his throat. His eyes wandered the room before slowly landing back on you; you stared back and waited with anxious dwelling, wondering what he would do next.

“I suppose we should talk about your punishment.”

And there it was.

You’d been waiting for this topic to be brought up since the moment you left the medical room. You watched his eyes carefully, worried he’d suddenly turn malicious and hurt you even further. You’d injured two of his men, and while you suffered injuries yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was adamant in making you feel utter regret.

You avoided his gaze as he continued, clearing his throat. “You injured two of my guys. You also tried to escape by climbing a fence—which I’ll admit is pretty fucking ballsy. So, I’m not gonna punish you directly.”

Negan leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile rising to his face. You shuddered under his stare. “I’m gonna give your punishment to Daryl.”

Your head snapped upwards, mouth dropping open wide in shock. “You can’t do that!” The words left your mouth quicker than you could process them. Immediate regret filled you as his stare hardened into a glare, a scowl morphing his face.

“I’ll do what I want,” he muttered, his tone menacing and dark, “If you can’t stand the consequences to your own actions, then you shouldn’t disobey my rules.” Negan reached across the table and grabbed your chin, yanking you closer. Your stomach pressed into the edge of the table, causing you to whine in discomfort. “So you’d better not try anything like that again.”

You gulped. “What will you do to him?”

“I have a few things in mind,” he mused, releasing your chin and allowing you to lean back. His eyes trailed your face, a menacing, twisted delight proving to you that he was enjoying every second of this.

Negan had truly caught you in a trap. Your actions would directly affect someone you cared about, and that idea hurt you more than if Negan had punished you instead. What would Negan do? Torture him? Not feed him? You already knew that Daryl was suffering here, and now he’d be worse off thanks to you. You felt consumed with guilt, nausea creeping up on you and making your head spin.

“You’ll also be kept under constant supervision.” Negan picked up his mug of tea and took a long, deliberate drawn-out slurp, the noise creating a deep pit of irritation to brew within you. He smirked at the brief annoyance that flashed across your face; you tried your hardest to remain neutral, to not react, knowing it would only encourage his cruelty further, but your inner turmoil of emotions was difficult to control.

To your surprise, Negan stood up, leaving the empty mug on the table. He walked around the table and tucked his hands under your arms, guiding you to stand to your feet—you were caught off guard with how gentle he was. Then, he motioned for you to walk with him to the other side of the room, where the door was.

“I have some important matters to attend to, so try not to be bored shitless without my company,” Negan said with a small wink; you scowled and immediately looked away. “I’m gonna leave you in the hands of my trusty number two, Simon. Try not to injure him while I’m gone.”

Negan opened the door and gently pushed you through with one hand. You stumbled forwards, short of a second to glare at Negan before he slammed the door in your face. You grit your teeth together and withheld an audible mumble, hating the way you were being treated.

He was so hot and cold with you. One minute he seemed caring and gentle, then the next he was being cruel and rough. You couldn’t figure him out properly. But, with this expected “constant” supervision, maybe you would use this opportunity to try and work a way around him. After all, if he could comfort you during a moment of weakness like that, maybe you could use it to your advantage.

[random2908]

Malicious compliance means following the rules over-scrupulously to the point of breaking things, in the hopes of proving a point to get the rules changed.

My parents would call this cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face. Usually the person breaking the thing is the only one who ever even cared about it in the first place, or at least the one with the most to lose, and so is the only one hurt by it. Nothing is fixed; the authority who made the rules probably won’t ever even notice, let alone care. Earnestly doing one’s best, including bending rules, is by far more effective; malicious compliance is usually just pathological self-injury--or so my parents would always argue to me.

[ericamzdm]

Trauma Holodeck - Promise (Pt 3)

PART 1 - The Memory

PART 2 - The Context

PART 3 (below the cut)- Catra’s Conclusion

Content warnings: references to the following as present or implied within the show: child abuse (physical and emotional), threats of violence against children, assault, trauma, references to trauma responses including delusion, dissociation, and disordered attachment.

Catra's Conclusion

It's really quite simple. Catra has realized that two bargains were struck that day.

That “You look out for me, I look out for you.” - the promise that she has been so invested in, that she has endured so much suffering trying to uphold - wasn’t what she was really agreeing to.

Because underneath that, unspoken, was a second pact: “Let me Play The Hero (Tell me I can protect you), and I will sooth your hurts.”

Once she understands that, the pieces begin to fall into place.

When Adora doesn’t seem to understand her, the problem isn’t that Catra can’t explain herself well enough, that she isn’t finding the right words to express her pain and anger and fear and hopes and dreams and pride. It’s that Adora is choosing not to hear her.

More than that, she realizes that the myriad small, sharp ways that Adora hurts her - the insults, the endangerment, the anger, the dismissal, the infantilizing - aren’t one-off innocent oopsie doodles. That hurt is the intent.

Yes, it’s all very simple.

Adora wants to Play The Hero, to be the one who protects Catra from a hostile world, and sooth Catra’s hurts. She wants this, because it makes her feel important, and in control, and special.

And that’s why Adora doesn’t listen to her. It’s why Adora never supports her, keeps telling her she shouldn’t want success. Why Adora beats her back and down every time she tries to act as a peer and not a pet.

Adora is not interested in creating or acknowledging a world where Catra is (or wants to be) truly safe, happy, and respected.

Because this is the toxic imbalance wound around the deepest, oldest bones of their relationship: Catra must hurt, if Adora is to comfort.

Their dynamic cannot survive Catra becoming a healthy, whole, independent person. And so Adora makes sure that that never happens.

So very simple.

Catra thought that Adora loved her [that Adora was the only person who loved her], but all Adora loved was having power over Catra.

Adora doesn’t love Catra.

Adora hates Catra. [like everyone ultimately does]

That’s why she hurts Catra to get the things she wants.

What Catra Missed

Now, here’s the thing about Catra: She is a deeply self-aware character. While she often feels that she is not in control of her actions, she always knows what she’s doing, and why.

So, once she has grasped that Adora is doing all this - And let me be clear, we’ve seen on-screen that she’s right:  Adora never meaningfully protected Catra; Adora doesn’t even register Catra’s attempts to protect her; Adora needs Catra’s hurt so that she can play the hero; Adora abuses Catra to re-establish the status quo when that dynamic is threatened - she comes to the erroneous that Adora is doing it consciously and maliciously.

But Adora ... Adora is not even remotely self-aware. In fact, she is so painfully incapable of introspection that she has had onscreen breakdowns because she doesn’t understand why she does what she does.

Adora’s abuse - which, unlike Catra’s, has always been hidden - has rendered her unwilling and unable to recognize her internal wants and motivations. She still has them, of course, and she still acts to fulfill them, but she doesn’t understand them.

Adora’s motivations are a mystery to her, but we as the audience can take a pretty good stab at identifying them: 

Adora fails to register Catra’s protections - not because she doesn’t need it, or because she thinks Catra is worthless - but because she is too afraid of her own helplessness to acknowledge that she is in danger, that she is being hurt.

Adora fails to protect Catra - not because she wasn’t trying - but because she never had that power. Nothing Adora could say or do would have ever redirected Shadow Weaver’s wrath from Catra, because hurting Catra (to gain Adora’s compliance) was the point.

Adora insists on Playing The Hero - not because she is convinced of her own greatness - but because she believes, deep in her bones, that she has to earn Catra’s love, constantly and endlessly.

Adora hurts Catra, pushes her down, traps her in her place - not because she derives some sadistic glee from Catra’s suffering - but because she believes that Catra will leave her if she doesn’t need her.

Adora - Golden Child Adora, Heroic Adora, In Control Adora - would never be able to accept, let alone admit, that these are the things that motivate her. That her actions come from a deep well of fear and helplessness and self-alienation (and not malice, as Catra supposes).

And absolutely none of that changes the fact that she is hurting Catra, or that she is unable/unwilling to stop doing so. If Catra had broken, had followed Adora to the rebellion, nothing would have changed, except the milieu of their unhealthy dynamic.

Catra leaving Adora - and in doing so, choosing to become The Big Bad Villain - is tragic, but it’s also inevitable and deeply necessary.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: We vibing these two bad boys so here’s chapter 2. Be safe.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The dress was plain, but you were certai, nice enough for the occasion. You didn’t expect Loki’s approval, that was a rarity, but you were content in your malicious compliance. The long burgundy crepe was held up by thin straps and hugged your body enough not to be entirely baggish. You wore a thin black shawl over your shoulders as you hailed a cab and gave the closest intersection to the underground club.

You hadn’t been this dressed up since your regrettable prom night. Then you were still naive enough to dream about a Lizzie Maguire fairytale. You hadn’t even been arm candy that night, you had merely been a ploy to make some other girl jealous. You’d left early upon the realisation. ‘Fuck ‘em’, your dad had given his usual snipe and since your inner monologue tended to echo him.

A decade later, a little more than, and your cynicism had aged like a stringent and oaky whiskey. You hooked the strap of your small beaded clutch around your wrist as you got out of the cab and peered down the street. Streetlights illuminated the smoke blowing up from the sewer and distant neon light stared back at you from the end of the block.

You would appease Loki and whatever game he was playing. You knew his moods, his tricks. He grew bored often and quickly flitted to his next delight. You suspected he was merely reminding himself of his power after a near disastrous war. And you, too.

You descended the iron steps and knocked on the painted door. The tiny slat slid open and a muffled din wafted through. “Slate,” A voice cut through the night and you replied swiftly, “Pyramid”. A heavy lock turned and you were let into the dark corridor.

You’d been here once before. You were sixteen, your father had been with you. He’d played a game of Hold ‘Em with Diablo and won a few times too many. The two of you had barely escaped before the droopy-eyed owner caught on. That was long ago and yet, nothing had changed.

There was a thick velvet curtain at the end of the hallway. The doorman escorted you to it and pulled it back to reveal a bright room full of men in tailored suits and women draped off their arms like peacocks. You shook your head and stepped through. You needed a drink. You needed an excuse to turn back. But you went on.

Loki was slender but tall, a few inches above most men. You saw him amid the crowd, a snifter held to his nose as he inhaled the scent of the dark liquor. You passed a man in a crushed velvet jacket and his eyes caught yours. His arm was around a slinky redhead distracted by another boisterous guest. He winked and you scowled.

You wove through the bodies and appeared at Loki’s shoulder.

“Where do I get some of that?” You pointed to his glass and he looked down his long nose at you. If he was surprised, it was hard to tell. Only the slight part of his lips cracked his stony veneer.

“Darling, I’d stick to the wine,” He preened.

“Darling?” You scoffed. “You know my name.”

He smirked and turned to you entirely. He was overt as he looked you up and down and touched the fabric at your waist.

“I thought I said to wear something nice,” He muttered. “At least I can see your eyes.”

“You told me to wear a dress. Should I have gone with the black victorian number?” You challenged.

He considered you as his smirk fell.

“Kitty has found her claws,” He taunted. “Best she keeps her growls to herself.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” You said. “Tell me you couldn’t find a better date among your harem.”

“Harem? You make me sound a king,” He mused. “As you are so generous to yourself. This is not a date, darling.”

“Then what is it? Is it really necessary for you to wag your--”

“Watch it,” He warned as he pointed his long index finger at you. “You’re not playing at this anymore. You are made or you are burned. There is no in-between.”

“I tend to doubt your concern for my standing so long as my work benefits your own,” You said. “So forgive my suspicion.”

“Your father was on the scene, he made a name, as detestable as it is, and your grandfather has not been forgotten either,” He said. “We are both a part of this city’s legacy.”

“Mm,” You arched a brow. “I still don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will.” He shrugged. “But best to start thinking for yourself before another does it for you.”

You squinted and looked around. A woman in a feather dress carried a tray of tall wine glasses. You preferred another taste but you would settle for the pale chardonnay. You beckoned her over and took one as Loki perused the room.

“Is this all you do at these things?” You sipped. “Coil like a snake in the corner?”

“I observe. I learn.” He grinned. “And the snake does not bow to the mice, rather they cower before him.”

“Poetic,” You said dryly. 

“Well,” A deep voice came from your left and you looked to the man you vaguely recognized. His golden brocade was embroidered with dragons; a gaudy Oriental knock-off. Finely tailored but still ill-fit to his person. “Is that Georgey’s girl?”

You greeted him with your usual straight-lipped stare. You batted your lashes sharply and he chuckled.

“I remember you,” He carried on. “You’ve grown.”

“As have you,” You gestured to his stomach, poorly hidden beneath the gauche jacket.

He laughed even louder and turned to Loki.

“I did hear you had the bookie’s daughter,” He boomed. “I wouldn’t trust that ilk to keep my books but call me prudish.”

“Don’t you worry, I wouldn’t touch your books over my father’s dead body,” You snorted. “Even I couldn’t untangle that knot with a blade.”

“Oh, I see,” Diablo shook his head. “The mouth on her.”

“Yes, rather endearing, isn’t it?” He sneered.

“Not sure anyone else would agree,” Diablo said. “The prettier one’s are much quieter.”

“Yet--” You began.

Loki raised his hand to silence you. You clamped your ships and your nostrils flared in anger.

“Let us excuse ourselves,” Loki gestured Diablo away. “And discuss in private, yes?”

“Best while everyone else is distracted,” Diablo replied and peeked over at you. “I dread our next meeting.”

“As do I,” You assured him.

Loki looked at you from the corner of his eye as his lip curled. He directed Diablo away from you and you watched them go, a smirk slowly spread across your face. You never wanted to make your father proud but he would’ve been beaming. 

You finished your drink and searched for a table to dispose of it. You set it down carefully on a tall corner table and slipped your shawl down around your elbow. You glanced around. You thought of fleeing as Loki was distracted but you knew he wouldn’t forget you. In fact, it seemed he had grown intent on you for whatever reason.

A shadow blotted the edge of your vision and you turned to greet your assailant. You were slightly surprised to find Bucky Barnes closing in. He smiled and tilted his head as he stopped before you. He wore a deep violet jacket over navy trousers, his eyes shone in the contrast.

“I wasn’t sure you got my invitation,” He said.

“Invitation?” You shook your head. “What--”

“Loki, he-- I mentioned I’d like to see you again,” He said staunchly. 

“What?” You scrunched your brow.

“I like the colour,” He admired your dress. “But I think a different cut might suit you better.”

“Oh, I didn’t take you as a purveyor of fashion. Well, nothing beyond a g-string and stilettos.” You huffed.

“Ah, I run a pretty classy joint,” He winked. “My girls have nothing but the best, even if it isn’t much.”

You pushed your shoulders back and looked around once more.

“Well, I was not told my presence was at your whim,” You said. “In fact, my being here is entirely undesirable.”

“If I had my way, sweetheart, you’d be doing a lot more than just standing here in that pretty little number,” He snickered.

You looked at him sharply.

“I need a drink,” You stormed off in search of the girl in the feathered dress.

You sensed him following behind you but ignored him. As you made to swipe a glass from the tray, he reached around you and grabbed it first. He caught your hand before you could take another and drew you back to him as he placed the slender flute into your hand.

“I wasn’t done, sweetheart,” He closed your fingers around the glass. 

You were livid. Had Loki brought you here to whore you out? Another pawn to secure his peace?

“Loki’s my boss but he is not my pimp,” You pulled away from him. 

“I didn’t say that,” He said. “I didn’t think it, either.”

You flicked the glass at him so the chardonnay splashed across his front and dripped down his face.

“Not interested,” You snarled and swept away with the empty glass.

“Sweetheart,” He sang from behind you. “I wouldn’t do this.”

“Get away from me,” You rushed away from him towards the door. “If you see Loki, tell him I’ll see him at the shop. To be frank, I don’t care either way.”

“We can just talk,” He purred. “Come on. You haven’t even given me a chance.” He caught your elbow and turned you back. “No other girl has ever thrown her drink in my face because if she had, I’d break hers. Now, I have no intention of hurting you. You see, I will look past your little slip.”

“I came here for business, or so I was told,” You said. “I am not interested in talking to you about anything beyond that.”

“Is this about the boss, hmm? This has nothing to do with him or our relationship, if that’s what you think.”

“I think you are all the same. You all just like to poke and poke and poke at each other until guns come out.” You said. “And I’m not going to be a part of whatever you two are doing.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, especially around here,” He kept hold of you. “Loki doesn’t even know what he’s got.”

“Let go,” You ripped your arm away. “I am not interested in being a comare. Especially yours.”

His brows lifted and slowly he smiled. His blue eyes twinkled and he wiped away the last of the chardonnay with his sleeve as the rest soaked into the front of his jacket.

“Comare… noooo.” He coaxed. “No, you’re not that type.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. His arm shot out and he planted his hand against the wall to block you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“Look, I know you, you’re just like the rest of them. You don’t like being told no. Little baby.” You snarled. “But I don’t like to repeat myself. So--”

“There you are,” Loki called from behind you. Bucky pushed himself straight as you looked over your shoulder. “Barnes…” He lifted his chin as he approached.

“Loki,” Bucky’s jaw squared. “I was just getting to know your little secretary, but she’s not very chatty. Hasn’t even given me her name.”

Loki snickered and peeked over at you.

“Don’t be rude, darling,” He said. You bit down and looked at Bucky and stiffly recited your name. He smirked. “She’s shy, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bucky countered. “I feel like you’ve been sneaky, hiding her away.”

“Well,” Loki’s arm slowly snaked around your waist. “I thought we agreed to keep to our own territory.”

You went rigid and tried to pull away. Loki tightened his hold and kept you against him. Bucky watched you squirm and his thoughts wrinkled his forehead.

“And I thought we were just becoming friends,” Bucky returned.

“Allies,” Loki corrected. “Have I not been peaceable?”

Bucky poked his cheek with his tongue as he glanced over at you. You stared at him blankly and he nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you?”

“Of course,” Loki spread his hand over your hip and squeezed. “You know where to find… us.”

“I do,” Bucky affirmed and turned away.

You watched him go and wished you had more wine to throw as you stared at your empty glass. You tore away from Loki and jabbed his arm.

“What the fuck was that?” You snapped.

“That, darling, was how you play the game.” He grinned.

“You’re disgusting.” You glared at him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t deny that but you see, that man, oh, he is a tough nut to crack but I’ve finally found something he wants.” He said. “Something he really wants, not just some stretch of land.”

“No, no,” You spun and set your glass down. “No, I will not do this.”

His heels clicked behind you as you closed the distance to the curtained door. He shoved you through and pulled the velvet back into place as he grabbed your wrist.

“You will do whatever I want you to do.” He lowered his voice as his shadow loomed over you in the dark corridor. “You are good at what you do; your numbers, and I am sure you will recall a little jot in your margin. That one marked with the star.” He squeezed your wrist. “That’s you, darling.”

“Me?” You sputtered.

“Diablo, along with Viscardi, old pals with your father.” His other hand played with the strap of your dress. You gulped at the latter, the name of your father’s killer. “That bounty was not just for old Georgey, that was for every drop of his blood left. You…”

“No, no.” You said.

“I paid that bounty. I still pay it and it keeps you alive and in my pocket, until I should need you and your time has come.” He taunted.

“I don’t--”

“My father always said the best investments are people.” He touched your neck and tickled. “They are the most useful tools in this business. The most profitable.” He drew away and stroked your chin. “Know your worth, darling, and you might just prosper from it.”

[write-like-you-mean-it]

A Hunter’s Prey: Shower Thoughts

I’d been here a week at this point if my calculations were correct. I began getting sick of the way I felt. Before all this, I had taken pride in the way I looked; however, I now feel greasy and disgusting. I hadn’t had a shower or anything since arriving, not that I had anywhere to go. My body craved some sense of normality. 

Like the walls, I’d gotten used to some sensations. One of these was the sweat from waking up in the morning. While the house seemed cold, the blankets were too warm. This left me sweating during the morning and freezing by nighttime. Another sensation was the chafing of my dress. It’d been too long since I’d felt clean. 

I’d used the last of the water from yesterday  to wash off any of the dried, caked blood from many many days before. I remember putting up a fight for my freedom but nothing after that. It only took a week for memories of that night to finally come to memory. I’d been drinking and dancing with my friends. It wasn’t until I met a man who bought my drink at the bar. 

He seemed almost normal from what I remember. The only thing out of place was a headband tied around his forehead. I remember him being attractive enough that I let him buy me that drink and get a dance. My friends were begging that I bring him home with me. I was having so much fun. I walked out to get some fresh air. That’s all I remembered. 

Illumi walked in while I was reading the book that happened to be on my nightstand this morning. It was one that I hadn’t read as of yet. It was called Stolen by Lucy Christopher. I hadn’t gotten that far when he interrupted me with a proposition. 

“I’m going to give you the opportunity to take a shower,” he stated while walking to the bed. “You must follow my orders.” He stood at the end of the bed instead of the head. “One: You must not fight against me. It will only lead to death. Two: you cannot run away. Milluki would gladly take you instead. Three: you will not have access to anything sharp. Lastly, I will be in the same room.” 

The last one caught my breath. I’d have to change in front of him. The real possibility of violation happening makes everything more stressful. “All of this for a shower?” I ask while Illumi reaches for my leg with a key. Instead of a response, he unlocked the chains on my legs. 

My legs feel so much better since I’ve gotten the chains off of them. I felt every single tingle race up my body. I’d used them so little that I’d gotten used to the feeling of numbness that they gave off. He refused to take off the chain on my arm. In fact, Illumi replaces them with ones that could be transported. He held the reins. 

My body slid out of bed. Immediately, my legs gave way to my body weight. I held against Illumi for support as I almost fell to the floor. I hadn’t realized that my legs might not work from lack of use. 

I used his body to catch me. It was quick as he helped me to my feet. It was like I was a child learning to walk rather than a grown woman being held against her will. He didn’t even try to help. He let me hang onto him until I could finally walk straight. 

We did not travel far. It was only a few doors down the hall but it tasted like freedom. My feet grazed the stone cobble floor. It was a euphoric yet painful feeling. Each stone was as cold as the last. Tingles ran up my body. What would happen if I ran? The thought was fleeting. I could never run. 

The bathroom was small. It wasn’t a full bath like I was expecting. There was only a shower/tub combo with a cramped toilet and sink all together. There wasn’t really room for both of us to stand comfortably unless one was in the shower. 

Illumi stood by the door. Stood was the wrong term. He guarded the door. There was not much that he had to do beyond standing in front of it. “Do you need the chains off to change?” He asked. The thought of all my chains being off was too much. I almost broke down in tears at the thought. 

My capture held up the key. I, like a good slave, raised my hands in compliance. “It would be helpful. I doubt I could remove the dress with them on.” Illumi pulled on the chains till I was close to his face. So close that I had to physically pull as far as I could to keep our noses from touching. “If you even try to escape, I will kill you.” 

The blue haze was back. It was thicker and darker than before. I could almost touch it, feel it, breathe it into my soul. I nodded my head slowly and pushed my hands back at him. “I doubt I could leave even if you gave me a head start.” 

I couldn’t tell if he smirked or smiled. There was some wiggle to the corner of his lips. Was it malicious or excited? I doubt I’d actually know. He let me go. The chains fell to the floor with a loud thud. I backed away from him slowly. 

It was now or never. I didn’t come all this way to not take a shower. I turned so my back was to Illumi and stepped into the tub. I wanted to keep some dignity with all this mess. 

My arms hurt from being stationary too long. Pulling the dress over my shoulders was a task that sent pain from my arms to my feet. Blood had dried to the dress which made it stick to the wounds and skin. I pulled gently at the scabbing parts of my cuts. Tears pricked my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I had once loved this dress, now I can’t stand to look at it. 

I refused to look at Illumi. I refused to know if he was getting satisfaction by stripping. The next thing to go was my bra. Truly it should have been off many days prior but I wanted to keep another layer on in protection from his gaze. The last to go we’re my panties. They were cute in the hopes I’d be getting laid that night. 

I turned on the water while begging, pleading that it wouldn’t be too hot. I wasn’t going to step out and wait for the shower to hit the correct temperature while naked. It was way too cold. The freezing water sent a shock wave through my body that made me gasp. I could feel Illumi’s eyes on me. The see-through plastic made it very clear that he was watching everything. 

It took a minute of freezing and shaking for the water to finally get to the perfect temperature. I looked around for body wash, shampoo, or conditioner. Nothing but a bar of soap was found. Typical. “You couldn’t have gotten anything a girl uses for a shower, could you?” 

“I didn’t know there was anything different,” Illumi stated in his monotonous voice. I could still feel his glaring at me. Was he enjoying the view? That’s a stupid question. Why else would he want to watch me in the shower? 

“Don’t you have female siblings or a mom?” I asked while washing my body with the soap. The water felt truly heavenly. Every pulse of the shower head gave a new relief to my condition. While closing my eyes, it was like I was still at home. 

“I only have brothers. It would be unprofessional to discuss such things with Mother.” Illumi always spoke with such assurance that nothing could change his mind. I realized that I knew almost nothing about the Zoldyck family beyond that they’re killers. I’d heard of their younger brother, Killua, but that was through a grape vine at work. 

I waited in the shower until the water felt cold again. It was the reminder that I had to leave my comfy mind and go back to the cramped, soulless abyss of a room. 

“I borrowed some of Kalluto’s clothing. I have yet to raid your apartment for more of your clothing. I’ve been a bit busy.” He said all of that without hesitation. He was going to rob my home of my clothes so that I could be comfortable while I’m kidnapped. His thought process astounded me. 

I turned off the water and grabbed the towel on the hook by the shower. It was so fluffy and soft that I could fall asleep with no issue. I’m guessing it was expensive because of the feel. I dried myself as much as possible and took the kimono. I could tell it was feminine which was strange that his brother was wearing it. 

It took a bit of finesse but I figured out how to put it on. The kimono fit beautifully. “He has great taste,” I state while finally walking out of the shower. I became face to face with my captor once again. His eyes digging into my soul. “Thank you for the shower.”

Illumi didn’t respond as he bent down to pick up the chains once again. He attached them to my wrist. Something was different with him. I could’ve sworn there was a slight blush that layered across his cheeks. Could a Zoldyck be embarrassed? I didn’t have time to ask because he turned away to open the door. He led me out of the room and back to my own. 

The walk felt so short coming back compared to going to the shower. It was like my mind was playing tricks on me. Escape kept appearing in my mind like a buoy that was not tied down. Each time it would disappear with one look at Illumi. He gave off such a strong sense of fear that it was almost impossible to think of such things. 

My room had not changed. It was still the damp, dark recesses that occupied me and my mind for the past week. I climbed back into bed like a good victim. While Illumi chained my hands, he did not chain my legs. “You’ve been good,” he said as if I were a child. “You need some time to walk around so I lengthened this one and will not chain your feet. But if you defile anything or try to escape, I will chain you up so that you wish you were dead.” 

I nodded my head. He’s giving me freedom. Did I really even earn it? I should have said no. I should have tried to fight. I was too excited at the thought of moving around the room to even think about escape. “Thank you,” I mutter. I shouldn’t be thanking this monster. 

I could have sworn he smiled. It made the pit of my stomach drop. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Full Masterlist

[quicksilversquared]

How to Announce a Pregnancy Ch. 3

Several years after the event of How to Fake a Marriage, Adrien and Marinette are ready to expand their family. When it comes to breaking the news, though…

Well, some people are harder to tell than others.

Adrien and Marinette had planned on telling Gabriel about their baby before he left, they really had. But he had canceled their dinner three weeks in a row in favor of meeting with one more client, and by the time they headed over to the mansion to say goodbye to Gabriel before he hopped in the car, they were a bit tired of getting pushed to the side in favor of work.

And then they got there to find Gabriel in a Mood, irritated because there were reports of long lines in the airport and a traffic jam on the highway. There was no way that they were going to blurt out the news when he was as distracted and irritable as he was. It just wasn't the time.

So they said their goodbyes, pretended that they weren't annoyed when Mr. Agreste brought up the idea of Marinette transferring to work at Gabriel again before he left, and then watched as he got into the car and was driven away.

"Well, so much for that attempt," Adrien said wryly as the mansion's gates closed behind the car. "I guess he's just going to find out when he gets back, then."

Nathalie, whose attention had returned to her tablet as soon as Mr. Agreste had been bundled securely into the car, looked up at them sharply. "Find out what?"

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a grin. They had agreed before arriving that, even if they failed to tell Adrien's father about Marinette's pregnancy, they would at the very least tell Nathalie. She deserved to know, and it wouldn't hurt to have someone else on their side, helping them actually get their family dinner with Mr. Agreste once he returned.

"I'm pregnant," Marinette told Nathalie, grinning as she patted her (still remarkably flat) stomach. "We're going to have a baby soon!"

Nathalie's eyes widened, and then a small smile slipped onto her face. "Oh! Congratulations!"

Adrien beamed. He knew that Nathalie would be excited for them.

It only took a second, however, before Nathalie realized what their earlier words had meant. She looked after the car vanishing down the street, and then promptly decided that Gabriel deserved to be kept in the dark for the two more months that he would be gone.

"Well, no one can say that you didn't try," she told them, a small grin appearing on her face. "You scheduled three dinners, and he canceled them, and then you showed up before he left and he still blew you off. Besides, you'll be at, what? Month five or so when he gets back? That's not insanely far along."

"Eight," Adrien and Marinette corrected in unison, and Adrien had a moment of glee as he watched Nathalie's eyes fly wide. For once (or once again, he supposed, but it was such a rare occurrence), they had managed to catch Nathalie off guard.

"Eight?"

"Well, eight and a quarter," Marinette corrected herself. "I'm just over six months now. We've been trying to tell Mr. Agreste for a month and a half, but he's been too busy."

"Six months," Nathalie repeated in clear disbelief. Then she gave herself a shake. "Well, with any luck, the tabloids won't have picked it up? I mean, it will be winter…"

Marinette perked up. "Oh! Chunky sweaters!"

"We have already told our other friends," Adrien told Nathalie as Marinette clearly drifted off into daydreams about fashionable chunky sweaters that she could find or make. "And Marinette's coworkers. We tried to tell Father first, but…"

"No, you shouldn't be expected to sit on your news just because Gabriel can't make space in his schedule," Nathalie told them briskly. "Even though he knew full well that I could have handled some of the meetings before he left, and I will be handling the ones that happen while he's gone. Maybe this will help him learn that he needs to stop canceling dinners with his family to do business outside of business hours. He was doing better after you got back from London, but he's really slipped recently. This should put him back in line."

Adrien gaped at Nathalie. Part of him had expected that she would tell him that he should have tried harder to get his father's attention somehow, but it sounded more like… "Nathalie, are you actually encouraging me to prank my father?"

"I prefer to call it malicious compliance, actually." Nathalie's lips turned up at the corners ever-so-slightly. "He's the one who insisted that he had to hear any news from you face-to-face. Personally, I can't wait to see his face when he gets back and finds out that you're expecting a baby in a month."

  All of Marinette's family was super, super excited for Emma to arrive. Her parents, of course, were counting down the days to Marinette's due date. Her Nonna Gina cancelled her trip to Peru so that she would be in the city when it was time for Marinette give birth, and her Lao-lao was going to fly over from China to visit after Emma was born. Between her family, friends, and coworkers- and, of course, her own very busy hands- Marinette already had baby clothes lined up for Emma's entire first year and (potentially) into her second.

"Some of this is resizable," Marinette commented as she and Adrien sorted through the clothes, hanging some things up in the closet that she had started clearing in the sewing-slash-baby room and folding others to put away in the dresser. "Other stuff Emma is going to outgrow in a couple months."

"And then Alya and Nino can borrow it for Elodie to wear," Adrien pointed out. "So it'll get a few more months of use before we have to put it into storage." He snickered. "Father is probably going to be beside himself that we already have all of Emma's clothes ready."

"The longer we go without telling him, the more nervous I get," Marinette admitted. She crouched down as much as she could to pet Masha as she wound herself around Marinette's ankles. "But at least we have Nathalie on our side."

"Nathalie is getting a huge kick out of this," Adrien assured her with a laugh. "I shouldn't have been surprised, honestly. She thought the prank wedding was hilarious after she figured us out." He reached over to squeeze her hand. "Honestly, he's going to have to admit that it was his own fault. We tried for six weeks in a row to schedule a dinner with him to share the news, and he either couldn't fit a dinner in or canceled it last-minute. And in the meantime, we've had dinners with your parents at least once a week, usually twice now that they know about Emma."

"Speaking of which, we need to finish this up and head over," Marinette commented, glancing at her watch. "We can't deny Maman her chance to coo over the tiny bump that's finally appeared."

Adrien laughed at that. "Alya is jealous, you know. Her bump is already bigger."

"I know." Marinette patted her stomach fondly. "I like that it's small, too. I'm not waddling or anything yet. Maman said that she was at seven months, but I've not really been affected at all yet. Well, besides getting tired and the cravings, at least."

It didn't take them long at all to finish folding and hanging up the rest of the clothes. Adrien grinned at the neat piles of tiny clothing as they got tucked away into the dresser that he and Marinette had gotten for Emma's stuff.

It was getting so real now. He couldn't wait to meet his daughter.

"Ready to go over to your parents' place now?"

"I gotta go to the bathroom first!" Marinette announced, making a beeline out of the room. "I'll be right out! And- oh my gosh, Adrien, can you keep Masha from following me into the bathroom? I don't need her staring at me when I'm trying to go."

"On it!" Adrien called, jogging to catch Masha before she could slip past Marinette into the bathroom. Ignoring her protests, he scooped her up and carried her into the living room so that Marinette could use the bathroom in peace. He snuggled their cat, grinning at the disgruntled look Masha sent him.

"Well, maybe Emma isn't announcing her presence with a huge belly, but she sure is having an impact on Marinette's bladder," Adrien told the cat, scratching under her chin until she started purring. "But you do know that you don't need to supervise, right? They'll be fine."

  Their efforts to get the baby room ready had started in earnest at seven months, two weeks. Adrien and Marinette had tried to keep everything more or less organized as they got more and more stuff for Emma, but sometimes organized meant stacking it neatly in the closet instead of having it out. But they would get more busy (and in Marinette's case, more tired) during the time before Marinette gave birth, so they had to get it done now.

The problem was that there wasn't quite enough space to have all of the baby stuff out and have Marinette's sewing things set up in the same room.

"What do you think about moving your sewing machine and desk and maybe the mannequins into our bedroom?" Adrien suggested. "We have a lot more space in there than in here. And once Emma starts crawling, we can keep her out of here and away from the pins and needles. If you had the machine in the living room area, she could get into things."

Marinette considered that, then nodded. "That sounds good. We might have to wait for my dad to come over to dinner to do that, because I don't think I'm meant to be lifting things."

"No lifting heavy things, yeah." Adrien glanced around the room. "Okay, so in the meantime- how much is there to get ready with the crib? I know you said that there can't be any blankets in the crib."

Marinette nodded. "Yeah, not for the first year. That's why we have the basket under the crib, to keep a couple blankets there for when we're holding Emma. The other blankets and the quilt I made are going in the top of the closet for now."

"And then we have a basket of burping cloths, and a space for packages of diapers, and we need to unearth the baby carrier," Adrien added. "Uh- do you want to put stuff in the baskets, maybe, and I can move the furniture around? And then we can sort out all of the toys that we've been getting from people."

"And then can you get the baby mobile up?" Marinette asked hopefully. "It's so cute, I just want to see it out of the box."

Adrien laughed as he remembered that particular present from Marinette's parents. Somehow they had found a pastry-themed mobile and had swapped out a couple of the duplicate cupcakes for baguettes and croissants. "We'll have to make sure that it's high enough that the cats don't go for it."

"Oh, we're going to find them in here, totally entranced by the mobile, aren't we?"

It didn't take long for the nursery to start to take shape. The crib was pushed to one corner and the changing table in another. Marinette packed up her sewing machine and Adrien carried it to their bedroom, along with the chair from her sewing table and her two mannequins. The things that they wouldn't need in the room but wanted ready- the baby carrier and the high chair- both got unpacked and placed next to the crib, and the packaging was brought out- well, after the use and cleaning instructions had been extracted and tucked away in Emma's dresser.

And that was pretty much all they got done for the day.

"Okay, I gotta sit," Marinette announced. "My ankles are starting to hurt. Maybe we can get more done tomorrow. Or the next day. Or next weekend."

"It's going to be a little difficult to move around in here until you get your sewing desk moved," Adrien agreed. "And we've made really good progress! I think that's enough for today."

"Can we make cookies now?" Tikki asked hopefully. "We ran out two days ago."

"I can make cookies," Adrien assured her. "Marinette? Any requests?"

"The sea salt pretzel ones, maybe?"

Adrien grinned. "The salt and sugar cravings are hitting again, aren't they?"

The only response that he got was Marinette's stuck-out tongue.

"Have you decided yet when you're going to start your maternity leave?" Adrien asked as they headed out to the living room. "I know you were planning on discussing it with Belle yesterday."

"She said that I can work as long as I want, and we can increase the number of days that I work from home as time goes on and I get too tired to go in to work," Marinette reported. "And then I think I have to start proper leave three weeks before my due date? That's what we've done the paperwork for, at least." She made a face. "I feel like I'm going to go either go crazy with boredom or with fussing around to try to make everything perfect. At least I'll have Tikki to talk to during the day."

"And you don't have to stay at home," Adrien reminded her, heading into the kitchen and starting to pull bowls down for the cookies. Tikki flew after him, interested. "It's not like you're on bed rest. You can go visit your parents. And didn't you say that Abbey might be visiting during that time?"

"She might, yeah. She hasn't decided for sure yet."

It didn't take long for them to fall into a comfortable silence. Marinette curled up with a blanket, a book, and the ever-hovering Masha while Adrien got down to work in the kitchen, tossing chocolate and butterscotch chips to Tikki as he mixed up the dough. After a while Sasha appeared, meowing for treats.

"Plagg, did you teach her to do this?" Adrien asked with some exasperation as Sasha made an attempt to climb up his leg. "She didn't use to be such a beggar."

"Blame my papa," Marinette called from the other room. "He's been teasing her with table scraps. I've been telling him not to, but he never listens."

"We might have to start shutting the cats up in the bedroom during dinner," Adrien suggested. He scooped Sasha up and carried her out to Marinette. "I need to put the cookies in the oven and I don't want her tumbling in."

"Double kitty cuddles!" Marinette snuggled Sasha under her chin. "You get to stay put, my little troublemaker."

Sasha let out an annoyed mmrew but stayed put.

Without a hungry shadow attached to his leg, Adrien finished scooping out the first trays of cookies in no time and put them in the oven. Once the timer was set, he pulled out his phone to check it. It wasn't long before he made a face and let out an irritated noise.

"What is it?"

"Nathalie just texted. Apparently my father wants to talk to us over Facetime. I'm guessing that not having the option of being able to call us over with a day's notice has been chafing at him a bit." Adrien rolled his eyes as he headed out to join Marinette on the couch. "Nathalie quoted him, actually- he said that he wanted to talk since we 'didn't have the chance to properly get together before his departure'."

Marinette snorted. "Gee, I wonder why."

"And we might as well do it, or we'll have him pestering us all the time," Adrien said, feeling a bit discouraged. He- well, they- had kind of been banking on the two-month separation (and the couple months of very minimal contact prior) would drive his father into actually honoring their scheduled dinner. With a Facetime "meeting" mid-vacation, Mr. Agreste would probably consider that enough interaction with his son and daughter-in-law for another couple months.

At this rate, Emma would already be born by the time Adrien's father could spare the time to meet with them again.

"Do you want to tell him the news when we're Facetiming him?" Marinette asked. "Or do you want to do the- what did Nathalie call it? Malicious compliance?"

Tikki frowned. "I don't like that name! It sounds mean."

"It just refers to deliberately following what someone said exactly, even if we know or suspect that it wasn't exactly what they actually meant." Adrien grinned. "Like, I bet my father would include Facetime as face-to-face interactions. We're ignoring that on purpose. I'd prefer to make him wait, honestly," he added to Marinette. "Since otherwise he's not going to bother ever having us over for dinner in person again."

Marinette laughed. "That's what I was thinking, too."

Even with Mr. Agreste's request, it took several days for them to get a Facetime video set up and actually get it done. He canceled on them once- apparently he had met a prospective client, which was maddening considering that he was meant to be on vacation and resting- and then actually honored the appointment the second time.

Adrien was Not Impressed.

As it turned out, his father mostly wanted to dictate a bunch of stuff to them about what should be going on at the company, since apparently Nathalie wasn't listening to him. His return was going to coincide with some sort of gala with investors and famous clients and assorted company staff for Gabriel, and he wanted to make sure that everything was perfect. He also wanted to make sure that Adrien and Marinette knew that they were expected to be there.

Adrien shot off a text to Nathalie that boiled down to please can you do this thing that my father is asking about and tell him you did because I don't want to deal with him bugging me about it until you do.

"Mr. Agreste, we don't have anything to do with the company," Marinette was saying in clear exasperation as Adrien pocketed his phone and glanced back up to re-join the conversation. "There's no point in contacting us about this stuff. Tell Nathalie or one of the other secretaries."

Mr. Agreste waved that objection off, just like he always did. "Yes, well, you're family. It's a family business. I've told you time and time again that you should-"

"She's told you no, over and over," Adrien cut across, his voice going steely. He was honestly tired of his father doing this, and Marinette shouldn't have to keep turning him down. It was exhausting, and Marinette was already getting tired more easily than usual. "She loves her job where she is, and the design aesthetic at Gabriel isn't anywhere near as good of a fit. Enough with the asking."

His father actually looked taken aback. Marinette reached over, squeezing Adrien's hand gently. He glanced over and she shot him a thankful look.

"How is the vacation going?" Adrien asked once he had taken a second to recompose himself. "Have you visited anywhere interesting?"

"I've been visiting a number of the typical inspiration locations and have found most lacking," Mr. Agreste said stiffly. "The crowds are atrocious, even at this time of the year. Perhaps especially at this time of the year. There are far too many people for my liking."

"Perhaps you could find some easy hikes to go on?" Marinette suggested weakly. "There won't be as many people there, surely, and the nature should be inspi-"

Mr. Agreste snorted, cutting her off mid-word. "It's far too warm in this part of the world to spend that much time outdoors, I haven't got the shoes for hiking nor the desire to, and what would I do if my heart decided to give me trouble while I'm out on my own? No, I won't do any hiking."

There was an awkward silence at that.

"Has- has your heart been giving you any trouble?" Adrien asked tentatively, since clearly attempting further suggestions would get nowhere. His father was determined not to enjoy his vacation, so there was no point in even trying to help.

Mr. Agreste snorted again, waving a dismissive hand. "Not at all. I've never had any trouble, so I don't know what my normal doctor was on about. It's just all exaggeration and nonsense."

...okay, yeah, Adrien was remembering why he hated trying to hold a conversation with his father so much.

Two minutes later, their conversation had devolved to talking about the weather and his father was looking increasingly irritated. Adrien hastily brought the conversation to an end, and both he and Marinette leaned back from the darkened computer screen with a sigh.

"I prefer talking to your Nonna to that," Adrien told Marinette. "She might not listen that well, but at least she clearly enjoys the places that she visits."

Marinette nodded, looking exhausted.

"And a gala…" Adrien let out a long breath. "Every time he tells us to go to one of those, I worry that he's going to try to use peer pressure to force you into the company. I hate it."

"By telling people that I'm going to join the company, you mean?" Marinette asked. "And thinking that I'll be forced to go through with it once it's out there? Because I think he knows that I wouldn't hesitate to correct him. Loudly. And that would just embarrass him."

Adrien laughed. "Yeah. If you had any less backbone, I think he would try it. But he knows that you aren't scared of him, so he has to at least pretend to behave." Then he got more serious. "But a gala when he comes back- you'll be at eight months. A little over, actually. You can't wear a chunky sweater to a gala."

"He can try to stop me," Marinette muttered rebelliously. Then she sighed. "I'm still really small. I could probably get away with wearing a flowy empire waist dress- actually, I know just the one. It's dark, so that's even better, and sleeveless, so I could wear an open-front sweater- hmm. I'm going to have to think about which one I could pair with the dress. But it's not impossible to hide my bump at a formal event. It's still tiny."

"And we can try to beg out early, as usual," Adrien told her. "Since I'm sure you'll be exhausted."

"I'll be on leave by then, so I can rest up and have all day to get ready. But I'll never argue with leaving early."

"Perfect."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Marinette sagging against Adrien's side as they recovered from the ridiculously exhausting video call. Then Adrien was hit by a fantastic idea.

"Say, I could go for some ice cream to recover from that whole conversation. Do you want any?"

Marinette perked up. "Oh my god, yes. Can I have pretzels with mine?"

"Whatever you want, my Lady."

[imaginarose]

Marionette - Part Three

Full story (Ao3 version)

The whole courtyard stared at him. Nino ran to him.

“You are…” Nino asked him.

“Were.” Adrien corrected him. “Fuck…” he cursed. “Where is Ladybug?”

“I don’t know. But Alya… or whatever she’s now… she had recorded all of it. She’s… streaming it.” Nino told him. Adrien gasped. He knew, what that meant.

Everyone would know by the evening.

Not that it mattered, since his Miraculous was gone. Probably permanently.

“I should go home.” Adrien sighed. “I’ll call you… if I’ll get the chance.”

***

She followed the connection to Hawkmoth location. She found it pretty easily. She stepped inside of the dark room.

He was waiting there.

“You know Adrien?” she asked him, as she handed him the black ring.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I told you I’m not stupid.” she said, as she took off her earrings. “I saw, how you tried to protect him. Always.”

She stopped before taking off the second earring.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked her.

“He would understand.” she said. “He would have joined you. You always meant more to him than us.”

And she handed him the second earring.

“You’re really smart.” Hawkmoth nodded, when he looked at the Miraculous in his hands. “I was planning to take back your powers… but I think you deserve to keep them for now.”

She smiled and headed out of his lair again.

“You know there is a price for everything you do with them, right?” she said.

“There isn’t a price I wouldn’t be willing to pay.” he assured her.

“You’re wrong.” she raised her voice a little. “There is something you aren’t willing to lose… we both know, what it is. And so does the universe.”

She looked into his eyes. He knew, what she meant. Of course, he did.

“The question is… who will you choose?” she smiled and headed out again.

She was smart.

There was no denying it now.

***

She didn’t return to school. She looked at her bracelet and watched, as the two colored beads glowed pink, then lost their color.

She didn’t plan to reveal Chat’s identity… but she didn’t have much choice there.

She knew she couldn’t fight him.

And so she didn’t.

Malicious compliance.

She wasn’t completely herself, and yet she was more herself, than she could ever be.

She lost all inhibitions and for once in her life, wasn’t afraid. She gave Lila, what she deserved and got a bit back at her so-called friend, too.

But she didn’t hurt anyone.

She was in control.

She saw him in his room, through its giant windows. One of them was open.

She smiled and swung his way.

His eyes widened, as he saw her.

“What more do you want?” he asked her. “Did Hawkmoth send you to finish me off?”

“You have a lot to learn.” she chuckled. “Can I sit down?”

“I guess.” he sat down in his chair, folding his arms. She noticed, how he accidentally mirrored his father’s mannerisms. “What did you do to Ladybug?”

“I already told you. Nothing.” she shook her head. “Sorry… it’s a bit of a chaos up there.”

“You seem… calm.” he pointed out.

“The akuma amplifies my strengths… and my emotions. The worst combination ever.” she chuckled. “I think much faster than usually. Which is already enough.”

“I will ask again… what happened to Ladybug? Why didn’t she come? I know you didn’t have time to get to her.”

“I didn’t do anything to her.” she shook her head. “I couldn’t. It’s me.”

He stared at her blankly. She kept it a secret for so long, and now she so nonchalantly said it.

She seemed to regret it immediately.

“Another problem of being an akuma. No filter.” she sighed, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. “I’m sorry I revealed you like that. I wouldn’t do it, if he didn’t push.”

“You gave him the Miraculous, didn’t you?”

“I did. But… I don’t think he’s going to use them.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think he’s willing to pay the price for his wish.” she said simply. “If my guess is correct. And it usually is.”

“By the way… I don’t think you’re a stalker.” he smiled at her. “What Lila did was wrong.”

“She won’t do it again. I assure you.” Marionette looked at her bracelet. “I think what I have shown today should be enough.”

“You know, what I told you about that.”

“Look at me.” she chuckled. “I’m an akuma. She won’t be doing any more trouble.”

“You seem so sure.”

“Might be a side-effect.” she shrugged her shoulders and tapped on the lucky charm. “You’ll see everything will get better from now on.”

“No, really, why are you so sure he’s not just… going to do something horrible with the Miraculous.”

“That’s not my place to say.” she chuckled and pulled something out of her purse. A box of macaroons. “You want one?”

“Why do you have that?” he asked, surprised.

“I stopped home on the way here.” she shrugged her shoulders. “I always have some ready.”

“Baker girl.” he chuckled, as he took one.

Someone knocked on the door. Adrien tensed up, as his father entered the room.

She smiled only wider and offered Gabriel Agreste a macaroon. The man shook his head.

“Father… I can explain…” Adrien begun.

“There’s no need for that. Would you…”

“Sure.” she said and got up, leaving room for Gabriel to sit.

“I should have expected you would come here.”

“I had to apologize.” she shrugged her shoulders. “In case I was wrong.”

Adrien’s eyes shifted between the two of them, trying to understand, what was going to.

“It’s good to see I wasn’t.” she added, walking to the window. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Will someone tell me, what’s going on here?” Adrien asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Marionette asked back. “It’s not. Fine.”

“I’m not really good with explanations.” Gabriel admitted and reached into the pocked of his jacket, handing Adrien the Chat Noir ring. “So this will have to suffice.”

“Good thing you’re already sitting.” she chuckled.

“You… you are Hawkmoth.” Adrien whispered.

“Wow… took you long enough.” Marionette rolled her eyes. Gabriel glared at her. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” he assured her.

“How long did you know?”

“I had my suspicion for over a year. I never dropped it. Even after the Collector incident.”

“I thought it was convincing.”

“The obliviousness is genetical, isn’t it?”

“Keep it.”

Instead of answering, Marionette made an obviously exaggerated box.

“There is a long history to explain.” Gabriel finally said after a minute or so of awkward silence.

Marionette leaned on the wall and picked up the box of macaroons with the strings.

“Macaroon?”

Part one <= Part Two <==> Part Four

[wykart]

A Crack in the Mask

Summary: “Yasmin wasn’t sure who the Doctor was anymore. Everything she thought she knew about the woman – the happy-go-lucky, hyperactive joker, that could melt the resolve of the universe with her compassion – only now was that image pulled away to reveal the struggling, broken, husk of a being underneath. A crack in the mask.“

Ryan, Graham and Yaz get a glimpse of the Doctor’s true nature when she comes to rescue them from the clutches of malicious aliens.

*warning: some pretty graphic violence described*

Check it out on ao3 here

Chapter 3: 

“What?” Ryan breathed, turning to Graham and Yaz, all of which were wearing equally confused expressions. “They made a mistake or something?”

“When the guard cam past earlier, he mustn’t have detected us, he said it was clear.” Graham explained, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Never mind that, we have to get her attention, now!” Yaz said, trying not to panic. “What if she blows up the ship or something?”

“She wouldn’t do that Yaz,” Graham replied, masking his doubt with a friendly grin, “she wouldn’t hurt anyone if it weren’t necessary.”

“Yeah, and she don’t like guns remember?” Ryan added. Yaz nodded in compliance, but still couldn’t shake the idea from her head, couldn’t stop seeing the Doctor’s face gone cold and still, couldn’t stop remembering her courage and determination. If the Doctor thought they were dead, and she really had done all those things the overseer talked about, she would probably destroy this ship without a second thought.

Yaz was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of the Doctor’s voice ringing out through the entrance hall, louder than ever. “Here’s one for your history books,” she said, calm and clear, “I think you’re about to learn how I got my names.” She wore a mask of steel, a terrifying calm barely holding back the storm of icy rage brewing behind her eyes. She was going to kill them. In that moment, Yasmin wasn’t sure who the Doctor was anymore. Everything she thought she knew about the woman – the happy-go-lucky, hyperactive joker, that could melt the resolve of the universe with her compassion – only now was that image pulled away to reveal the struggling, broken, husk of a being underneath. Cracks in the mask. “You see,” she continued, “I was just going to destroy your business and report you to the nearest galactic authority for the trafficking and slaughter of countless level 5 sentient beings – but then, like I said, you went and made it personal."

She stepped forwards slowly, each stride seemed to cause the temperature to plummet another few degrees. The three human captives were mesmerised, and their plan to get the Doctor’s attention lay forgotten. The soldier were teetering on the edge of retreat, their backs flattened against the walls, poised to run – but there was nowhere to go.

The overseer croaked, an involuntary escaping of dread. “W-we were only doing our jobs, that’s just how the business goes, we didn’t know!” It’s voice lowered to a clicking whisper “please, show mercy, please.” Surely now, Yaz thought, you’ve scared them good and proper, now please, find us.

The Doctor ascended the stair case leading up to the overseer’s raised platform. Her battered boots leaving scraps of mud on the clean white surface. Despite the fact that the creature towered at least two feet above her, it shrunk in on itself, and the Doctor’s presence seemed to loom over it like an imposing, immovable statue. “You know,” she chuckled, “you really should have thought of that before you murdered my friends.” She pulled her sonic screwdriver out of her coat pocket and waved it in front of the creatures ever-bulging eyes. “While we’ve all been standing around chatting, I’ve been scanning this ship for structural weaknesses, and –“ she added, as the pointed the glowing tip of the tool right between the creature’s eyes, “I’ve been studying your biology. Now,” she clapped her hands together, pivoting around on her ankles to face the expectant alien crowd, “I’m a stickler for being kind, but I’m not perfect. My friends have always been the best of me, but you’ve taken them away, and now there’s no one here to stop me. No one to keep promises to, no image or example to uphold.” She sighs – even in her silence, the room is deathly still – she takes a deep breath, letting grief out, pulling rage in. “See this,” she indicates her screwdriver, waving it above her head, “I’ve attuned this device to the genetic frequencies of your bodies, think of that – a signal with the power of time lord dimensional engineering cast out and contained within the orbital radius of this ship. Every molecule in every cell in your entire body will start resonating, oscillating in time, brewing with kinetic energy so powerful it will burn. You will unravel.” She explains the concept with sinister enthusiasm, as if this were just another scientific marvel to rattle on about with enthused passion. “Everything you are tangling up together, scrambling the precise sequences that align to allow your existence. It’s a process of it’s own, just like your ‘processed’ my friends!” She was seething, the mounting volume of her voice still hanging in the air.

A heavy clicking sound resonated from the crowd of guards, and the Doctor whipped around to the source, pointing her screwdriver. One of the aliens had drawn its weapon, which sparked and smoked with a deafening crack, and now lay at its feet in a smouldering ruin. “Don’t even think about pointing your guns at me. You must know it won’t work, I can’t die.” The Doctor said, matter-of-factly and with such indifference that Yaz felt a shiver run through her. “See Yaz, pretty good hey?” she whispered, smiling faintly, and for one beautiful moment, Yaz thought the Doctor could see her strained expression, hear the thoughts pounding in her head, screaming ‘no.’ Instead, the Doctor raised her sonic up above her head, and pressed it.

At first, it seemed like nothing was happening. Then, slowly, a haunting feeling began to swell in the space around them. It was a low hum, so low it was difficult to pinpoint it as a sound at all – they felt it, though – it rattled in the spaces between their bones, quivered through their bodies and plucked at their spines like a musician to a pizzicato string. The aliens, however, were more than a little shaken up. They writhed in pain, clutching their heads and rolling on the ground, convulsing. In the centre of it all, indifferent to their whittling, insectile shrieks, stood the Doctor. The three captives watched, horrorstruck, as their dark, scaled skin began to fester and fold away, revealing melting, oozing flesh beneath. Yasmin tried to stop herself from imagining human bodies, boiling and bouncing to the noise – from imagining red blood in place of yellowed flesh. Far off in the bowels of the ship, a crash sounded, sending the ship creaking and jaunting in response. Yasmin thought of the pilots, the guards, all of them reduced to pulp and unable to maintain their course. As the chaos unfolded, the Doctor didn’t move an inch – she simply stared into the building ruin, as if she were looking past it and into another world.

“Yaz, the glass!” Ryan yelled, indicating the one-way mirror, its powerful shielding flickering into non-existence as the ship began to lose power. He reached out, cautious at first, and upon meeting no resistance, he began pounding on the glass, trying to get the Doctor’s attention. Graham and Yaz joined him, all of them screaming, their strangled cries muffled by the sounds of explosions and crumbling metal.

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

Endless Nightmares

It is always the same. She stands on the deserted, darkened beach, looking out at the horizon and clutching her wayfinder in her hand. Her companion has just told her about that boy who is keeping the worlds safe. Sora. He can save her and her friends—he will save them, her companion says. In that moment her heart is bursting with so much hope that she feels she will overflow with it.

Then he appears. With horror, she watches as he murders her companion with a flick of darkness and turns his attention to her. She asks what he wants, but he just laughs. It’s a cold laugh that sends chills down her spine.

He takes off his hood with great show. As she gazes upon his face she can feel the bile rise up her throat.

Terra?

He smirks at her. Terra does not exist anymore. His heart was smothered by the darkness within him.

His words are like knives into her heart. No… That face… Those eyes… It can’t be true… He was fighting… He’d told her not to give up…

Was it really all for nothing?

As she stands frozen in shock, the man steps toward her with weapons drawn out. Now you will join us… he says.    

She runs at him, swinging Master Defender at him with all of her might. She won’t let him take her without a fight. It’s no use, though. Not even her magic helps her. She finds herself being flung to the ground, again and again, until her head throbs and all she can see are stars in the corners of her eyes. Through a reddish haze, she can see him smile. It’s not one she would ever imagine Terra wearing. It’s too cold and malicious, while Terra’s were always warm and open. It squeezes her heart to see it.

Then she hears his voice close to her ear. I am truly sorry, he says, but we do need you. I will do whatever it takes to ensure your compliance. I am sure you understand, Master Aqua…      

 oOoOo

She wakes up screaming, rocking back and forth with closed eyes, trying to eradicate the images still whirling beneath her eyelids. 

‘Master Aqua?’

Terra. Or the not-Terra. She recognizes his voice instantly. He is standing just outside her chamber; he likely heard the aftermath of the nightmare.    

‘Go away,’ she snarls. ‘I wish to be alone.’

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. There are footsteps—and then she feels his arms come around her from behind. So achingly familiar that part of her wants to weep and wish for the days when things had been simple and they had been free.      

‘Do not be afraid,’ he murmurs into her ear. ‘I am here.’

Somehow, that comforts her greatly. It also irritates her. She does not need him to come to her rescue. She is not a damsel in distress.

‘I am not afraid,’ she breathes out. ‘And I do not need you.’

He scoffs. ‘I think that you do.’ As if to prove his point, his fingers run along the side of her face, and he smiles as she let out a gasp and leans toward him. ‘You see? You need me.’

In that moment, she hates him. In retaliation, she says, ‘You are wrong. You are the one who needs me.’

Before he can react, she twists and climbs onto his lap, tightly grips the sides of his face and kisses him deeply. ‘You… need… me,’ she says, and watches with satisfaction as he submits to her with desire in his eyes. ‘Say it!’

He brushes gentle fingers along the side of her cheek, and smiles. ‘Yes… I need you… but you are mine. Mine.’

She snarls in disagreement. No, that is wrong. It is he who is hers, and always has been. He looks at her with that daring look in his eyes, as if to say, Prove it. Prove that I am yours. She has it in mind to take him up on that dare, but she is too tired now to fight about it too much now. Instead, she grips his neck with one indigo hand and presses until she hears him groan aloud.    

Satisfied that he is sufficiently subdued, she orders, ‘Stay with me.’ He nods at her; there is endless hunger and wonder in his eyes. It sets her heart to beating to hear it, especially from him of all people.

‘Yes, Master Aqua…’      

Slowly she lets herself relax and be held by him, moving to close her eyes and put her head on his shoulder. He shifts slightly to better support her weight. It feels like coming home. Does he feel the same way? Part of her hopes that he does, but she knows that it doesn’t matter now.

He carefully lays them both down onto her bed; she exhales as she buries her face in his chest. Now she can sleep again… 

She feels him move as she falls into sleep once more, and hears his words: Rest now, Aqua…

oOoOo

They lay on the grass on the summit (again), gazing up at the stars. His hand is firm and warm in hers; hers is ice-cold in comparison. She can almost feel the pulse of his heart beside hers.

‘Aqua?’

‘Yeah?’

She doesn’t turn her head to look at him—just keeps gazing at the myriad stars in the sky above them.

‘Another nightmare?’ he guesses.

She nods. ‘Worse this time. It was as if I was back there again, watching as he murdered Ansem the Wise and took… me. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.’

That hurts most—the fact that she could not prevent Ansem’s death, or her own capture. She’d been… weak. Not physically weak, but weak in heart. She hates that.

He squeezes her hand. ‘You know that’s not true,’ he says. ‘You’re the strongest person I know. What he did was not your fault.’    

She shakes her head in denial. ‘I gave up,’ she says flatly. ‘I failed. My heart was weak. Now it’s only a matter of time…’

‘Don’t say that.’ She can’t see his face, but she can imagine his eyes flashing. And she can hear the change in his voice. ‘You—’

‘I couldn’t even save Ventus,’ she continues. ‘What good am I?’

He squeezes her hand again, this time more strongly than before. ‘Don’t,’ he warns her. ‘Don’t think like that. Please.’  

‘There was a boy…I thought that he would save me. Save us. But it was a lie.’

‘Don’t think like that,’ he repeats. ‘Don’t—don’t lose hope.’

He never says it, but she can tell what he’s thinking. That if she loses hope and gives up, he doesn’t know if he will be able to go on.

I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.

I don’t deserve anything.

She turns her head to look at him and catches sight of the flash of gold in his eyes. Before she can say or do anything else, the dream fades away and she is alone again.      

oOoOo

She wakes up again. This time, she finds herself curled in Terra’s (Xehanort’s?) arms, the back of her head pressing lightly against his forehead. She can hear his deep, steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest, and she surmises that he has fallen asleep himself. Because she doesn’t dare move, she stays as she is, reveling in the rare intimate physical contact. She’s missed that, during the past weeks since she was taken, and even before then in the Realm of Darkness. She would have given anything for a gentle embrace or the touch of a hand.                 

He wakes up and she can feel him look down at her. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asks tonelessly.  

‘Yes.’ She sits up and faces him. ‘I did.’

‘That is good,’ he says. ‘I hope that you will have no more nightmares now.’

She hopes so too, but she doesn’t count on it. The conflict—the pain-- is still there, and as long as it’s there the nightmares will come. She wishes it were otherwise, but there isn’t anything she can do about it.  

‘I hope so,’ she tells him curtly. ‘Now I would like to be alone.’

She can’t tell if he feels hurt by her abruptness or not. He silently walks away, leaving her alone in her chamber. Part of her doesn’t care, but another part—the Aqua part—wishes that he would stay, knows they are both losing and is in agony at the knowledge that there is nothing she can do about it.