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[postcard-from-the-past]

Rove military camp in Mahajanga, Madagascar

French vintage postcard

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Haul

Part Four MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: whump. threat of rape.

"Now," Gaz continues, twisting you in John's arms until you face him, your head lolled against the captain's bicep. "About that cheek." You're almost proud of the venom in your voice. "Don't fucking touch it."

Exhaustion and general pain conspire against you, make you fall to the bed in grim defeat once your captors leave, barely even managing enough energy to test the lock. You want to scream and rage, tear the room apart in search of an escape - push the limits of your vocal chords screaming for help. Instead you collapse in a lifeless heap and cry until your throat aches, until the salt of your tears leaves a burning wake down your face. You don't know for how long you sleep. Fitful and restless as it is, you don't imagine you've managed more than a few hours but you have no way of knowing given there are no windows in your little room. 

It's hard crawling out of bed despite your general revulsion even touching it. Your whole body aches so acutely you're not sure where the pain is even emanating from, specifically, and it takes you a few minutes of flexing various limbs and appendages to determine you haven't somehow damaged yourself even more in the night. But you're at least as whole as you were before, if stiff from overexertion. 

Your relief is short lived though, and once you determine you can, you clamber out of bed and take a quick turn around the room, testing the lock once more and prying at seems in the wall just to be certain there's no egress hiding in plain sight. But your search yields nothing, of course, so you take to exploring the room itself. 

The tile underfoot is cold enough that you start with the footlocker, rifling through its contents and noting the wide range of sizes and styles. You can't decide which is worse, the possibility that the clothes you wear now once belonged to a previous victim, or the idea of your captors visiting a Salvation Army and throwing the widest range of sizes they could find into their cart like some sort of demented pre-puppy shopping trip. It makes your skin crawl, but you find some modicum of comfort when your search yields no children's clothes among the collection. 

As far as socks go, your only options are all cutesy and fluffy. It would bother you, except the cold bite of the tile makes you wary of anything thin so you pull a pair on graciously and continue your exploration of the sparingly furnished room. Aside from the bed and the little desk, there's an empty bookshelf and a bucket in the corner which makes you shudder just to think about. As if in warning, your tummy gurgles but you cross your legs defiantly where you stand. Instead, you head toward the desk and begin inspecting it, pulling out each drawer in turn only to be greeted by dust, more dust, and a ratty looking deck of cards - benevolent of them - but no pens or pencils, or anything really that could have been used as a makeshift weapon.

You bite back a groan of frustration, determination winning out as you begin to inspect the desk itself. It's a flatpack unit of some sort, solid metal legs and a laminated MDF top. Surprisingly sturdy, and anchored to the wall as you find out when you give it an experimental shove and it bites into your hip rather aggressively. No barricading, then, although it wouldn't do you much good anyway if you couldn't find another exit. Or at least a way to pick them off as they came through the door. Your eyes rove your limited options, landing on the small metal stool tucked under the desk. You tilt your head in consideration, giving it an experimental heft as you imagine beating the large men down with something so unwieldy. It would make you laugh, if it didn't make your shoulder hurt so much. 

Movement beyond your door has you stashing your stool away quickly, scrambling back to the bed to hide yourself under the blankets like some frightened child. It makes you sick, having done so, but you stand no chance against these men in your state and you know it.

These boogeymen don't bother with theatrics beyond the sounds of the locks disengaging. It's Kyle who appears first, pretty eyes scanning the room as if in search of threat before stepping to the side and allowing the captain to come through. It strikes you again how very big they are. In this tiny room, with its low slung, claustrophobia-inducing rafters and close- pitched walls, they stand taller than the bookcase, seem to loom near as broad as your bed. Kyle shuts the door behind them but it's almost unnecessary as you know in your bones there would be no slipping past them even if you weren't laid up sorer than a pussy in a pricker patch. 

"Good morning doll," John beams and you nod at him absently. Morning. At least you know you got a decent night's sleep, then.

"When the captain wishes you a good morning, you return the favor," Gaz warns and you nod again, swallowing.

"Good morning, John. Good morning, Gaz," you tack on when John raises a brow at you.

"A clever one, then. Good. That'll make this next bit easier." John's smile is almost warm when he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Pleased, he nearly looks amiable and you can almost see how he's managed to bring this group of men to heel, though the notion makes you want to clobber yourself with your stool as soon as you think it.

With the added weight on the mattress, it's a struggle to stay leaning away from him. John seems to notice, crinkling his eyes at you in a way that would suggest warmth on anyone else. It just makes him look more unsettling, the gleam of his deep blue eyes more akin to the scales littering the ground of a fish market than to the ocean itself. 

"You're gonna have to let us closer, if you want Gaz to help with your wounds."

Your eyes flick to the other man, for the first time noticing the small basket he carries. You spot rubbing alcohol, some bandages, even a folded sling - they do not offer much relief, held in the hands of a man who looks like he'd much prefer to squirt the IPA into your eye.

"Gaz wants to kill me," you state, voice surprisingly bland.

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

John laughs when you flinch, though you certainly can't find the humor in the situation. "Gaz can be a little intense," the captain grants. His hand finds your knee in a gesture he probably thinks is comforting. "But I'm sure he'll warm up once he gets a chance to play." 

Your eyes dart between the two, heart hammering. If this is the moment, you suppose you can only be grateful it's not all four of them.

John's voice is stern when he continues, "Enough now. You want Gaz to be nice to you, you'll have to be nice to Gaz -."

"He -," you start, voice sharp despite knowing better.

The captain simply holds up a hand, silencing you easily. "You nearly broke Kyle's nose, pet. Look at that pretty nose," John commands, reaching out viper quick to get your chin trapped in his meaty fingers. He turns your face toward the other man, but he also pulls you closer to himself until you feel the scratch of his unkempt chops against your feverish cheek.

"Kyle here's as pretty as they come, inn'e? And you almost ruined that, just because you didn't know your place. It's no wonder he doesn't like you, is it?"

Gaz had wanted to kill you before you'd done that, though you don't think that's worth mentioning. "No. No wonder."

"That's right, pet. Smart girl. So what do we say to Kyle?"

"Sorry, Kyle," you recite obediently, every nerve in your body alight and on edge as you study his face for a reaction. He gives none.

"Gonna have to be sweeter than that, doll," John coos. His fingers flex ominously against your jaw. 

You only realize you're crying again when your voice comes out croaky. "I'm sorry for almost breaking your pretty nose, Kyle."

This time, Kyle smiles - or some approximation of it, at least. Relief floods you, strong enough you don't even mind when John suddenly drops his grip on your jaw. You flop to the bed as he stands from it, mustache twitching as he grins down at you. "Not so hard, was it? Now ask nice and he can help you with those scrapes, too." He nods at you from under his brow, face scrunching as he rocks up onto his toes, a dog with too much energy.

"Kyle, can you please help me with my… scrapes?" you ask, even though you'd rather cut your own fingers off than let any of them touch you. Even though you know there's not much he can do for your more egregious wounds anyway.

He doesn't see the same issues you do. "'Course, luv."

They start you off easy enough. Gaz inspects your hand first, pushing your sleeves up to gently prod at any discolorations he finds. John asks you if any of them hurt and you almost laugh when it takes you a moment to answer, forcefully pushing the pain in your face and shoulder away so you can reflect on the rest of your body.

"Not really."

"Where does it hurt?" Kyle asks, distracted as he cleans the patch of road rash on your palm with peroxide. 

For a moment, you stare at him from under your heavy, swollen eyelid, sarcastic even without comment. He doesn't even bother glancing up to acknowledge it before rubbing a brillo pad over the sore on your palm. "My face," you hiss, breathing deep when he ceases his scrubbing to inspect the wound again.

"Sorry," he says apathetically. "Still had some dirt in there. You were saying?"

You blink between the two of them, swallowing both your pride and the instinct to slap him. "My face. And my shoulder. My hip, a little bit."

"Saw that." John's eyes are heavy where they linger on the swell of your ass. You knew they'd been watching as you'd dressed, but it still sets a low simmer of panic off in your belly to hear confirmation. "That from when Soap ran the rig into you?"

"I think so."

"At least he didn't break her hip this time," Gaz mutters, and John sends you a patronizing smile when he sees the flicker of fear cross your face.

"No worries, love. She lived."

It slips out before you fully authorize it, "For how long?"

A stillness draws around them both. John's gaze turns cold and lifeless, face less animated. Gaz watches you from beneath his brow, mouth a grim line. When he does speak, John's voice is just as stiff as his countenance. "Longer than you will, you keep mouthing off."

It's funny, how the only defense you have against that is a million funny lines you could feed him right back running suicide sprints between your ears. Funnier still how quickly you're learning to ignore them. 

John's boots are heavy on the tile as he steps toward you, high treads nearly drumming one spike at a time as he takes care to walk slowly, heel to toe. When he stands in front of you, you have to crane your neck to see him because it hurts your bad eye to roll that far. 

"If I give you your rules while Gaz works on you here, you gonna be able to listen? Use your words," he tacks on when you nod once.

"Ye -. Ouch," you jolt, ripping your hand out of Gaz's when he presses his thumb meanly into the patch of road rash.

"Really think, luv. Cap hates repeating himself."

You glance between the two of them, both of them stern and unimpressed. "Maybe you should… wait?"

John's patronizing, crinkly-eyed smile is back. He pats you on the bad cheek. There's no force to it, but his palm is heavy enough to give you synesthesia for a moment, pain a physical thing which blooms red-ringed and vacant across your vision. "Smart doll. Now let's get you out of those clothes so Gaz can take a proper look at you."

There'd be no fighting them even if you were brave enough to try it. John manhandles you back to your feet with a strong grip on your good arm, his other hand cupping your ribs to avoid jostling your shoulder. It slides down to your hem once he gets you standing, thick fingers blisteringly hot against your clammy skin.

"Cold as a corpse, doll. We'll need to get you some more blankets, hm?"

You don't bother answering as he pulls your shirt up and over your good arm, your head getting stuck for a moment as he changes course to slide the sleeve down your bad limb. You're almost grateful, except then Kyle is loosing the stays of your pants and sliding them down your hips, tutting briefly at the massive mottling that paints your hip. His fingers are gentle until they're not, sussing out the epicenter of the contusion to dig a bony finger in and smirk when you yelp. "That hurt?"

"Yes," you hiss and he hums thoughtfully.

"Still have full range of movement?"

"I don't -. I think so?"

Gaz nods up at John and the older man reacts immediately, turning you until your back rests against his chest and wrapping his arms under your own to keep you upright. "Tell me if it hurts," Gaz warns, and then his hands are gripping your thigh, opening it wide and testing its range. 

An aborted noise bubbles up in your throat, dies off when John hooks his chin over your shoulder to get a better look at what Gaz is doing. Your breath comes heavy, lungs working hard enough to raise the band of John's arms with each inhale. The indignity is bad enough, but to have your crotch fully exposed, inches away from Kyle's concentrated face as they both look on, pretending to be uninterested in it makes you want to deflate within your own skin, shrivel up and die. You whimper when Gaz presses two fingers to your hip flexor, tears welling up in your eyes. 

"That hurt, doll?" John asks, mock concerned, whiskers brushing against your temple. You shake your head adamantly and John chuckles. "Feel good, then?"

"No," you wheeze and Gaz's thumb digs into your hip, making you fold in on yourself.

"Easy," John warns - yourself or Kyle, you don't know. He straightens you back up and flattens one palm against your flank, as if soothing an agitated horse. "That one hurt, didn't it? Is Gaz playing mean?"

Words fail you when the other man looks up at you with cold, ominous eyes. You don't need to be told to know inherently that John will not tolerate being lied to, but neither do you particularly relish angering Gaz by throwing him under the bus. "It's… fine," you settle on lamely, sighing in relief when they both accept it easily enough.

"Good here, cap," Kyle declares, lowering your foot back to the tile. They'd let you keep your socks on, blessedly. It's cold even through the ridiculous things. 

"Can I put my pants back on?" You ask eagerly, and John just laughs in your ear, still wrapped around you.

"Don't even want some knickers? Slag."

There hadn't been any underwear in the chest, otherwise you'd have put some on already, but you don't think that's worth mentioning. "I would like some underwear, yes. Please."

"Well, because you asked so nice." The hand on your ribs pulls away. From the corner of your eye, you see John reach into the front pocket of his cargos and then he's dangling a pair of basic cotton panties in your face. When you go to grab them from him, he yanks them away, breath hot and warm against your cheek as he warns, "Tomorrow you'll have to earn these. Understand?"

You swallow. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes… sir?"

"Good dolly," he breathes, and when he shifts slightly to let you take the panties you think you feel the hard shaft of his cock against your back. "You just keep being smart and we won't have any problems, will we?"

"N-no, sir."

"That's right. Now put those on before I fuck you about it."

No need to tell you twice. John drops them before you can grab for them again, but you catch the cotton between your fingers as they fall. Scrambling out of his grasp, you bend to dress and ignore the low whistle behind you as best you can. Though you thank Gaz prettily when he hands you your bottoms. 

"Welcome, luv." You take note of how he sounds genuinely warm, perhaps the first time you've earned it from him, and resolve to try being more pleasant with him. "Now let's take a look at that shoulder."

He's nice about it this time, sitting you down easily on the bed before stroking his warm hands all over your upper arm. He squeezes gently in a few places, gives you a sympathetic smile when you cringe. He tests your movement again, face drawing tighter when he finds you can't raise your arm above shoulder height. Trying to be helpful, you inform him that you believe it's your collar bone and then his palm is there too, earning a pathetic little whimper when he presses a hair too hard.

"Sorry, luv," he mutters, but his fingers carry on tracing the bone through your thin skin, prodding invasively where it connects to your scapula. He shushes you when you cringe away, nodding at John briefly to keep you in place again. His fingers don't stop no matter how much you whine and bat at him with your free hand. He weathers it without so much as a glance, your attempts pathetic enough that John doesn't even bother to contain them until you've already made a few swats at Kyle's arm. "Think it's connected at least," he finally decides, touch turning soothing again as he sits back on his heels. 

"Fractured?"

"Hard to tell. Rotator cuff is inflamed as hell, but I'm hoping that's the reason she can't move very well."

"Ice and pain meds?"

"And the sling, to be safe."

"Think we can manage that, hm pet?" His voice is far too bright. You kind of want to vomit.

"Now," Gaz continues, twisting you in John's arms until you face him, your head lolled against the captain's bicep. "About that cheek."

You're almost proud of the venom in your voice. "Don't fucking touch it."

Gaz doesn't flinch, but John jostles you with his shoulder, his tone warning. "Language."

"You can't do anything for it anyway," you double down. It's strange how quickly your body jumps from resigned exhaustion to complete tension, drawn like a bow ready to fire. For the door or for a chest you're not entirely sure yet.

"Can tell the boys your mouth's out of commission for a few weeks."

Your breath stutters. Somehow, in all the nightmare scenarios you'd pictured in this new life, having to suck a cock while your face felt like it was collapsing in on itself wasn't one of them. "You would…?"

Kyle's gaze is heavy, but it's John who answers. A soft brush of knuckles against your swollen face, just enough to make you flinch and then he's there, whiskers like sandpaper against your skin. "We would."

In the end, Kyle doesn't touch you. He lets you do it, fingers feather light as he directs you to feel along the ridge of your eye socket first, and then down underneath, pushing on your gums through the meat of your cheek. You find it there, on the underside, up by your nose. Or at least you think you do - a clump of tissue so swollen and knotted you can't even feel the bone through it. It makes your whole body ache to touch it, and the noise you emit when pain blooms from your sinus cavity all the way to the cradle of your skull would be frankly embarrassing if you could hear it over the ringing in your ears.

They wait for you to settle, palms heavy as they stroke over your legs and arms. You want to fight them off, but you want comfort more so you allow this small trespass, turning into John when he drapes a blanket over you because you're fucking cold without your shirt, adrenaline response to pain leaving you a shaking mess. When you've come down as much as you're able, Gaz asks a series of questions which leave you confused, staring blankly at him as you answer as best you can.

"What's it feel like under there?"

"Hard. Swollen. But also tender?" It felt like if a slightly undercooked steak had pain receptors, but you're not sure that will be effectively understood so you leave that part out.

"On your good cheek, show me where it was exactly." You do and he clarifies, pointing to the fine bone below his own tear duct. "Not right here?"

"No."

"Can you breathe through your nose?"

"No."

"Any vision changes?"

You stop, think. "When I was running it went black. And when I touch it I can… see it?"

Gaz frowns, sucks his teeth. He directs John to sit you up straight and then tells you to follow his finger with your eyes as he moves it about. "Hold your head still," he corrects when his fingers wander too high and you have to tilt your head to follow.

"Hurts."

"Where?"

You point to the fine muscles behind your upper eyelid on your good side and Gaz's expression deepens.

"She broken?" John grunts, and something about the phrasing sets a panic alarm off in the back of your mind. 

"Not yet. Worried about her eye."

"And what do we do about that?"

"Ice, pain meds. An anti-inflammatory wouldn't hurt, preferably something for her sinuses specifically." Gaz spares you a glance that lets you know immediately he isn't saying everything. "And an antibiotic."

John sighs, sounding world weary. "Hard to get."

"Necessary."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

The captain contemplates a moment, then turns to you with that same uncannily cheerful expression from before. "Well, no use arguing with the doctor, is it? Up you get, pet. We'll get you dressed and let you use the bathroom, get some food in you. Have you feeling better in no time."

***

The restroom upstairs is nothing to write home about, but you'd take an outhouse over the bucket downstairs so you feel grateful all the same. They don't let you close the door, but Simon stands politely off to the side of it, his view obstructed by the frame. You're quick about your ablutions despite being hindered by your new sling, but you manage. The sight of the mirror hanging over the sink gives you pause as you approach it and you avoid it at first, concentrating on getting the toothbrush they've generously left for you out of its packaging. You rinse it off, apply the paste, note you can't smell the sharp tang of cinnamon, and then steel yourself for the reveal.

It's not quite as bad as you'd expected, though in some ways it's worse. Your face doesn't sag the way you'd feared it would, the thin bone of your eye socket apparently doing the lord's work of keeping your cheek from melting to the side. Still, you hadn't expected the swelling along your brow, or the broken blood vessels in your eye. You also expected the dark discoloration of normal bruising, but this is livid - a deep crimson layered under your skin tone which mottles in a way you've never seen before, speaking of fresh blood. It makes you weak to look at, gut churning unexpectedly. You duck away and settle yourself, knowing full well any more inflammation in your nose would be the death of you. You remember what Gaz said about an antibiotic and panic a bit, thinking of vomit in your sinus cavity. 

When you get yourself in order you brush your teeth, gingerly, afraid to push against your top gums too much on the one side. You ask Simon if you are allowed to take a shower and he tells you no, though he shows you where to find hair products, if you need them.

When you're feeling a little more human you follow him back to the break room area the boys had been at the previous night where he collects another bowl of bland soup from Johnny. You make no comment about it being an odd choice for breakfast, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to eat anything solid anyway. From there, Simon escorts you back down to your room, silent all the while, ducking below overhang on the stairs gracefully. John's still there, sprawling across the bed as if on a mission to remind you he owns it. You do your best to ignore them both, settling down at your desk to eat your meal while Ghost lingers at the door. 

"You can stay, Si," John comments blandly and the big man nods once, leaning himself against the door frame in a way that shows off how much bigger he is than it. "Feeling better, doll?"

You glance at John. "Yes, sir."

"How's the soup?"

"Good, sir. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. When you're done, come sit with me."

You don't want to do that, but neither do you want to sit here lingering while they watch you draw a bowl of soup out until it's cold. So you nod, eating it as fast as you dare before slinking off to sit next to John on the bed. He shifts to allow you more room, revealing the pile of newspapers behind him in the process. Your gaze catches on them and you remember what he said the night before, eyes going wide as saucers as it finally registers what rules he wanted to discuss earlier.

John notices, of course he does. He chuckles darkly, retrieving the pile of old paper and placing it on his knee. Front and center, a photo depicts a large gathering of police cars, yellow caution tape fencing off an obscured patch of shrubby roadside. 'Woman Found Dead Outside of Grants, Police Suspect Foul Play,' the headline reads, and you fight to keep your breathing in order.

"Let's start here, then, shall we?" Despite his tone brooking no argument, John does not move until you look at him. "I have here the headlines associated with seven murders, pet. These are the ones that have been found, and were interesting enough to garner media attention - do you know what I mean by that?"

You nod, eying the pile of papers again. It's much more than seven articles, which means he followed investigations as well - which means the investigations were interesting enough to be written about. Your mind scrolls through endless thumbnails of true crime drama, the most gruesome killers getting the most hours of screen time.

"It means we've killed more than this, for a start. Easy ones, like your friend. Collateral. They never really get much attention," he scoffs, flicking the top page irritably before taking its top corner and flinging it off to the side. The next one tells of a missing woman found dead outside Moab, Utah. "She was a pretty one," John comments blandly, "though not as clever as you. Only kept her a few weeks. Waste of time, honestly."

He turns the page again, lets you read about the sexual assault police believe she was subject to in the days before her death. You're only aware of how shallow your breathing has become when you start to go a bit light headed.

"These ones, the ones we keep, they get some more attention. More so, the longer we keep them." The next headline must've been written by a real asshole, the humor in it tasteless and mean, 'Woman Returned Home After Six Months - In a Body Bag.'

"Do you want to see why?" John purrs, already thumbing the page.

"Please, no," you sob, shoving at the papers childishly. 

John just laughs, holds your wrists not ungently. "That's okay, doll. We have all the time in the world to read them together, when you're ready." When you need a reminder, he probably means, though you know better than to call him on it. "I just wanted to get that out of the way, to clear up any confusion you might be having about your stay here, hm?"

There's no helping the tears that stream down your face, even knowing how much you're inflaming your cheek. You nod, beyond words, and John hums at you, sickly sweet.

"You'll get used to it, I promise. You're a clever one, the clever ones always do well."

Until they don't.

"I didn't even need to tell you what your punishments will be if you really displease us, and already you know it will go bad for you. Do you think she's our cleverest doll yet, Simon?"

You'd nearly forgot he was there, gaze flashing to him where he leans, unphased. "Picked 'er for a reason, didn't I?"

"Yes, and a very good choice indeed." John'sthumb hovers threateningly over your abused cheek. "But be more careful bringing them in next time."

Next time. Your stomach turns to stone.

"Yes, sir," Simon rumbles.

"So pet, are you ready to go over your rules?"

You'd rather go poking around your eye socket again, really. "Yes, sir," you sniffle instead.

"Good girl. First, some housekeeping." He points over his shoulder at the bucket in the corner. "See that lightswitch there, by Simon?" You nod when the big man motions to it, though it was hardly necessary as it is the only switch in the room. "That does not control the lights. That is actually a clever little device which rings a phone upstairs when flipped up. Go on, Simon." 

He does as told, gloved fingers flipping the switch up and leaving it. Above, in the office, an ancient-sounding landline rings until Simon flips it back down.

"If you ever need something, you can call us that way - though I recommend you use it sparingly," he warns. "It is also how you will let us know when you need to use the facilities." Despite yourself, your stomach clenches excitedly at that, eager to be proven wrong about the bucket. On queue, John points over his shoulder at it. "That is for emergencies only. We're not animals, but we're not always available - and we're not unreasonable. If we come back to a mess after being away, we will clean it. But if we're home and you've simply failed to ask first, you will be the one to clean it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, unnervingly cheery again. And then his face drops, dead serious as he continues, "You will earn your keep here by making yourself available to us whenever we wish, is that clear?"

You knew it was coming, but it doesn't stop the ice bath of nerves that washes over you, skin prickling as you stammer, "S-sir?"

"You will not fight us, or try to stop us. If you do, you will be hobbled in whatever manner we see fit. Nod if you understand."

It takes you a moment, tears obscuring your vision again as you blink between the two men desperately. They do not flinch or rescind the statement, and you nod.

"You will not whine," John hisses, wiping your tears away with a thumb that nearly blinds you as it pulls across your cheek. "Or cry, or be miserable. If you are, you will be put in a gimp mask so we do not have to see it. Do you hear me? Shut that up," he hisses, pointing sternly at your face.

Your lip wobbles, one last breath shudders through you as you try to calm yourself, but your voice is surprisingly even when you respond. "Yes, sir."

"That's a good doll. In return, you'll get two meals a day, and shower every other. Does that sound fair?"

"Benevolent, sir," you snipe, nerves too shot to help yourself anymore.

John huffs, humorless. "I forgot how funny the clever ones can be. Did you, Simon?"

"It's been a minute, sir," the larger man allows, not really answering the question.

"It has, hasn't it? Do you think this one will ever be clever enough to earn some time upstairs?"

It's embarrassing, the way you perk up at such measly bait, but one night in the cold basement was already more than enough for you, and even the warehouse seems like a good goal to work towards after the hours spent alone in the dark. 

"Remains to be seen, sir."

Next>>

[nelkcats]

Fenton Street Food

"You know what's better than being a superhero? A street food vendor! Yes, superheroes can save the day, stop villains and receive hatred or admiration as the case may be, but a street vendor? They are at the heart of the action, fulfilling their dreams! They traveled the world feeding the masses, and even met superheroes, feeding them to keep them doing their duty, food carts are the centerpiece of keeping the heroes alive, they are the heroes..."

Maybe if Danny repeated it enough times he'd start to believe it, though seeing the monstrosity that was the Fenton food cart he highly doubted it. More so because it had fucking guns hidden next to the mutant and very alive Hot dogs (which by the way were not sellable, they were the mascots of the brand).

It all started when Jack Fenton talked about his dream of delivering his favorite food around the world, that fueled Maddie Fenton's idea, and since Jazz was in college and Danny was on vacation no one could stop them.

Soon Danny became a victim of his parents' eccentricities. Although the halfa had to admit that selling in Gotham was a lot of fun, thieves didn't think it was worth mugging him and the Rogues themselves bought his food of dubious origins.

It was almost a shame to have to change cities because Batman was getting too suspicious but Metropolis was waiting for him. And he would be back eventually; some bats who had enjoyed his strange roving food stall had waved him off with handkerchiefs, wiping away fake tears. Danny appreciated it.

Besides, Red Robin affirmed to him that he would recommend him to Superboy, so he wouldn't run out of customers anytime soon. He wondered if he should stop by Central City, the Flash Family ate a lot didn't they?

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 3

Part 2

At the proposition, Steve and Robin shared a look during which an entire conversation was had.

It’s not a part of our plan. They’ve got numbers on us. They don’t seem like they’d leave us for dead. Especially if we joined. They’re the biggest threat on this trail. We can use them to get where we’re going.

“My sister and I are headed south”, Steve said. “Is your pack going that way?”

“We’re actually headed west”, a young man with curly hair said.

Steve and Robin shared a look again and the rogues around them were just as dumbfounded as the first time.

“Do you think this is normal for them?”, someone whispered.

“I know it’s not normal for me”, someone else muttered.

“We’ll go with you”, Robin answered, arms crossed. “But don’t expect us to be all cutthroat and deceptive and stuff.”

“Oh of course, not without introductions. Bandit Prince Eddie, at your service”, the alpha bowed. “My fellow rogues, Gareth, Jeffrey, Harold, I would trust them with my life.”

The three nodded their heads as their names were said. But they weren’t the only ones in the camp. Robin gestured to the rest milling about, going on as if there weren’t two newcomers to their den.

“And those guys?” They looked older. And significantly more rough than Eddie and his peers.

Eddie grinned. “Folks from my father’s old pack.”

“What happened to the Bandit King?”, Steve asked.

The man had been a scourge for decades both in the kingdom of Loch Nora and the kingdom of Forest Hills. His activity had calmed down somewhat in the past few years, but the legend was enough to keep travelers alert on the main roads, usually.

“My old man fell in love. And renounced his wicked ways.” Eddie gave Steve a meaningful look and for just a second, things seemed to stand still.

“We’re nearly ready to go”, one of the other members of the pack announced.

That was when the royal twins realized the activity going around the camp wasn’t just the pack moving about, they were packing up, getting ready to move. It made sense. One couldn’t be a roving band if they didn’t actually rove.

“Perfect”, Eddie said. “I want us in caravan formation.”

“You guys have formations?”, Robin questioned.

“Leading a pack takes strategy, whether you’re a leader of a household or of criminals.”

Steve and Robin rested on a large log for a few minutes while the last bits of camp were put away and then the whole group was off. Eddie walked towards the front of the pack. Robin and Steve walked alongside a horse-driven cart. Eddie talked with one of his friends, Jeff, but they couldn’t hear from where they were.

“Is this really a good idea?”, Robin asked.

“It is an idea”, Steve simply replied.

“Hey what was that back there?”, she suddenly changed the subject.

“Hm?”

“Don’t act coy, it looks stupid on you. You know what I mean. There was a moment where you and that Eddie guy-it was gross.”

“Oh grow up”, Steve rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with a little romance? Aren’t we on an adventure?”

“Romance? With the prince of thieves? I should have never read those swashbuckling tales to you.”

“But you did”, Steve reminded her. “And now I can choose. So why not Eddie?”

Robin’s nose scrunched. “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

“Please, you don’t know what it’s like. You basically had your choice of partners.” Everyone wanted the hand of the dashing alpha who would run day rule an entire kingdom. Compared to him, Robin left behind a veritable harem. Her betrothed hadn’t been chosen yet. Steve was the one who had been trapped.

They continued to walk until dusk, when they set up a temporary camp. The pack sat around the fire, winding down from a day’s travels, people forming their own little groups within it all. 

“Tomorrow some of us will head to town to get a few more supplies. After that, we’ll begin our journey in earnest. It’s time for the Corroded Coffin to find a new home!”

There were cheers and raised cups to that and even the prince and princess felt a little mirthful. They slept on bedrolls next to each other, it felt the beginning of a grand adventure indeed.

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

Eddie held the feed bucket up to the horse when Jeff came up to him. He knew the most pragmatic of their group approaching him could only mean a lecture, so he hoped to butter him up a bit.

“Jeffrey! The morning sun makes you glow like an angel from above~”

Jeff crossed his arms. “Why are you letting those two tag along? They were just supposed to be marks.”

Eddie knew that. Knew from their clothing that they came from money, or at least had it on them. It should have been nothing to overpower them and take whatever they wanted off the siblings. So why hadn’t they?

“I just think it’s a good idea to bring up our numbers. Can never have too many thieves”, he said, not meeting his friend’s gaze.

“And I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with one of them being a pretty omega?”

Eddie scoffed about three times before waving a hand and shaking his head. “Listen to you! Me! Getting all moon-eyed over someone I just met! That would be terribly ironic, would it not? Give me more credit, Jeff, please. I just think they would be great additions. And if I’m proven wrong, they can be just as good as scapegoats.”

“Riiiight.” Jeff leaned against the cart the horses were already attached to. “It wouldn’t just be ironic, you know. It would be stupidly hypocritical.”

Eddie swallowed. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about me. I’m not that flighty.”

“You’ve already taken flight once”, Jeff said before leaving Eddie to his feeding.

Once fed, Eddie decided it would be him, Gareth as well as their two newest recruits to go into town. “You both look the most reputable among us”, he had reasoned. “And I wanna see what you’re made of.”

The town was just over a small ridge and at this bright hour was bustling with activity. Eddie grinned as he found a mark. He leaned into Steve’s space. “Watch this”, he said before walking past a man, bumping shoulders briefly and walking off with his coin purse.

“The classic move. But Gareth here is a master at the art of misdirection”, Eddie said as Gareth got to work.

Steve and Robin watched Gareth when he walked up to a booth, distracting the merchant and seeming very interested in the fruit on one part of the booth while using his other hand to stuff nuts into a pouch at his side. In the end, Gareth traded a bit of coin for a few apples and the merchant was none the wiser.

“Alright, that was admittedly impressive”, Robin praised. “For common criminals”, she teased.

“Oh? You wanna show us how it’s done?”, Eddie smirked at the challenge.

Robin grabbed Steve’s wrist, much to his protest. What was she doing? They’d never stolen anything bigger than a pastry from the royal kitchens. And really was it stealing when it came from your own home?

“We can’t-”

“Yes we can, get out of your head. Besides, if you want to run with thieves, you’ve got to play the part”, she reminded him. “Just follow my lead.”

Robin’s eyes zeroed in on their target. An older gentleman, just by a few years it looked, was taking his time in choosing the proper produce between an orange carrot and a yellow one. Robin nudged Steve hard with her elbow and he rolled his eyes before going forward.

Neither Eddie nor Gareth could hear what he said, but it all came down to body language. The way the omega’s eyelashes fluttered, leaned over slightly, allowed his eyes to rake up and down the other man’s body, even putting his hand on his arm briefly. All while Robin tried to creep up from behind and reach into his pocket.

She was able to pull a handful of something, but flicked her wrist on the release too hard, making her presence known.

“Hey! What the hell!?”

Robin was frozen in her spot and Steve was the one to grab her arm and pull her through the crowd. Eddie and Gareth ran after as the man gave chase to reclaim what was stolen.

“You and your noodle hands! Do you undress a lover with those fingers!?”, Steve shouted as they raced away.

“These noodles fixed your wreck of a hair!”

They were able to turn a corner and lose him so that they could catch their breaths. Robin opened her hand to count their haul only to be met with a bunch of pebbles.

“What the fuck?”

The two practiced thieves cackled and nearly went to their knees. Tears in his eyes, Eddie stood up straight.

“You get points for effort. And Steve here gets a ribbon for his part.”

Robin rolled her eyes, about to retort that she played an equal part and it would have been a victorious haul had it been actual money when a fanfare of trumpets sounded. A crier began to shout as a crowd gathered.

Steve’s heart began to pound in his ears as only bits and pieces of the message were relayed to him and he felt the sensation of shackles around his ankles, or of sinking into mud, or being carried off by an undertow.

Prince Stephen, reported stolen, high reward…

Robin had to shake him out of his reverie. “Did you hear that?!”

“What? Yes. What?”

“Prince Edwin of Forest Hills is missing!”, she shouted to his face.

“What?”

“See, I knew you weren’t listening. Where do you think he’s gone?” Then she whispered. “Do you think it was cold feet?”

“How do two royal siblings go missing?”, Eddie asked the wind. His face appeared a tad pale. “Stolen? With Loch Nora’s defenses?”

“One royal is one thing, but two?”, Gareth agreed.

“Technically three”, Robin held up three fingers that Steve quickly slapped down.

Thankfully, their odd energy went unnoticed within the general unease of the crowd. Prince Stephen, Princess Robin, and Prince Edwin were unaccounted for. Steve swallowed.

“We should go.”

“Agreed”, Eddie said.

They actually grabbed a few things before returning to the camp, where Gareth promptly announced the news of the royal siblings’ disappearance. There was a confused murmur among them when a beta stood forward. Steve recalled his name was Greenley.

“We’re all thinking it, right? A prince and a princess missing? With a high reward?”

Eddie shook his head. “No.”

Robin froze and Steve bit his lip. “I also think no”, he said.

“That money could have us set for life!”

“Between us, we could find a couple of royals.”

“We got underground contacts!”

“No! NO!!”, Eddie roared, regaining control of the conversation. “Look, I know it’s tempting. But can’t take that risk. They’re probably spreading the message which means every bounty hunter from here to the shore is looking for them. Dangerous folk.”

“We’re supposed to be dangerous folk”, Gareth pointed out. 

“If use two new ones get a vote, that’s three for no”, Robin pointed to herself, Steve, and Eddie.

Steve nodded. “So three to…”, he started to count in earnest.

“You’re still outvoted”, Greenley said. “And since this is a majority rule, not a monarchy”, he glared at Eddie challengingly.

“He’s right”, Jeff said.

Eddie sighed. “Shit….shit shit fuck shit shit fuck”, he started to pace around. “If this goes sideways-”

“We’ll be so rich things can go whatever direction they want”, Gareth said.

“Gre~at”, Robin gave a tight smile.

“Perfect”, Steve’s smile was equally strained.

Part 4

[dangraccoon]

Resourceful

Tech x M!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: sexual tension, explicit sexual content, cock rings, light dom/sub like very lightly implied, anal fingering, anal sex, inappropriate use of a mechanic creeper, multiple orgasms, anal creampie

Inspired by and Written for @clownbloody based on this very spicy masterpiece and outcry for more male reader fics told you I would ;)

“I am not sure that your idea is a good one,” Tech noted, still not looking up at you. 

You’d been trying to distract him from the repairs he’d been working on for the last hour, having to repair a part to go back into the malfunctioning console. 

“Why not?” you asked, pushing yourself up to sit on his workbench. “The rest of the squad is going to be out for at least an hour, right?”

“Yes, they will be. However-”

You took his chin in your hand. “And it’s been a while since we had some time alone.”

“It has been two weeks-”

“Then what’s stopping you?” you moved your face closer to his, stopping mere millimeters from his.

He sighed, his breath tickling your lips. “I… Well, I do not want to neglect you. I want you to have my full attention any time we are… intimate.”

You chuckled a little, releasing your hold on his chin. “That’s sweet, but the repair needs to be done before we can get back into hyperspace.”

“That is accurate,” he agreed, his attention turning back to his work. 

“Don’t you think this could be a good way to multitask? You’re always talking about how you want to be more productive.”

His hands froze. You smirked at the small victory. 

“And you can have two things you love at the same time.”

He glanced up for only a moment, eyeing you suspiciously. “Those being…”

“Having the repairs finished and having your ass railed by your very sexy and very needy boyfriend.”

His breath caught in a tiny gasp as his grip on his spanner nearly faltered. 

“I mean really, you could think of it as an experiment.”

He set the tools down, finally returning his attention to you.

“What is it that you would be testing?”

“Oh, that would be you, darling,” you laughed, sliding off the table to stand behind him. You placed your hands on his shoulders before slowly pushing them down his chest, the shudder he fought encouraging you. Your hands slipped past his stomach to his thighs and his breath hitched. “I think it could be quite interesting to see just how long I need to fuck you to make that brilliant mind of yours go completely cock dumb.”

His head fell back against your chest as he sighed. Your fingers ghosted over his groin, pulling a whimper so soft that you felt like you might melt then and there. 

“So what do you think, my love?” you cooed in his ear. “Think I can shut down all that clever thinking?”

He took a moment to respond, obviously enjoying the way your hands roved over his body. “Y-yes, I believe such a… compelling theory should prove interesting to test.”

You padded off to your footlocker to grab a few tools you would need, allowing him the space and minimal distraction to finish repairing the part before he returned to the console.

He set the part on the ground and started to lower himself onto his rolling cart. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you teased, chuckling at the confused look you received. “I can’t very well fuck you with your blacks on, can I?”

His cheeks flushed the prettiest pink as he pushed the bottom half of his underarmor down. 

You hummed, taking in the delicious sight of his bare legs. As he stood back up, you noticed the small discolored spots around his hip bones and the insides of his thighs. You dick twitched in your pants as you realized that those were left from your last adventure. 

He watched the way you licked your lips, swallowing hard as his length continued to harden with just the thought of what you were planning. 

“Go ahead and lay down, love,” you smirked, pushing your own pants down, as he laid on the cart, pulling himself under the console to begin installing the repaired part. 

You took out the items you’d retrieved before, two cock rings and a bottle of lube. You first put one cock ring on yourself, suppressing a moan as you situated it around you. 

You knelt down in front of Tech, grabbing his legs by the ankles. You heard his breath hitch as you lifted them up and apart so his ass would be on full display for you, humming satisfactorily. 

Releasing his ankles, you slapped his bare thigh, pulling a small whimper from him. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can smack you around as much as you want later,” you breathed as your fingers trailed over to ghost across his balls. 

“Please, cyare,” he whispered. “Teasing was not in the itinerary.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, wrapping your hand around his now fully hard cock. You pulled the cock ring onto him, his whimpers and moans sounding like a symphony in your ears. “Ready, love?”

He eagerly nodded, despite not looking away from his work. 

You lubed up two of your fingers and swirled it around his ass, pushing in suddenly. 

He gasped and let out a low moan as you started to work your fingers in and out of him. Once you were sure he was ready for your length, you applied more lube to your own cock. 

Kneeling in front of him, you lined yourself up and shifted your hips forward to slide into his waiting ass. 

You both moaned as he took you all the way to the base and you heard the sharp sound of metal meeting metal as a tool hit the floor. 

You wrapped your hand around his cock, lazily pumping at it, watching his face flush even darker. 

“Cyare,” he moaned. 

You smiled. “Yes, dear?”

“Please move.”

You tried to shift your hips but found the movement awkward. He was too close to the ground. 

You looked up at his face, amused at how he was clearly trying to concentrate on the repair. 

A grin split across your face as an idea entered your lust-riddled brain. 

You released your hold on his dick to grab his hips. Shifting your hips backward to slide out of him, you got comfortable. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing down at you for just a moment. 

“You tell me,” you hummed.

You yanked him by his hips, rolling the cart towards you to impale him on your cock. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, nearly losing hold of the wire he’d been reconnecting. 

You pushed him away again, before quickly pulling him back, your eyebrow quirked up, watching to see any objections. 

Not seeing any signs of dissent you quickened the pace, pushing and pulling the cart, slamming his ass against your thighs. 

He kept his attempt to work at a relatively steady pace. That is, until you shifted your hips just a bit and suddenly the tip of your cock was pressing against that soft spot. 

He cried out your name, his hands dropping to grip the underside of the console. A couple more thrusts and he was moaning between the heavy panting dripping from his lips. You saw the drops of precum beading at the head of his member and picked up the pace, wrapping your hand around him. 

“Fuck! Fuck, cyare- oh, fuck I’m going to-”

He fell apart with a shout, his hands flying to the cart. You fucked him through it, his cum spilling out over his stomach.  

Despite the delay the cock ring was providing, you knew the way his orgasm made his already tight hole squeeze around you would make you cum fast but at this point you didn’t care. 

His moans and cries were still ringing in your ears as you slowed your pace, pulling the cart out more. 

You repositioned, never fully pulling out of his ass, and pushed his legs up towards his chest. Then, you started anew. 

You pistoned your hips into him, sheathing and unsheathing yourself in his heat. His moans were nearly constant now and you felt his muscles contract beneath you. 

Tech attempted to form words, but they all came out as moans, but you soon realized what he had been trying to say; he was cumming again, the tip of his cock leaking cum. 

The gasping breaths he took between moans sent you over the edge and you plowed into him, working yourself through your own climax.

When the room stopped spinning, you pulled your cock slowly out of him, admiring the way your cum leaked down his ass. 

You took a moment to catch your breath before smiling down at him. “How’d the repair go?”

“Actually,” he managed between pants. “I finished it… just before I came. The- the first time, that is. I must say… that was- it was quite resourceful.”

You shook your head, laughing in disbelief. “Come on, genius,” you smiled, holding your hand out to pull him up. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Thanks for reading! - River

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Augusnippets Day 18: Apocalypse

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

tw: apocalypse, mind control

It was a quiet sort of apocalypse.

Zach, Jesse, and Sky picked their way through overgrown lots to reach what used to be a big box store. It was far enough away from any of the aliens' strongholds to be left untouched and relatively safe, but it was still risky to be anywhere near former human civilization. All it really took was one unlucky run-in with a patrol, even for survivors as experienced as Zach's crew.

They wouldn't be out here if it weren't necessary. Their base was running low on many critical supplies, and the store was likely untouched. It would have non-perishable food, clothing, and medicine in abundance, well worth the risk. Zach's crew was traveling light, only carrying the absolute essentials, in the hopes of filling their empty packs and carrying back as much as possible.

It was the silence that really got to Zach. He'd grown up loving zombie movies, the gorier the better, and he'd envisioned the apocalypse as noisy chaos. Stores looted, buildings burned and trashed, roving gangs mowing down hordes of zombies. Instead, it was peaceful. Nearly every building was left entirely intact, looking as if it could open for normal business at any moment, and the only sound was birdsong.

The silence and peace was a chilling reminder of how the aliens liked to operate. They didn't come to kill the Earthlings with advanced weaponry. No, they conquered humanity swiftly and effortlessly using little more than their psychic powers to subjugate everyone they came into contact with. Cities didn't fall -- they had their populations spirited away in minutes, crowds of dazed, sleepwalking humans herding themselves into alien ships, leaving behind everything with no hesitation.

Zach swept the area near the store with his modified heat sensor. "Coast is clear."

The automatic doors opened for them when they approached -- the aliens had also kept the power running in most populated areas. Cheerful signs informed them of a 20% off clothing sale and new toys for summer fun. Apart from the complete lack of people, the only real indication that anything was wrong was the shopping carts that had been left all around the aisles.

The three split up wordlessly. Zach headed right for the first aid section and began filling his backpack with bandages, painkillers, antibiotic cream, and any other medicine that seemed useful. He'd moved on to the soap aisle when he heard the unmistakable sound of the automatic doors opening.

Shit. There were only a couple of things this could be -- one of his two companions had broken protocol; there was another unknown group of human survivors, possibly hostile; or -- most likely -- it was an alien patrol. Zach crouched down, making as little sound as possible while going over the escape routes in his head.

Footsteps were drawing nearer. They sounded human. Zach dared to glance around the aisle, and was surprised by what he saw.

It was a group of aliens with humans alongside them. The aliens were little more than masses of gray tentacles, pulling themselves across the linoleum. The humans were all wearing the uniforms, collars, and blissful expressions typical of those who had been enslaved. They were in the clothing department, and the humans seemed to be talking and laughing among themselves, picking out clothes and holding them up.

What were they doing? He'd never seen this sort of thing happen before.

Some of the aliens' tentacles had huge, bright eyes with colorful rainbow swirls in them. These were their primary weapons, capable of snaring a human mind in an instant. As one of the aliens looked around the store, Zach averted his gaze. Even at this distance, it was dangerous to even glance at their eyes, unless he wanted to be turned into one of their zombies.

All it took was just one look. One look, and there wouldn't be any more missions to raid old stores just to survive. No more thin rations and hiding in caves, no more sneaking through the remains of ordinary civilization. It'd be over, and he'd be rendered mindless and turned into one of their slaves.

One look, and he could rest.

He shook the idea from his mind. His resistance group was counting on him as their leader. He couldn't afford to entertain thoughts like that, no matter how fleeting. He had to finish gathering supplies and escape.

Thankfully, this wasn't a patrol out looking for human resistance, but a group with some different mission. The aliens were slowly remaking the remains of human civilization to their liking -- they were probably here to survey the shops and roads, not to fight. He'd had enough practice in stealth that he could slip through the aisles and back to the entrance without attracting their attention.

But then he heard a crash from the back of the store.

It wasn't that loud, probably just a few things knocked off a shelf, but in the desolate store, it echoed off the tiles. The group of aliens absolutely heard it, because their tentacles went from looking relaxed to being on high alert.

Zach swore under his breath. What a fucking mistake to make. Maybe his teammates hadn't heard the doors open or spotted the threat, maybe they'd just been careless or unlucky, but regardless, this was going to make their escape a whole lot more difficult.

He slipped back into the aisles. He could still evade them, he could still make it out. The problem was that he was just so fucking tired. Tired of having to fight for his life and autonomy just to go to a goddamn Target and get some food and medicine. Tired of wondering if this is the day when it'd all be over.

He was just so tired.

He jerked his head up, opening his eyes. There must be an alien nearby, subtly influencing his thoughts. That's one of the ways they got you, distracting and luring you with thoughts of things you wanted -- in his case, a good night's sleep.

So at least one alien had sensed his mind, but it probably still didn't know exactly where he was. He could use that to his advantage as long as --

Something slimy gripped his ankle, and a wave of drowsy stillness washed over him, a deep compulsion to relax and not resist.

He knew what he was supposed to do. Screw up his defiance, remember his training, ignore the alien thoughts, escape.

Sometimes he wished he could just give up and let it all be over with.

Zach realized his mistake as soon as the alien presence amplified that thought, flooding him with the deep, irresistible desire to give up, to let go, to feel the deep relief of knowing that the worst was over with. He couldn't fight it, not when he was already so weary. And so when the hypnotic eye blossomed before his face, filling his mind with mesmerizing color, all he could do was let go.

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

@augusnippets

[thepenultimateword]

Mini Snippet Part Two

Part One

CW: Sleep deprivation, self-starving, some depression and major insecurity, death mention, murder mention

Villain missed the milk jug twice before finally wrapping their fingers around the handle. They heaved it into their cart with a clang loud enough to earn a few looks, but they were simply grateful their trembling arm had made it that far. Even just standing was exhausting. They knew the remedies. Proper food and proper sleep, but both, as easy as they seemed, seemed to linger just out of reach..

Gory images of Hero plagued their vision every time they closed their eyes. Those lifeless eyes staring straight into their heart. Hero had no qualms about killing people; Villain shouldn't feel so bad about returning the favor, and yet...their stomach hadn't stopped churning since. They could barely keep a meal down a day, and so they watched themselves fearfully, helplessly, grow gaunter. And weaker. And more lost.

Villain swiped their fist across the sudden wetness in their eyes and moved their cart out of the way of the refrigerators. They had tried contacting Supervillain several times since their argument. And then several more times after the...incident. Nothing but silence.

Why had they let Hero go? If they'd just let Supervillain take care of it all like they'd intended then maybe they wouldn't be so miserable.

Who do you feel guilty about? Hero or us?

Shut up.

You agonize over an enemy, but you killed us too. The henchmen's voices blended together in their head. always angry. Always accusing. It had only begun after a few days of sleep deprivation. If they could just sleep... But they couldn't sleep. You thought you could fix it so easily? You're pathetic.

"Please shut up," Villain begged, pressing their forehead to the cart's handlebar.

"Villain?"

Villain's head shot up. Too fast. They swayed a little on their feet, only balanced by a steadying hand on their shoulder. They stared down at the gentle touch, blinking in confusion at the all-too-familiar callouses and scars. Slowly, slowly, as if worried they might disappear, another illusion in a series of persistent figments, they lifted their gaze to Supervillain's face.

The hand drifted up their neck and jaw, cupping their face. Reassuringly tangible. Villain melted into the warmth, fighting the urge to throw themselves against their lover's--ex-lover?--chest.

"You're so thin." Supervillain's thumb stroked up and down their cheekbone. "Have you been eating?"

Villain choked on a sob.

"Hey...hey..." Their other hand clasped the back of their neck, giving a gentle squeeze before quickly freezing and dropping again. Then the hand on their cheek dropped too. Arms hung limp and awkward at their sides. Supervillain wet their lips. "It's... good to see you."

"Really?" Villain hated the emotion in their voice. "You've done an awful lot to avoid me."

"I needed space."

"I needed to talk to you."

"I had the funerals." Villain flinched at the hardening of that word. "Amends to the families. Then I had to completely reevaluate security. Prepare defenses against anything Hero might have shared with other heroes. But then Hero got themselves killed anyway, which was a whole other fiasco."

"I killed them." The words fell heavy and cold, out of Villain's mouth. Dead things.

Supervillain gaped.

"For you. I killed them for you. To...try to...I don't know...fix things? I know it wasn't much of a fix but..." They swallowed.

"No." Supervillain's eyes roved them up and down. "No. You didn't. You didn't kill anyone. ...Did you?"

Villain stepped back, their spine resting against the bar of their cart. They stared down at the scuffed tile. “I needed to talk to you.”

Some stupid part of them had thought if they could just get to Supervillain it would all be ok. They could tell them it was alright. Hug them. Praise them. Love them.

But now they were here. And Villain felt no difference at all.

They rubbed their knuckles between their eyes, sparking starry pain across the blood in their vision. “I can’t unsee it. Unfeel it.”

"You didn't need to do that. I never asked you to..."

Villain looked up at them. “Do you forgive me now?"

“You didn’t need to do that,” Supervillain repeated. Their face twisted mournfully, creases along their eyes where only real pain ever creased them.

Villain’s gut dropped.

“Did I make it worse? Am I…am I ruined?”

Supervillain used to tease them about their supposed villain’s purity. Plenty of crime and callousness, but none of the bone-chilling harm many villains frequented. It had drawn Supervillain to them in the first place. They found it cute. Well, until that cuteness backfired like shrapnel into ten bodies.

Villain only wanted to turn things back the way they were. They never considered Supervillain might be even more disgusted with them changed.

Villain clenched the hem of their shirt, shoulders shuddering. Maybe they should run. Ditch the groceries and get somewhere where those disappointed eyes didn’t dig into them. They couldn’t run very fast, but they doubted supervillain would give chase anyway.

Strong arms wrapped them tight and close.

“You’re not ruined.”

“But—”

“You’re not,” Supervillain growled. “You’re just…just…sort of different. And that’s fine. Because the important parts are still there.” They squeezed a little tighter, digging their jaw into Villain’s thin shoulder. “And I’m sorry you felt you had to do something like that for me. I should have reached out.”

Do you love me again?

The words danced across Villain’s ragged brain, but they couldn’t bring themselves to put them into sound. What if the answer was no?

“Come with me.” Supervillain loosed Villain from their embrace, but kept a firm grip on their hand as they transferred their own items into Villain’s cart, quickly taking control and rolling toward the checkout. “You need several hot meals and a warm bed.”

“I-I-” Villain stumbled after them with aggravating incoherence.

“Who else is going to take care of you?” Supervillain challenged, of course picking up meaning in their syllables of protest.

Tears sprang to Villain’s eyes. That was more ‘I love you’ than words could ever say.

***

Well, this sort of came out of nowhere. If you prefer the angst of part one you can pretend it ended there. If you prefer happy endings, I hope you enjoyed. It’s also been a while since I wrote part one, so the vibe may be different.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

[soft-girl-musings]

An Unexpected Proposition (pt. 2)

based on this prompt from @imaginexhobbit, previously submitted under @jawn-i-made-coffee

cross-posted to ao3

part 1

Kíli x fem!Reader

tags: mentions of blood/injury, Reader is described as tall (by human standards), Y/N is used

wc: 1,741

fic summary: An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

A/N: once again posting the cuties for myself. i have a loose outline from years ago i revisited and honestly? still slaps. so this might get a part 3.

You can't believe it. You’re actually doing it. You walk along the road leading away from town with your pack on your back, boots on your feet-

"Come on, (Y/N)!" Kíli shouts from the top of the hill. You smile. A friend by your side.

Only a few hours earlier you had broken bread and prepared to say goodbye; now, you’re following Kíli after he promised you an adventure. Was this a foolhardy endeavor? Perhaps. But after years in the quiet countryside, your roving heart had gotten restless. Kíli had tempted you with the open road and the thrill of a quest; how could you refuse him? 

As you climb the muddy slope, Kíli taps his foot in mock impatience. "You would think that with those long legs of yours, you'd move faster."

You reach the top and shove him lightly. "Shut up. I'm digesting." He laughs, shoving you right back. You notice he slows his pace to walk beside you this time. "So how much farther are you taking me, sir dwarf?"

"Ah, ah! (Y/N), if we're to be on the road together, we must do away with these formalities." He pulls a grimace and looks up at you. "'Sir Dwarf' makes me sound like some old fool."

You chuckle. Never a dull moment with this one. "Very well, Kíli, " you begin, drawing out his name in playful reverence, “how much farther until we get there?”

Ears tinged pink, he looks away, adding the figures in his head. "Where we're going is... three days on foot. We'd cut our time in half if I hadn't lost my pony." His brow furrows as he remembers his violent run-in with a few drunk locals.

You frown. "You're too weak to make that journey on a deadline." Kíli opens his mouth to object, but you shake your head. "There's a stable not three miles from here. I know the owner, he should take pity on our situation and help us." Kíli's face remains tense, but he nods in agreement and follows you.

Three miles later, you approach the stables and see your friend, just having finished mucking out the stalls. He raises a hand to greet you, but retracts the gesture when he sees who walks beside you.

“'Afternoon, Dylten!” You holler, but he turns and carts the waste to the back of the structure. Strange, he’s never this distracted. You place your bags down and chase after him. “Wait here,” you reassure Kili, “I’ll be right back!”

You find his cart abandoned as he walks hastily away from the stable. “Dylten!” you run to catch up to him. “At least a nod of greeting would suffice. Why the rush, friend?”

“I’m not sure I wish to be called ‘friend,’ if that’s the kind of company you keep,” he grumbles. His face turns red as he walks faster, and you notice a few fresh bruises along his jaw.

You piece two and two together as you reach the crest of the hill, where you see a chestnut brown pony tied haphazardly to a post in front of his home.

"New acquisition?" You ask flatly, knowing full well where the pony came from.

"Of sorts." He moves to walk inside, but you block his doorway, hand on the hilt of your weapon.

"You nearly killed him," you snarl.

"It wasn't just me! Nobody wanted him there!" He backs away, nearly tripping over his front step. "Some of us merely took it upon ourselves to send the dwarf a message!"

You're seething with anger at this point, sword drawn. You brandish the weapon toward him. "Yeah? And what was it-- that you and half the people in this town are beyond dense?"

He’s nervous, but scoffs all the same. “Don’t pretend to be all ‘high and mighty,’ (Y/N). I fought beside you. You knocked heads and drew blood just as easily as the rest of us.”

You’ve heard enough. In an instant, Dylan is knocked down by the pommel of your weapon and you crouch over him, knee to his chest. “Not innocent blood. Which doesn’t help you at the moment.” His breath staggers under your weight, struggling even more as you lean closer. “We’re taking the pony. And your black mare. If you’re lucky, my payment will include us never speaking of this again.”

__________

The next day and a half pass with ease. You notice you’ve reached the western countryside. Lush grass rolls in billowing green waves, speckled with countless wildflowers. Kíli plucks a few and sticks them in your hair while you’re busy preparing lunch; you sneak a few into his braid before he mounts for the final leg of the journey.

"Look!" You shout gleefully. As twilight creeps in, you are met with a most welcome sight. Little homes built into the sides of hills are scattered along the horizon. The grass rises and frames a beaten path before you.

Kíli rides up beside you, grinning wildly. "I think we've finally reached The Shire."

Exhausted from your journey, the two of you go to a cozy-looking tavern for a couple of drinks. You feel like a giant as you sip from a glass half the size of what you’re used to. The door jingles, opening to reveal a blond dwarf looking around warily before stepping inside. You nudge Kíli and point out the newcomer. He leaps from his seat almost immediately. 

"Fíli!" He calls out. The blond turns and, upon seeing Kíli, moves to embrace him.

"Glad to see you arrived safely, brother." They clap each other on the back and return to the table. Upon closer inspection, the family resemblance is much more prominent. Fíli is clearly the oldest of the two, having a harder maturity about him.

Fíli sits across from you, his smile slightly faltering as he looks you up and down. "And who's this?"

 "(Y/N)," you blurt out, offering your hand. "I've been traveling with your brother." Fili shakes it, looking to Kíli for an explanation. 

"She's done so much more than that, Fí. Why-"

"Tell me on the way. We're due at the burglar's house any minute now." 

As you travel to your next destination, Kíli speaks of your "grand rescue". Fíli listens readily, but later murmurs concerns of how "Uncle might not approve" of your presence at the halfling's home. 

The rest of the company, however, simply adores you. After Kíli tells them the tale of how you had saved him and secured transport (you had eventually told him about your run-in with Dylten), the other ten dwarves show an apparent respect for you.

"That'd explain why yer face looks like you fell head-first into a rosebush!" a dwarf called Bofur shouts across the table. You laugh as Kíli's ears turned red.

A heavy knock on the door silences the household.

"He's here."

"Gandalf," you hear someone say in greeting. You find yourself growing nervous as he walks in. Thorin seems to tower over the rest of the company. The graying hair and beard framing his face give his features an aged ferocity. You recall facing foes four times as large, but they suddenly seem dwarfed in comparison to this… well, dwarf.

You take a sip of tea and whisper, "Kíli, what if your brother was right? What if your uncle doesn't want me here at all?" Sensing the panic in your voice, he takes your hand in his and hushes you. "Fí doesn't know what he's talking about. Uncle needs every man he can get, and you're just as good as any of these old fools claim to be." He squeezes your hand andofferes a small smile. "He'll love you, I swear."

Unfortunately, Kíli could not have been more wrong. Thorin's face had been cheerful enough as he greeted his friends, but when his eyes fall on you, the subtle joy vanishes. After taking you in, he frowns. "I had believed this to be a private meeting, Gandalf."

"I had no part in her being here," the wizard insists.

"I brought her, Uncle." All eyes fall on Kíli as he stands. "I didn't think you'd mind. This is-"

"-A human who should not be aware as to why we are gathered."

"But Uncle, she's more than worthy to join us!"

"I decide who is worthy!" The red in Thorin's face deepens with every syllable. Your hand tightens around Kíli's. "Tell me, were you yammering about this quest on your whole journey, or was it just to the pretty ones you wished to impress?"

"With all due respect, sir-- your nephew is not at fault. I came on my own accord."

Thorin turns his glower to you. "Silence, girl. I'll deal with you later." 

"Enough, Uncle!" Kíli shouts He leaps forward, dragging you along until you both stand toe to toe with Thorin. You feel drastically out of place, awkwardly towering over the dwarf who looks about ready to take your head off.

"(Y/N) has done nothing to deserve your blind wrath! If anything, she deserves your utmost respect! She has seen battle in lands I'd never heard of. She served ten years of her life fighting alongside fierce men who were beyond her in years, and matched them blow for blow! And she saved my life. I wouldn't be standing here before you if it wasn’t for her."  He entwines your fingers and looks up at you. You notice he still has flowers in his hair. "She... she nursed me back to health. She fought for my property and restored my dignity, all in a day. And because I asked her, she abandoned her life of comfort to accompany me." He looks back at Thorin, determined. "I owe her my life."

"Let her stay, Uncle. They mean well," Fíli interjects  from his corner of the room.

Thorin's eyes never leave Kíli's. "I had known you to be reckless, but I did not take you for a fool."

"Nor I you." His uncle smirks, but does not let the humor reach his eyes. "Please."

A tense moment of silence passes between you. Thorin moves closer, now standing directly beneath you. "You have no room for error. One wrong move and I will not hesitate to make you pay." 

You kneel before him, hardly believing what you heard. "From this moment on, you are my King; I will serve you as such. You have my loyalty and my sword at your disposal."

[postcard-from-the-past]

Little valley behind the La Vesse viaduct in Le Rove, Provence region of France

French vintage postcard

[scsacostamesa]

Rove- Fruit Punch Ready-To-Use Made by crossing Skunk, Haze, and Northern Lights strains and is named for its swift hit of sweet, fruity, and tropical notes.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Random Miraculous Gaang thoughts

All are suggestions, feel free to take or leave whichever!

In no particular order:

(this got REAL long lmao)

1) Sokka is 16, Katara 15, but they are JUST close enough in age to be in the same class. Irish Twins, or whatever they call that. Everyone else’s ages to be decided in relation to them. So, Aang and Toph are 14, but got bumped ahead a year. Zuko is 17 but got held back. Suki and Yue are 16. Ty Lee & Mai are 15. Azula, I’m split on her being 14 or 15? She’s in Katara and Sokka’s year, regardless. Kuzon, Bumi Jr, and Teo are JUST 15, like barely. Haru is 17, but he’s friends with Sokka and Katara, so hangs out with them. Haru and Zuko used to be in the same class. (Please, someone who is better at numbers try this list)

2) Cabbage Man is here. He’s their version of Mister Pigeon. Is regularly Akumatized when his fresh produce stalls get wrecked. He’s either just generally unlucky, has TERRIBLE spacial awareness, or whoever makes his carts keep ripping him off, cause these things are so shoddily designed.

3) Uncertain musing, but. I think I said before, the night Zuko gets his scar, Azula calls Iroh in a panic, that’s how Iroh knows to go and look for him. I guess my question is, would this version of Azula do this? Like, Canon!Azula wouldn’t, but Canon!Azula had a whole bunch of other shit going on, that MG!Azula wouldn’t, so. Would she call Iroh, and straight up tell him “Zuko got his face burned, Dad threw him out” or more vague, “Zuko needs you to come get him”? Would she not call at all, worried about Ozai finding out?

Also, like

3.5) Like, If we are taking the “burned his face and tossed him out” literally, Zuko is heavily injured, in a lot of pain, probably disoriented - would he be able to find his way to Iroh’s? Assuming it’s late/nighttime - cause middle of the day, I’m assuming someone would, ya know, notice the injured bleeding kid stumbling around and call somebody - would he even be able to see? And what age exactly is this happening? Like, my general understanding of Canon!Atla was, Ursa leaves when Zuko is about 9 or 10, then he gets burned at 13, spends the next 3-4 years looking for the Avatar. But we’re bumping around the ages, and most of these kids go to school together, so if 13!Zuko got the burn and got pulled out, wouldn’t everybody be talking about it? Was Zuko out of school for A WHILE (say, a year or more), partially cause medical reasons, then trauma stuff, and is just going back to public school at the start of the series? Did Ozai even burn him with fire, or is this more of a “Shoto” burn, boiling water and ice? Just generally musing how this scene translates to MG-verse, I guess.

4) pure suggestion, but Sokka and Yue date BEFORE the start of the “series”, and “mutually” decided they were better off as friends. Reality being that Yue broke up with Sokka cause of family drama with her’s and Hahn’s parents playing matchmaker, and Yue trying to protect Sokka from Hahn’s folks possibly being … well, not sure WHAT she’s scared of, but that’s the general idea. And by the time that all gets hammered out, Sokka is dating Suki, and starting to get into a situationship with Zuko and Jin, while Yue has started falling for Azula. So, it’s not that they were bad for each other or anything, or even that they wouldn’t have lasted or been a good couple, but they kind of … miss their window? Cause my other thought is, if Yue and Sokka stay together, how does that work out with all the other ships? (I need a frigging chart for this)

5) Since I’m pretty sure Ty Lee’s parents are rich, or at least influential, how likely is it that she’s met Toph before? Actually, how likely is it that Toph has met Ty Lee, Azula, Zuko, and Mai? Did any of them help convince Toph’s parents to let her attend school? Has Ty Lee taught her all the insane stunts she does? Do Toph and Ty Lee share a love for professional wrestling?

6) Would Iroh have an actual shop, or a roving food-cart? Cause on the one hand, he canonically HAS a shop, while on the other, I’m really attached to the idea that Iroh has a roving food & tea cart, and seems to appear just when someone needs tea and advice. Also, I got an image of him getting into a fistfight with Andre the Ice Cream Man, and I kind want to see that?

7) What school do these kids go to, Cause Avatar Academy appeals in a very kitchsy kind of way.

8) Did we decide on Harmony City? Cause if Sokka isn’t using Harmonia, that could work too. I’m imaging a city that’s like, in a bay, or close to the sea, but also some mountains? Maybe, like. An hour or less from a desert, or large forest?

9) So, like. Ursa kills Azulon cause of Ozai’s machinations. However, since this setting and situation are different, thoughts on Ursa spending however long she’s gone working to get enough evidence to take Ozai down? Trying to figure out a way to contact the kids without Ozai finding out?

10) Someone mentioned Meng, the girl who worked for Fortune Teller Wu. ( Fun Fact, Meng and Toph share a voice actor!) But anyway, I suddenly have an image of Iroh and Wu dating. Zuko and Lu Ten are both, “ok, well. This happened.”

11) Do we still have “secret identities at all costs” and how long does that last for the whole team?

12) suggestion: Gyatso managed to track down the Butterfly, just as Ozai did, and the two duke it out, before Ozai yoinks it and vanishes. Gyatso was Miraculoused up, so Ozai doesn’t know who he is, but he knows the “Guardian” exists, and is an old man, while Gyatso now knows someone with likely less than noble intentions took the Butterfly, and that he couldn’t stop him even with a Miraculous of his own.

13) Aang has a large, fluffy dog called Appa, as well as Momo (cat or sugar glider?). Appa seems a … touch too smart to be a regular dog, but no one brings that up.

14) if the city is broken up into districts that mimic the Canon Four Nations, make it a harbour/port city, and Sokka and Katara live at the marina, on their house boat. Like, they have smaller boats that they use to give boat tours/clean the city rivers, but also their neighbours and everybody does a lot of fishing and transport of goods. 

15) Possible Akumas!

- “The Boulder”, wrestler who got pissed about something, and becomes a massive rock man; probably the debut of Tiger!Toph

- Zuko: gets into a fight with someone about [his dad/his scar/his status/whatever], becomes “the Blue Spirit”

- Rando gets upset because people keep calling him “bland and boring”, saying he “doesn’t have an interesting face”, becomes “Koh the Face Stealer”

- Kuzon gets mad about something environmental, turns into that Panda Spirit 

- Toph gets into a fight with her parents, Akumatized into the Blind Bandit

- Wu, gets upset when Sokka dismisses her fortune-telling (I mean, here, she might actually have some ability, but it’s also, like, her living? And when Sokka discounts it LOUDLY, IN PUBLIC, it harms her business) become Fortuna, Goddess of Fate

- Jet, Smellerbee, and Longshot are the first Unified Akuma, ie, the first time Ozai Akumatizes multiple people at once. They’re collective Akuma is called the Freedom Fighters. (Unless someone knows their ACTUAL names, I’m calling them Ren [Smellerbee] and Hao [Longshot]).

- Iroh gets Akumatized into The Dragon of the West, in a scheme to throw him off Ozai’s trail. Ozai has Noriko use the Butterfly to Akumatize Iroh, while Ozai is with him, so Iroh thinks it isn’t Ozai.

- Azula, the “Phoenix Princess”. Possibly Dragon Princess.

- Yue, the “Lady of the Moon”; other thought, have her be a dual Akuma with Sokka, as “Tui and La: Spirits of the Moon and Ocean”

Ok, this got longer than I thought it would! 

(thoughts, feelings, opinions, new ideas?)

-

Let’s go!

1.) We actually don’t have to change their ages at all tbh. Katara, Azula, Mai and Ty Lee are all 14. Sokka is 15. Zuko is 16. Aang and Toph are 12.  Yue is the only character with an on-screen birthday turning 16. I don’t think any of the other kids have canonical ages.

So we can have Aang and Toph skip a grade or two because homeschool-to-publicschool  placed them according to ability rather than age. And then Zuko and Yue are both a grade younger for various reasons (Zuko got held back due to all the missing class when he was kicked out. Yue would still have her health issues as a child so she started classes a year late on the whole).

Everyone else is in the 14-turning-15 range already and/or don’t have exact ages.

2.) Cabbage Man as Mr. Pigoen is fucking perfect oh my god.

3.) I think she would in like. For me, the reason Azula got as bad as she did in Canon is because she was exclusively around Ozai and/or people who agreed with him for three years after Zuko’s banishment. Before that she wasn’t perfect, but she still had the capacity to care instead of shoving it down out of fear for what her father would do to her.

Which continues with Azula being a bit better because, due to the change in circumstances, she hasn’t been able to be as isolated. There’s certainly still a lot she needs to unlearn, and she still would throw others under the bus to save herself from Ozai’s wrath. But she’s not fully loyal to him and will do things he doesn’t want if she thinks she can get away with it.

3.5) I’m still having it be when Zuko is 13 to keep with Canon. The exact ‘how’ is up in the air but a lot of household objects can cause burns. Unlike the Shoto thing though this was done 100% intentionally. (Though Ozai gaslights everyone and lies like ‘oh i have no idea how he got that!’). 

Zuko’s been back in school for a bit. But I think. I think we’ll go with American grades so they’re all in their first year of High School which is how everyone is kinda just now meeting. Like they all went to different Elementary/Middle schools but now for High School they’re together.

(side note, just having a mini crisis of ‘oh my god they’re BABIES’ because holy shit.)

Anyway! Night of the getting kicked out! I think Zuko even kinda half-there would be able to make his way over because at this point Iroh has the Jasmine Dragon so he’d know to go there. Combined with Azula calling Iroh so he’s out looking for the kid, they kinda meet in the middle. Iroh would take Zuko to a hospital and ofc the hospital calls Ozai who lies and is like ‘Oh we got in a fight and he decided he wanted to run away. You know how disrespectful teenagers can be. But sure if he wants to throw a fit and stay with an uncle who enables that behavior, so be it! Oh the burn? No idea how that happened nope not at all!’.

4.) Oh yeah the- the Sokka/Yue thing! I think it’s like. Yue knows her parents are kinda pushing her toward Hahn, and she’s not sure how they’d react to her dating someone else because of that. Eventually she weighs the options and decides to save Sokka the drama and do what her parents seem to want her to do. Which. Sucks.

And like later when Sokka’s in his situationship and Yue starts falling for Azula they kinda talk about it and like. He gives her advice to fight for it this time around.

5.) I’m not sure because knowing Toph’s parents, they’d very much keep her away from most people in general. Too fragile to really attend those galas. After all, she can’t see! What if she runs into someone! No if she must make an appearance, she must have someone Actually Capable™ holding her hand the whole time!.

Like seriously though. Reminder that in Canon the local townsfolk didn’t even know the Beifongs had a daughter at all. Not just ‘oh she’s reclusive and stays on the manor grounds’, just ‘they don’t have a child’.

Here it’d be harder to fully hide a child’s existence, but they’d keep her close.

I think Toph may kinda leverage the whole publicity thing of like. If she sneaks out into the school and makes it a public thing of ‘oh yes my parents just finally decided to trust me enough to let me go! Aren’t they so wonderful? Isn’t it so kind that they believe in my despite my disability?’ it’d kinda force their hand because they can’t go back on that and call her a liar without looking bad. 

6.) I want Iroh to have the actual shop but there can also be a cart as well. Like a combination of extra business and advertising.

7.) ‘Avatar Academy’ sounds so lame I fucking love it.

8.) Harmony City! Named for the most fucked Minecraft-looking terrain of chaos. I say this with all the love in my heart I love it .

9.) Yes and no and yes? So like. Here, Ozai has a lot less power than he does in Canon. He’s not ruler of a nation, he’s some rich asshole. But he does have some pull in the City Council and connection to shady people (he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty looking for the Miraculous). 

Ursa may have more of a chance to be able to do something if she can look into his dealings. But as much as she’d love to get in direct contact with her kids she has to wait. To act too soon could seal their fate.

Doesn’t stop her from low-key stalking their social media accounts and becoming very concerned about Zuko’s scar.

10.) Iroh/Wu is a fantastic addition. I’d imagine Aunt Wu’s shop is like right next to the Jasmine Dragon.

11.) Secret Identities are more chill. Like. Gyatso isn’t as paranoid as Fu is more of a ‘I respect the rules but I will break them if I feel necessary’ person. Sokka and Katara immediately clock each other. Since Gyatso was training Aang a little, Aang probably knows who is who. Toph accidentally connects the dots re: me replacing her Earthbending Sight with Magic Synesthesia. So they’re kinda ending up in a ‘the Gaang knows but don’t tell anyone else’.

12.) That works in an explaination for how the Butterfly ended up where it did and why Ozai would think that causing Akumas would lure in the Guardian. (Something ML canon never gave us for Gabriel).

13.) Appa is a big doggo! Also in reference to Something Else, I suggest the comedy of Momo actually being a Sentimonster that had been created back before the Order went to shit and Sozin yoinked the Peacock. He’s just stuck around since then.

14.) Oh yeah the districts being like the Elements and all works well!

15.) I love all of those Akuma Suggestions

[n-evermores]

Could i request sansa x reader? It'd be cute when reader bakes a lemon cake for sansa haha, thank you

When Life Gives You Lemons

Pairing: Sansa x Reader (could be seen as platonic or romantic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 800+

A/N: I loved this request! It's so cute. I wrote this pretty late at night, so I hope it makes sense. haha.

You usually avoided the kitchen. Not intentionally, but because you had no reason to be there. But today was different. Melancholic was the only word you could use to describe Sansa Stark's demeanor lately. She smiled, but you could see the sadness behind her eyes. The Red Wolf missed her siblings, and you could only imagine she felt more alone than usual. She received a letter from Arya, but she knew it had been written months before, making her realize just how far apart they really were. She spent many years away from her siblings, and now that she had them again, they all went their separate ways.

Not wanting her to feel alone, you spent hours trying to figure out a way to cheer her up. You considered setting out to find any sliver of plant life in the sea of snow to bring her. But honestly, you knew that would only end in disappointment. You even thought about having one of the bards write a song for her, but knowing Sansa she wouldn't enjoy something so ostentatious. Finally, after passing a servant wheeling a cart of lemons, you ended up in the kitchen of all places.

The servants giggled as you fought with the cake batter. At least they took pity on you and helped you with the lemons, but they showed little mercy as you whipped the gooey lemon batter inside the wooden bowl. Droplets flew out and splattered over your face. But even so, you managed to dissolve most of the clumps into a smooth, creamy substance. The smell of flour and lemon was potent, and even you couldn't wait to bite into it.

"She's coming!" A young servant girl shouted in a small, squeaky voice.

You felt your heart beat quicker in your chest. Sansa was supposed to be in an important meeting and said it was an arrangement that could "last for hours." But judging by the footsteps echoing down the corridor, you knew that meeting must have finished a lot faster than she anticipated. Why was she so early? You feared your entire surprise would be ruined. You could only imagine rebuilding Winterfell and restoring it to its former glory took much of Sansa's time. But not enough time to bake a cake apparently.

You shook away your thoughts and tried to focus on the task at hand. "I'm not finished!" You said as you quickly poured the batter into a pan. "Stall her!" You insisted as you shoved the pan into the oven. It's not as if the cake would be ready in the time it took for Sansa to make her complete trajectory into the kitchen, even with the servants attempting to distract her from your endeavors. You dusted your hands together, sending residue of flour into the air. You turned in a flurry, staring wide-eyed at the tall redhead. "Sansa. Hi." You said dumbly.

Sansa quirked a brow as the corner of her lips tugged into a smile, "What are you doing down here?" She asked calmly. Her hands were clasped together in front of her. Her tall regal stature was intimidating and made you feel almost like a timid child in her presence.

You swallowed, feeling embarrassed as giggles from the servants filled the room. "Nothing." you lied, and terribly so.

Sansa chuckled lightly, knowing it wasn't 'nothing,' and moved closer to you. Her eyes roved over your face, and you saw amusement glimmer in her pale gaze. "Looks like batter." She swiped her finger over your face and brought it to her lips. "It tastes like it too." Her eyes gentled as the taste and smell began to fill her senses. "Lemon. My favorite." She murmured.

"Yes, well. It was supposed to be a surprise." You admitted, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Her eyes sparkled, "It still is." She said, "I can't believe you're baking a cake for me." She laughed. It was a light, airy laugh that warmed your heart and wrapped around you like a hug. Seeing Sansa happy was all you wanted.

"Well, I thought it would make you happy."

She nodded, "It does." she reached out to take your hands. "Thank you." She whispered. You could tell by the softness of her voice that Sansa knew precisely why you did it, "For cheering me up." She glanced at the servants, and as if they understood her silent command, they hurried out, leaving you alone with the Queen of the North. She pulled you close, hugging you against her furs.

"You're a good friend. I'm so lucky to have you." She murmured against your hair. You sighed as warmth and relief washed over you.

"I'm always going to be here for you." You said, and she squeezed you tighter. She may not have had her siblings in Winterfell, but at least she had you and lemon cake.

[thegreatgodbird]

"He was coming to see me one afternoon—I was still living with my parents then—and his coming in woke up my father. Instead of apologizing, he said, in an indescribably gentle way, raising a hand as if to calm him and walking softly on tiptoe through the room, 'Please look on me as a dream.'... ...As we were coming home once after one of our nights roving about, in the early hours of the morning, and the first awakening sounds of town life were making themselves heard—milk carts, etc—he stopped and listened and said,'The crickets of the metropolis.'"

—Max Brod, Franz Kafka: A Biography

"When I entered his office, Kafka was busy turning out his desk. On the narrow side to the right, where a chair stood ready for any visitor who might arrive, lay a pile of books, newspapers and office memoranda. Kafka waved to me across the desk. 'Greetings from my paper dungeon!'"

—Gustav Janouch, Conversations with Kafka

[ei-banana]

pairing: Yukong & Qingni (familial; sfw) (mentioned Yukong/Caiyi)

wc: 965

“Your mother loved mung bean soda, you see…”

Qingni asks about Caiyi, and Yukong grants her the scattered pieces of a memory.

———

“Tell me about Caiyi—about mom.”

It had become habitual, Qingni’s nightly prompt. Her words were goading, her eyes alight with a wealth of questions, and Yukong had not the fortitude to deny her.

“There was the time we overturned old Yao Fen’s jiaozi cart—”

“I know that one already.” Qingni leaned forward in her chair, fingers curling into the table cloth with youthful urgency. Her porcelain dinner plate displaced noisily with her jostling, ears flicking when she pried further, “Tell me about your skyfaring days.”

The words rang through the room like a temple bell; Yukong glanced down at her own plate, the leavings of rice and steamed fish losing their appeal now that her stomach churned. It was that old, mangled feeling, the dogged urge to turn tail, press a hand to her bruised heart and split the skies with her anguish.

Not even in her dreams did the stars shout back, apologize, but Qingni faced her now—eager, and present. Yukong swallowed the bitter tang of it, chasing down the pulp with a sip of wine, and dabbed at her lips.

“Have I told you about the time Caiyi and I snuck into the westside hangar?”

Qingni shook her head, eyes wide, already entranced—they shimmered emerald like the nexus of Yukong’s favorite constellation, one much too far, though never fading. “It was your mother’s idea to sneak past the patrolling Cloud Knights and commandeer the Helm Master’s own starskiff.”

Yukong had been terrified then. They were still ground crew, but she was smitten with the night sky, longing to glide through the cosmos, weightless. Caiyi had wanted to prove herself, keen to show off her early mastery. Precocious and steadfast and charming she always was—one tilt of her head, and Yukong was trailing close behind. The way her face lit up, too, illuminated spectral by the dashboard light, was a summon of its own.

“The Helm Master’s starskiff?” Qingni cocked her head with intrigue. “That sounds… exciting.”

Yukong narrowed her eyes, rolling the stem of her wine glass between her fingertips. “This is a precautionary tale, mind you.”

Precautionary, and yet Yukong had been winded with the thrill of it all, clinging tightly to Caiyi’s beige jumper as she led them through each memorized drill. The busy skyway below glittered, a bokeh mosaic of flashing lights—the cockpit had been silent, Caiyi’s nose scrunched in concentration, and Yukong thought, for perhaps the hundredth time, that she ought to kiss her.

Kaleidoscopic, the roving world beyond set her silhouette ablaze, and Yukong’s amusement had melted to that of thrashing hunger.

“Did you get caught?”

The apt line of questioning left Yukong humored; she laughed softly, hoping to mask the unearthed tremble in her voice. “We nearly made it out unscathed, but we fumbled somewhere near the wrought iron gates.”

It had been a quarter past midnight when they returned—Caiyi’s grin toothy, her grip strong. She wrapped her fingers around Yukong’s wrist and dragged her along; their hushed, giddy laughter filled the spaces between her ribs, leaving her lightheaded, agog. It was somewhere near the wrought iron gates that Yukong found her gall.

The floodlights of the runway had reflected off the silken sheen of Caiyi’s hair when Yukong stopped her short, tugging her backwards until they were flush, until she could taste her laughter on the tip of her tongue.

Caiyi’s silt-dusted boots squeaked loudly on the tarmac when Yukong kissed her, right beside the wrought iron gates. She held moonlight in her hands for the very first time, right beside the wrought iron gates…

“Mom?” Qingni questioned her silence with a note of concern, frowning deep enough for Yukong to clear her throat sharply. “What happened after you left the starskiff?”

She couldn’t set herself to rights if she tried, not when the time-warped memories still singed with the same scarring heat. These were the details she could not bear to disclose. The look of confusion when Yukong had pulled back—or had it been awe? Caiyi’s wide-eyed stare and her halted question—the guardsmen had come, charging the place like they were errant fugitives.

The somber walk back to headquarters, her shifting glances, her ruddy cheeks. When all was said and done, they were lucky to still be employed; Caiyi’s skill had been praised despite the circumstances, but all Yukong could spare her mind to was how she was to grovel for breaking their promise of friendship.

Rejection would have looked glorious on Caiyi’s face too, Yukong had been most certain.

“Well… we got off with no more than a write up and a stern talking to, and Caiyi offered to buy me a drink for the trouble.”

They had marched in silence back to the dormitories, pausing by the flickering vending machine near the showers. Caiyi looked uncertain, shy of all things, but she hadn’t said a word, merely reaching out to offer Yukong a sip of her drink.

Hopeful might have been the word—hopeful was the flash in her eyes—but Yukong had been a coward then, tossing back a hearty gulp of earthy seltzer and wincing it down with her swelled longing. Petulant fear held her tongue; their time seemed bountiful, and such a false sense of laxity bolstered her abeyance.

Yukong never did get the words unstuck from the back of her teeth, and Guangyuan joined their ranks the following week.

“Your mother loved mung bean soda, you see… I never had the heart to tell her it wasn’t quite to my taste.”

Qingni pushed away from the table, looking affronted. “It’s been ages since then, right? You really ought to give it another try, mom.”

She was steadfast and determined, the round of her cheeks dimpling—a spitting image. Yukong raised her glass, snorting into the rim, chest restricting with advent. “Perhaps you’re right.”

[blackjackkent]

Further references being explained to me - this time for other media from @writer86:

writer86: ahahahaha the cabbage merchant @ Hector blackjackkent: XD blackjackkent: i am desperately curious what they were talking about blackjackkent: IS THERE A ROVING BAND OF CABBAGE-CART-OVERTURNING MONKS WANDERING BALDUR'S GATE blackjackkent: WHO ARE THEY writer86: Avatar: The Last Airbender. There's the same cabbage merchant who keeps inadvertently winding up in Aang's way and getting his cabbage cart wrecked. To which he always protests in agony, "My cabbages!" blackjackkent: OHHHH blackjackkent: lmfao blackjackkent: i have not watched avatar so that reference was lost on me but that's great