#giant tiny marvel

[marvel-gt]

What if-

Borrower Spider-Man?

Peter Parker, a borrower in Tony Stark's walls, got into a battle with a large spider that was exposed to some chemicals in the lab. Said spider bites Peter just before Peter kills him with a pin sword or something and Peter passes out due to the venom. Eventually he wakes up with spider powers like climbing up walls, increased strength, and a sixth sense. Peter then shows his powers to the other borrowers but is excommunicated due to the fact that he's now considered a freak in the community, and is banned from the walls. Peter spends his time outside the walls now, no friends, no family, and not allowed to find safety in the walls, so he lives in the lab in one of the Iron-Man suits that Tony Stark never uses, creating web-shooters out of stuff he found in the lab. One day though, JARVIS notices Peter and talks to him through the suit so Tony can't hear, helping him with his web-shooters and just so Peter can have someone to talk to. One day however Tony Stark catches on that there is someone else in his home.

Would anyone be interested in this?

[so-very-small]

The tiny nervously crept to the edge of the kitchen cabinet. They were wide in the open, but the human hadn’t even seen them yet.

“Excu- Excuse me!”

Giant eyes fell down to them.

“Oh my god,” the giant said, leaning down so their huge face filled the tiny’s vision, “What are you?”

“I’m a tiny person. I live in your walls, and I borrow supplies,” the tiny said nervously. “I cook dinner over a little candle, behind one of the walls in the attic.”

“That’s amazing,” the giant said breathlessly, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Cause the candle got knocked over while frying some rat and the flame fucking caught the wall insulation, and that shit is spreading fast, man.”

“………what.”

“Your attic is on fire, dude. Like, crazy bad.”

“…”

“We should probably run.”

[movietimegirl]

You have to admit, this part is insane!

[averagegtenjoyer]

I for one am thinking lego spiderman x miguel o’hara needs to become the next big thing. Biggest spiderman x smallest spiderman is an unexplored genre and that is very sad

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 1

AO3

Next

Matt Murdock didn't have anything against mice. He'd never been personally harrassed by one, but he understood the need to get rid of them. One easily turned into a dozen and with all the mess and digging into food, eviction was necessary. Despite how many rodents he heard daily, it wasn't something he thought about. The only reason mice were on his mind now was because one had moved into the floor, and he could hear it moving around as he laid in bed.

Now, like he said, Matt didn't have anything against mice.

Scrtch-scrtch-tick.

This one, however, was pushing its luck.

It showed up one night, moving in when he was out vigilante-ing and he only noticed the next day. At first, he didn't care. It was alone and hadn't yet realized there was food in his apartment. He had other, more pressing issues than a single mouse. It was a benign little thing - hardly a problem. Most nights, he could ignore the pitter-pattering and scraping or put in his noise-canceling earbuds.

Tonight, the mouse was too loud for earbuds. As he tossed and turned, Matt fumed, wondering what that rodent could possibly be up to. Rearranging furniture? Fuck, it sounded like it. Little mouse furniture.

Enough was enough. Matt threw a pillow at the floor and told the thing to shut up. To his surprise, it did. Matt sighed and finally went to sleep.

From that night on, he noticed a drastic decline in his downstairs neighbor's noise pollution.

How silly it was, Matt thought during a good mood, holding a grudge toward an animal. Especially one that was polite enough to let him sleep in peace.

Oh, how naïve he was.

The mouse quickly reinstated its grudge status when Matt noticed things going missing. It started with the bagels - a hole in the bag he noticed because the scent of bagel was particularly strong. Upon investigation, he discovered there was a complete lack of crumbs. And a chunk discreetly chewed from the middle. From there, things escalated. He smelled the shift in the air, smelled the remnants of another living being in his apartment. Little objects went missing - things even a seeing person might miss. But not Matt Murdock.

The sock was the last straw.

"What's the best bait for mouse traps?" Matt asked as soon as he entered the office.

"Cheese?" Foggy answered, confused. "Why? Do you have mice?"

"One. One mouse."

"How d- nevermind. Let me guess - you can't sleep."

"It's taking my stuff."

Foggy laughed. Karen huffed.

"At least tell me you're using non-lethal," said Karen. Upon his silence, she aww'd sadly. "Matt, no. It's just a mouse. You can't kill it."

"They're pests," said Foggy.

"But they're so cute. It just wants a place to live."

"Karen-" started Matt.

"No, no, she's got a point." Foggy spun his chair around. "Matt, you can't kill it! So cute and fuzzy!"

The lawyer-by-day, vigilante-by-night groaned. "Fine, I won't. Just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Foggy, I can feel your eyes fake-tearing up."

Matt bought some glue traps and baited them with peanut butter. When Karen told him glue traps were worse - "They're so inhumane, Matt!" - he assured her that he'd know when the mouse got stuck; it wouldn't suffer. As much as the thing annoyed him, Karen was right: he wasn't going to abandon his no-killing rule for one mouse. (One mouse that must have a vendetta against him. He would not stoop to its level.) What kind of hypocrite would he be, huh?

The traps were set. Now to wait.

And wait.

A week passed. No mouse was caught. When he listened to its movement, he realized it was avoiding the spots he'd trapped. Avoiding the usual routes.

Smart. For a rodent. But Matt was smarter.

More traps, different bait. Traps disguised as the food and objects he'd noticed go missing, even the mate to his missing sock. It couldn't resist now.

Days passed.

Evidently, it could resist.

Foggy teased him about being outsmarted by an animal. Karen was on the mouse's side. Somebody must've told Jessica because he got a condescending text offering her services. Traitors, every one of them.

It all came to a head one terrible Friday night. Matt was already in a bad mood when he got home from work but going out, hearing and feeling New York City, pushed him over the edge. He was annoyed, his brain was overstimulated, and he just wanted to rest. The rooftop access door shut behind him and he threw his helmet into its trunk, about to shed the rest when the distinct sound of scratching and plastic crinkling in the kitchen cupboard caught his ear.

Matt stilled. It was here.

He marched with purpose toward the sounds.

That little bastard wasn't getting away this time. Catching it would be a satisfying end to a crappy day.

The mouse started fleeing before he was even close. It was headed for the other end of the cupboards - a hole in the floor Matt wasn't aware of but now could sense the air flowing from within. He'd have to seal that in the mor-

Mice didn't run on two legs.

Matt cocked his head, listening to the pattern of footfalls. He'd never cared to pay attention, but now it was impossible to miss. He knew what scurrying rodents sounded like. Whatever was in his kitchen, it was no rodent. It was bipedal. A bird? No, not with that speed. Not with that gait. He needed a closer examination.

Matt threw open the cupboard door. The first thing to hit his senses was the scent of corn chips.

The second was the heartbeat.

The creature's heart pounded swiftly in its chest. Air rushed from a mouth that was too upright for any kind of animal, a nose too humanlike. Small shoes hit the baseboard as it ran. Fabric rustled the same way he heard every single day in the street - like clothing.

Matt got lower, needing to be closer, needing to examine this little anomaly. How it moved, how it sounded, how uncannily familiar it was.

The living shape that his senses created was so alike to people that he was too shocked to outwardly react.

The little thing escaped into the floor, and Matt Murdock was left crouching there. Slowly, he shut the door. He took off the suit, dressed his wounds, and went to bed, his mind racing.

His body was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Not when he was tracking the creature's movements. Every scrape, every soft thud of a step, the whisper-

Whispering?

"You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way…"

Whispering. Okay.

Matt pretended he didn't hear anything and put in his earbuds. That was a tomorrow-Matt problem.

Unfortunately for tomorrow-Matt, another problem knocked on his door first. That problem rhymed with Stank Hassle and didn't like to be ignored. Frank did offer coffee when they left so at least it wasn't a total bust. It was a good opportunity to get Matt out of his head; to get a clear perspective of the night before. Matt decided he was exhausted and hallucinating. The alternative was a tiny person living in the walls of his apartment. Delusion was easier.

Delusion was also what kept the borrower from abandoning the apartment altogether.

Call them stubborn, or stupid, but Finch didn't want to leave. Borrowers could only get so lucky. Landing a decent apartment with an oblivious bean was a rare opportunity, and Finch had no intention of giving it up. They would use this good fortune. Even if they didn't deserve it.

Finch shook off the guilt following that thought.

They spent the first week setting up: finding a place to sleep and tidying it up, living off the rations they packed. They got a lay of the land, surveying the apartment and its infrastructure. The excessively bright billboard directly in front of the living room window, the kitchen, and - most importantly - the bean. Light - or lack thereof - was never an issue for him. Not once did he flip a switch or so much as use his phone, which read texts aloud to him. He hardly looked at whatever claimed his attention. Everything added up to limited vision, but they couldn't be sure. It was safest not to risk any assumptions.

Evidence pointed to some damn good hearing when Finch was carving planks of wood out of the floor's innards. They were minding their own business, content with their repetitive, calming task, when something large and loud impacted the ceiling a dozen paces away.

The borrower nearly jumped out of their overalls, giving a startled squeak.

"Shut up," yelled the muffled voice above.

Pretending their soul wasn't just violently expelled from their body, Finch smoothed down their curly brown hair and exhaled shakily, making a mental note to postpone noisy work till the bean was away.

And they did good on that: when the bean was home, Finch completed the quieter, slower tasks. They thought they'd discovered the formula for living under the radar, satisfied to have found a routine that worked.

Then the traps appeared. Finch cursed their luck. The jig was up. The bean set up gross glue traps in outer access points, a couple even getting to the paths Finch took. Finch avoided them and laid low for a bit, hoping the lack of activity would convince the bean they'd skipped town. But more traps appeared. Smart ones, too - they almost fell for a couple. Now, Finch knew a thing or two about a thing or two. They made new routes and took extra care when borrowing. They even started mapping paths to the apartments below. Despite their small stature, Finch had a lot of room for determination. After a life of sticking their hand in the fire, they learned to take the heat. If the bean wanted them gone, he'd have to try a lot harder.

Night fell. The bean was gone. He followed routines - ones he scarcely strayed from. It would be hours before his return.

Finch made their way to the kitchen. They pushed up the trapdoor and strolled through the cupboard. They still had to be careful: just because the human wasn't home didn't mean they could throw all caution to the wind. Leaving evidence was a massive negatory. Finch didn't care for stupid rules, but the rules of borrowing were locked in their brain. They were already careless with the bagels, something they couldn't afford again. Desperation wasn't an excuse for sloppy borrowing - not when it exposed them.

Finch observed the boxes and containers around them, reading labels and calculating risk and reward. There was no chance of getting into that cereal box, but the nutrition bars would be a good grab. The box was short and already open. Finch pushed a can of tuna against it and hopped on. They began extracting a bar only to realize they had no way of getting something so large home without a sled.

"No, that'd be too easy." With a huff, Finch dropped it and shoved the can back into place. "'cause food can never be-" plastic crinkled under their foot "-easy?" Finch inspected the blue packaging. It was an open bag of tortilla chips. They grinned.

The scent of corn chips filled the space as Finch unfurled the bag. They dropped their backpack and started breaking the triangular chips into smaller pieces. Salt-free, too? Hell, yes. They tested the backpack's weight, put a bit more inside, then pulled the strings tight. They slung the strap across their chest. Oh, yeah, this would last them a good while. Finch fought with the chip bag, trying to roll the top underneath like it was before.

"Come on. Stupid fuckin'-" They tried to simultaneously lift the heavy bag and pull the other end.

Over the sounds of plastic popping and crackling in their ears, Finch didn't hear a door open and shut.

DOOM.

They did, however…

DOOM.

…feel the approaching footsteps of the human bean.

Finch froze. Blue eyes snapped wide open, their head flinching away from the plastic. It couldn't be...

Finch bolted.

He's supposed to be out why is he back-

DOOM.

They didn't need to know why he was back - just that he was and he was approaching at an alarming rate.

DOOM.

Oh, fuck, that's actually really close-

The doors ripped open. The hinges didn't even get a chance to squeak.

Finch stumbled. Air caught in their throat. For a moment, Finch was rooted to the floor. Just a moment. Long enough to see the human's form towering beyond the counter, covered in some kind of dark red leather. Long enough to see boots more than capable of squishing the life out of them.

Legs like fenceposts bent as the human came unbelievably closer. Closer than Finch had ever been to a bean. A giant face suspended above them, features blank and expressionless. Not once did the bean look at them.

Finch ran. They didn't look back. When they reached the hole in the floor, they plugged it up and kept going. Keep running.

Only when they reached the safety of their shelter did they falter.

"Oh, shit," they gasped, resting their weight on a nearby post. If their heart didn't outright stop, they were sure it might burst from their ribcage. Finch felt that exploding was a reasonable response. "He didn't see me." The scene replayed in their mind, over and over like a glitched tape. "I'm fine. You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way he saw you. Just breathe."

Delusion, like they said. It was a powerful thing. It pulled many tricks on the mind. Like convincing oneself that they weren't discovered.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, one might even say, if they weren't one Matt Murdock. He never got that phrase. Nothing was 'too quiet'. In his - correct - opinion, nothing was quiet enough. There was always something creaking, breathing, or thumping, even in the smallest hours of the night. But on some front he had to agree: there was a suspicious lack of activity from the critter in the floor lately. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he couldn't deny that it wasn't an animal. Animals didn't mutter to themselves, in full sentences, in English. He wasn't mentally, emotionally, or spiritually prepared to assess beyond whatever that meant. In the moments his mind wandered, however - such as now, sitting and listening to a recording for his current case - he found himself pondering the tiny being regardless.

The peace wasn't an accident. Finch had been avoiding that place, giving themself and the air time to settle. They continued work on their residence, slotting together panels of wood and cardboard to form walls. One room would do for now - they just needed protection from the elements and potential scavengers slinking around. Skies above, if a cockroach tried anything, it was next on the menu. Grind up the little fucker into a smoothie. Finch wished a bug would: it'd be miles better than those godforsaken tortilla chips. Finch gave the wood posts they'd just secured a good push, nodding in satisfaction and moving on to the wall. It would be the last one to seal up their box of a house.

Four days. It'd been four days since Finch was nearly discovered; four days since they stared a bean in the face and got away unscathed. Four days since they got an answer to what they'd only suspected: the human couldn't see. That explained the brilliantly bright billboard, the sensitive hearing, the lack of lights - it explained a lot. Finch had to re-evaluate their approach to borrowing. This human would be extra careful about his possessions - the sock was proof enough - and notice what was out of place. In some ways, this both simplified and complicated things.

But borrowers were nothing if not adaptable.

Finch ventured up to a peephole in the wall and looked out. Nothing had changed except the bean now sitting at the dining table, papers and an electronic box neatly laid out on the tabletop. Casually dressed, he was listening to… a podcast? No, too personal. Finch liked podcasts. There was a crime involved, but this sounded like a conversation Finch would overhear more than something designed to entertain. So this bean worked in solving crimes. A detective?

They listened to the dry as hell audio a scant longer before growing bored and moving on. Hey, at least the bean was preoccupied.

Naturally, they found themself puttering toward the kitchen. Wielding two bent nails tied to their belt, Finch climbed up the cupboard door, using hinges and decorative bevels alike to hoist themself up. Those bagels were good. Were there any left? Nothing but corn chips really wore down a person's capacity to give a damn. They perused the counter, confident that the bean was sufficiently distracted by his work. Finch was disappointed to find the bagels sealed in an airtight container. It was their own fault, slicing up the bag so messily. They pulled a face and resumed their search.

A plate of mostly-eaten pasta sat before them. Fuck yes! Finch scuttled to it, pulling out rolls of tinfoil from their bag. Careful to avoid crinkling, they gathered up all the leftover noodles and sauce that would fit.

Finch squirreled away their haul, licking their fingers clean of evidence and ignorant of the man listening to their heist just a few metres away.

Matt stopped paying attention to the tape some time ago.

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen couldn't drown out the little inhabitant in his walls. A scent had blown into the room, vaguely familiar with hints of tortilla chip. He sat straighter and listened, idly shuffling papers and tip-tapping his fingers on the table. He found himself unable to be anything other than impressed as they scaled his counter like a mountain climber. Whatever was left from dinner became his visitor's latest plunder. That was fine; less waste, right?

He was disappointed when they returned to the walls. He wound back the recording to get some work done, but found himself consistently distracted by his small neighbour's goings-on. This discovery was just so unique, so strange - how could he not be curious? He heard them venture out again, across the apartment now. Into his bedroom. What could they be doing?

Oho, if Matt found any more socks missing-

He turned in his seat, about to rise, when he heard:

"You hafta to be shittin' me."

The voice, quiet in size only and bold beyond that, was the mildly annoyed tone of someone who'd been inconvenienced. Matt had heard it before, in the late hush of the night, when no one else would. Muttered curses and remarks that blended into the creaking and groaning of buildings and chatter and sirens of the city. One voice that Matt Murdock had tried very hard not to think too much about.

"When is enough too much, huh?" the voice griped. "Does he think I'm just gonna lay on one? 'Oh, felt silly today, stepped on the massive rug of glue.' How 'bout I drag this onto your floor, see how you feel walkin' in a minefield?" They growled. "UGH. Beans."

Well.

There was no denying it anymore, was there? A tiny person was living in the walls of Matt's apartment.

Matt leaned back, processing. He'd tried ignoring it - for the sake of his mental health and faith - because it was insane. It was impossible. It shouldn't be.

And yet…

Matt wanted - needed - to investigate further.

He got up, quietly, light on his feet. He didn't make it two steps before he heard a swear and the tiny person retreated once more. Into an electrical outlet, by the sounds of it.

Hm. He couldn't sneak up on them - not this time. They heard him- no. Matt quirked his head, considering. They felt him approaching. Like Matt, they could feel vibrations. Vibrations that alerted them of a threat. It only made sense.

Heh, 'threat'. Regular ol' Matt Murdock was the threat this time, not his alter ego. Wasn't that something?

The next time Matt encountered his new neighbour, he was trying - and failing - to fall asleep. There was too much on his mind for sleep. Frustrated, he huffed and flopped over, restless, his thoughts racing. Sounds of the city were extra distracting tonight. He considered getting up and making a cup of tea - maybe that would calm his mind.

Noises from the kitchen drew his scattered focus. He sat up, listening to the scuffing and tapping that he'd come to recognize as his uninvited houseguest. Three visits in one day. Were they always this proactive? Well, he did interrupt their attempted heist of his bedroom. Matt scooted to the edge of the bed. He would make that tea, actually. As he stood, he remembered sneaking didn't work last time. Right. Heavy-footed. However, he had a hunch that this attempt would yield a sneakier result.

Aided by socks, Matt softly padded through his apartment. Tiny - the name he assigned his little visitor - was fiddling with some kind of packaging on the top shelf. And as he got closer, lo and behold, they did not startle. His theory was correct: the further Tiny was from the floor, the weaker their pallesthesia became. Their ability to detect vibrations just wasn’t as sensitive as his own. Once he stepped foot into the kitchen, Matt dropped the Daredevil act and let himself be known. He grabbed a mug and turned on the kettle. Tiny's pulse quickened; their breath hitched. He gave them time to hide before he opened the cupboard for a tea bag. He quickly realized the box wasn't in its usual spot - his own doing, unfortunately.

"Stupid tea bags," he muttered for Tiny's sake; an 'I'm not looking for you, I swear!' assurance as he searched the cabinets. For extra sauce, he added, "Always misplacing them."

Would he forgo tea? He did start the kettle… as much as he got a kick out of playing the part of oblivious blind guy, causing Tiny undue terror wasn't his end goal. He wanted to test them, their cockiness, not scare them. Tiny may be a thief, but they were just trying to survive. Why else was food their number one haul? Matt dedicated his life to helping people in need. Wasn't Tiny part of that demographic? Weren't they someone in need? Unless small people were running drug cartels and trafficking rings, Tiny was innocent.

Doubt and guilt crept in. Maybe he was pushing the bit too far.

Matt was just about to get up and leave when something square and coarse pressed into his fingers.

He faltered, then pinched it, rubbing his thumb over the material. Its strong, earthy scent gave it away.

A tea bag.

Small shoes lightly retreated. Matt withdrew his hand. He held the sachet of dried herbs, cogs turning in his mind. He tilted his head.

Tiny handed him a tea bag. That…

Matt found himself puzzled and oddly touched. It was for their own good, to avoid getting found, but he couldn't not appreciate the nice gesture. He easily smelt where the tea was, of course. But Tiny didn't know that. Huh.

Maybe he was being too harsh about the sock.

The kettle's bubbling pitch rose to a squeal. Wincing, Matt shut it off. He dropped the tea bag into the mug and poured steaming water over it.

What a strange experience. He wondered what Tiny was thinking. Their heartbeat eased into the fluttering pace that he learned was its resting rate. It was the trait that had him most convinced his roommate was a rodent of some sort, though the way they squeaked when startled was a close second.

Matt threw out the tea bag and took the mug to his room, leaving Tiny to their task.

The next day, he casually slipped questions about tiny people into a conversation with Foggy. (It was not casual and quite random, actually.)

"You mean, like… fairies?" Foggy cautiously asked.

Sort of? Matt didn't know whether Tiny could be considered a fairy. They certainly didn't seem like the fairy type, not with the kind of language he heard them utter. Did fairies say 'fuck'? Would that break some kind of fairy law?

Karen told him about a book series that she'd been obsessed with as a kid: it contained many smaller magical beings. Brownies, for instance. Matt settled on definitely not that one. What favours was he receiving? Aside from the tea bag - an isolated incident - absolutely none.

Matt wasn't convinced they were a magical creature. Really, they just… seemed like a normal person, albeit smaller. They hummed to themself, snickered at their own dumb jokes, and swore a hot streak that would impress even Castle and Jones. Matt was pretty damn sure they'd been building a house under his floor, though he noticed all the loud busywork was put on pause when he was home, most notably when he was sleeping. Another nice gesture that was also for their own self-preservation.

Maybe they were a mutant. Or maybe they were mutated, like him.

When Matt got home, he discarded the glue traps. It felt wrong to leave them now that he knew it was a person he'd been trying to catch. Guilty, he started leaving crumbs in easy-to-reach locations. It wouldn’t hurt him any - his grocery budget wasn’t gonna tank because of some scraps. If chips and leftovers were what they were after, then they had free reign over the countertop. That didn’t stop him from being cheeky about it, though - if Tiny was getting confident, he might as well play along.

He found Tiny’s courage something to marvel at. Roaming a giant’s home? Without fear? His vigilante persona was literally named Daredevil and he was impressed.

However, bravery and foolishness were not mutually exclusive. That’s when the cockiness came in.

Matt was minding his business, washing the dishes, when Tiny wandered out. Brows hitching up, he continued sponging the plate. Surely, they wouldn't-

Oh, but they did.

Unwavering, Tiny climbed up the counter they same way as before. They walked up to the pan on the stove and hooked a leg over. Matt fought hard not to chuffle. This was getting out of hand. Matt remembered an adage about not feeding animals or else they'd grow dependent. Had Matt inadvertently done exactly that? Animals that were accustomed to people often didn't see the danger. Tiny was certainly no animal, but the absence of caution they displayed in the moment was, frankly, ridiculous. It was a massive leap from the times they would flee his presence. He was starting to think he'd played too ignorant.

A smirk tugged at his lips upon hearing the leftover eggs being pilfered. When he turned to fetch the pan, Tiny was already hopping to the floor and disappearing behind the fridge.

Stealing right behind his back. When was enough too much, indeed.

AO3

Next

[pocketsizejade]

Carol didn't expect to be this small and be carried about in Peter's pocket but she can't complain. Hopefully they can figure something out.

This commission is for @/BAleksiak

[apocketfullofstories]

I have no idea if anyone else relates or if it makes sense, but i love when a movie includes low angle shots because I can daydream that a tiny would have the same perspective! Also if they add booming footsteps to make a character's enterance more "intimidating" it kinda falls into the same geek-out category for me:)

[thebrigeedadraws]

Day 19: Out Of Reach

Thankfully

Hopefully

For now

[rainydaygt]

yeah okay here yall go click for better quality and whatnot done w/out any refs at all so PLEASE forgive any design mistakes on miguel's part

[evieismol]

Theres not nearly enough loki-g/t content imo so have a lil sketch of that one scene where he and mobius are having pie except mobius is a borrower now ig

[obwjam]

for the prompt, 26 and peter quill with a teenage borrower?

this has been sitting in my inbox for over a month LOL so sorry anon who was probably expecting something better, much sooner

from this post

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

“Aw, c’mon, bud. I’m not that scary, am I?”

You gulped. He kind of was, but you weren’t going to say that. 

See, you knew exactly who this guy was – Star Lord, leader of the famous Guardians of the Galaxy. He was so famous that even borrowers knew who they were, and your kind tended to stay so secluded that they barely knew anything about the giants of your world.

It was the thing you hated the most. Giants were fascinating! They did things with such ease, and they never had to worry about basic survival like you did. You knew if you could study them up close, you could learn something and help make life better for all of you.

Unfortunately, you really failed to take into account how utterly terrifying it was going to be.

“Aw, man…” Peter frowned. He had noticed this little thing following him around this shop – they couldn’t have been more than 16 years old. He pretended that he didn’t notice them, since he knew they definitely thought they were being sneaky, but they were so caught up in following him that they didn’t notice the ledge of the shelf they were running across was rapidly approaching, and before they knew it, they were tumbling toward the ground. Peter caught them, and now they were sitting in his cupped hands, wide-eyed and trembling.

Guess he was that scary.

“Hey, don’t – c’mon, it’s alright, don’t cry!”

Crap, you were crying. That’s so embarrassing! you yelled in your head, furiously trying to blink away the tears without moving too much, but it was no use. You thought you were being sneaky. You thought you were being brave. But when it came down to it, you were just as terrified as everyone else in your village.

“Shit, um–” Quill looked around, making sure nobody else was nearby. The rest of the Guardians were waiting back on the ship, since this was supposed to be a quick stop to get these little cookies that reminded Peter of Oreos. “Hold on, ‘lil dude, I’m takin’ us somewhere else.”

You whimpered at the sudden movement, too stubborn to stabilize yourself in fear of looking even weaker than you felt now. A few minutes felt like a few hours, but soon, you stopped moving. Quill had found a quiet corner outside the shop.

“Okay, I think we’re safe here,” he huffed, leaning against a dirty brick wall. He took a moment to look you over – wide eyes, heavy breathing, arms pinned tensely at your side. He wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed, but he knew he had to calm you down. 

“What’s your name? Can you tell me that?”

You squeezed your eyes and shook your head. Even if you wanted to tell him, the words would have gotten caught in your throat.

Peter sighed. “Okay. Names later, that’s cool, that’s cool. Well, I’m Peter Quill, people call me Star-Lord.”

You nodded. “I know.”

Quill perked up at the impossibly small sound of your voice. “You know me, huh? I’m that famous?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. How could he not know how famous he was?

You didn’t notice Peter’s soft smile. Maybe he would get through to you after all.

“How old are you, little buddy?”

You hesitated. “...Fifteen.”

“Fifteen?! My god, little dude. You shouldn’t be out alone! Where are your parents?” Quill nearly laughed when he said those words. He never thought he would be the scolding parent type.

You shrunk back. “I…” You didn’t expect him to get mad! And you couldn’t just tell him, either. Why did he have to ask that?!

Peter could immediately tell he had just asked a sensitive question. “Woah, hey, I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, feeling the tears splashing down on his palm. “I, uh, I get it.”

You tilted your head.

“Well, I lost my mom when I was real young, back when I lived on earth.” He said that like you should know what earth was. “And my dad… well, I kind of killed my dad, but I didn't even meet him until a few months ago.” He smirked at the look of sheer confusion on your face. “Oh, don’t worry. He totally deserved it.” A pause. “Anyway! What I’m saying is… I know what it’s like not to have…” He trailed off. “But I’ve got my friends, and that’s more important, anyway. Do you have any friends around?”

You gulped. One of the most sacred borrower rules was to never reveal the existence of others if you were to get caught. Of course, you had already broken the most sacred law, which was to never be seen, no matter what. 

You couldn’t help but really reflect on the question he just asked. Sure, you lived with the village, but after what happened to your parents, you were rarely allowed to leave. They didn’t even know you had left to observe Star-Lord. They were gonna be real mad about that.

“...I’ll assume by your long pause and contemplative looks that the answer is, it’s complicated.”

You shook your head sadly. You don’t know what compelled you to admit this; maybe you respected his attempt to sympathize with you. Or maybe you just really wanted his help. 

“I… I thought – if I could watch you, I could learn from you,” you squeaked. “Make things better for me. For everyone.”

Quill felt his heart swell. That was an adorable admission. 

“But – but nobody listens to me,” you continued. “They don’t care what I have to say. They probably don’t even – I doubt they even noticed that I’m gone.”

A moment passed before Peter spoke again. “Well, what did you learn?”

“Well, I… I learned that giants can be really nice.” You instantly blushed. Did you just say that out loud?

Quill knitted his eyebrows. “Are we not supposed to be?”

“Well… yeah,” you said. “That’s why I’m not supposed to be seen.”

“Gotta say, little bud, you’re doing a terrible job at not being seen.”

Quill was relieved to see you laugh at that. He didn’t know why, but he felt this tug toward you. Maybe it was because you seemed to be receptive to his jokes, or maybe it was the way you looked at him with those pleading eyes. Yondu was there for him when he needed it most – maybe you needed someone like that, too.

“So,” Quill started, “you really want to learn from me?”

You nodded tentatively. What was he getting at?

“Well, if it’s alright with you… why don’t you come hang out with me and the Guardians for a bit?”

You nearly fell over. “What?”

Quill smiled. “You could learn how to fight, how to build stuff, how to pilot a ship… well, maybe not that last part, because nobody flies the Milano but me. But you could definitely watch.”

“Are… are you serious?”

Peter nodded. “Of course I am. Plus, this place sucks, right? Like, it’s totally boring.” 

“It – it is pretty uneventful around here.”

“Exactly. See? I think you already know the answer.”

You thought about it for a moment. You would be leaving, totally unannounced. The village would go frantic searching for you… if they even noticed you were gone. You could actually see what was out there! You could learn skills you only dreamed of having. You could protect yourself… just like the giants could.

“I’ll go with you!”

Now, Quill was beaming. “I knew it. Your life is about to become insanely awesome, little bud. Just wait until you meet the others.”

You couldn’t help but beam along with him as he walked away, the landscape you once called home melting further and further in the difference before disappearing completely. 

Peter Quill wasn’t so scary after all.

[thefreak09]

Vore In comics????Marvel????? Hello????

[spriteinthedark]

Loki is my FAVOURITE character!! And this poster for season 2 looks like it is G/T themed!! 💚

The poster looks like a reference to the artist MC Escher!! Since Loki is a shape-shifter and a master of illusions, the reference suits him! 😁

[tefifonconnoisseur]

The Peanut Butter Toast Incident (Miles Morales Unaware Vore)

I never promised I was posting these stories in order, mostly because the next story in the chronological order has 4 parts and I’m conflicted on sharing in parts as written or all in one piece. This was the first story I got a request for, and to my knowledge the first Miles Morales vore fic. This does contain unaware vore of a teenager, so be aware that’s below the cut. Enjoy! Or don’t, just please don’t burn me at the stake. I’ve got work tomorrow lol.

(We will say this takes place bedore the second one but after the first. Also Y/N for flavor points (which means your name). I know he has a roommate, but oh well. A Marvel plot with this plot was suggested by nickyjel123, and I figured I’d use my own Marvel pred “crush” [idk the term for preferred pred in a non-sexual way if there is one])

A normal morning in a dorm is, as you’d expect, usually plain and consists of mundane tasks one does to prepare themselves for a long, monotonous day of school work. Things like getting dressed, brushing teeth, preparing one’s backpack, making coffee in the communal kitchen or some cereal if you’re a baller. This is done with a level of grog often from bad sleep. For Miles Morales, this was that morning. Upon unceremoniously popping open his eyes due to a loud alarm and slowly stretching and making his way out of the bottom bunk, he began to get dressed in uniform, a typical suit that made him even more tired. Slowly, he lifted his pants onto his waist, weaved his black, slightly cracked leather belt through, and buttoned way too many buttons. Checking himself in the mirror, he had bags under his eyes from a study-filled night previously and his hair was somewhat greasy, although today Miles couldn’t be bothered to rectify his uncleanliness with anything but layers of deodorant and a spritz of gel. This was his appearance as he went through the door and towards the communal kitchen.

For Y/N though, this would be a morning that would live in infamy for its lack of luck and sheer stupidity that could rival certain programs on children’s cartoon programming. Upon awakening, Y/N popped up and slammed their head against the ceiling, causing a red circular mark to appear on their forehead. This awoke the folks in the dorm above them, who of all people were the worst ones to deal with. The particular gentleman involved in the forthcoming drama has chosen to remain anonymous, but shall henceforth be referred to by a fake name: Buford.

Buford was a STEM student pursuing the highest level of education offered at Brooklyn Visions Academy and in several of the same classes as Miles. Buford, however, was a rougher personality from old money who was not fond of Miles, but more importantly hated Y/N due to their pursuing of art and their more effeminate personality. He would often call Y/N names in passing or would steal their things and destroy them. This time though, he was in the mood to make Y/N’s day so much worse. See, his brother had created a device that could reduce matter to a fraction of its size, effectively shrinking it. Due to the nature of atoms, this effect would be temporary and last for a time that hasn’t quite been measured, but was less than 12 hours based on testimony.

This device was Buford’s way of payback: to shrink them so that hopefully they’d end up getting into hjinx. See, he doubted Y/N could be actually killed; the increased density of the atoms made the recipient of the shrinking much more resilient to things like falls or being stepped on. It would just suck and scare Y/N some. So, Buford set his action into plan and shot an orb into the floor vent, as the bouncing would inevitably lead to it reaching Y/N’s bed. The orb made a loud electric banging sound with each bounce, bouncing faster until it eventually sunk down the vent and directly onto Y/N’s sore head, making a splatting sound as it was absorbed into their hair follicles.

At first, Y/N found this to be an annoyance, slightly peeved that Buford had, at least in their mind, shot them with some sort of pellet. As they made his way to the ladder, they thought it might be a couple inches taller, but chalked it up to their grogginess and near-concussion a few moments prior. However, as they descended the ladder, they found that each step was farther away from their foot, until they had to leap off the bottom of the ladder. At this precise moment, they took a deep look around and started realizing what exactly was happening to them: shrinking, and at a pretty good rate. They noticed the details of the carpet become finer and finer, and eventually decently sized until each little follicle was up to their waist. Thankfully, their oversized shirt and pajamas had been afflicted by this orb’s atom reduction as well due to complicated things that we aren’t going to bother explaining because any attempt to do so would be so far off from logic, it would be a disservice to us and you.

As you’d expect when someone who’s usually decent height becomes a few inches tall, fear gripped their heart like a snapping turtle: unceasing and hard. At this moment, Y/N had nothing: no aid, no way to call for help, no method of finding anyone, and not much vocal power to even try. Some other factors included the fact that it was cleaning day, so someone would be in to vacuum them up, as well as it was a school day, so if they didn’t get help soon, they’d have to wait until 4, or later if Miles didn’t come back, as was a trend.

A trend that didn’t offer Y/N too many favors. Miles was pretty good at art, but Y/N couldn’t get pointers on theirs for often several days at a time. Typical schoolwork was not our protagonist’s strongest still, which made things even worse when help vanished from the dorm. They often had to find someone else to help them, which tended to be people who didn’t exactly know what they were teaching either.

However, it was the morning, and they knew that Miles would be eating peanut butter toast in the kitchen for an amount of time as he would often talk with a friend or two. If Y/N could make it over in time, they could get help. As quick as they could (which was honestly not bad pace), they ran off to the dorm commons.

Miles got distracted in the communal kitchen for a minute catching up on last-minute studying for a Physics exam that was inevitably going to nab him a decent grade. Whether this grade was up to scrutiny was another question. This setback didn’t matter too much; Miles tended to eat pretty quickly without his table manners being watched like a hawk by his parents. They had always done everything they could to raise Miles to become a model member of society: making sure he was putting in maximum effort into his work, learning life lessons, and other things that would keep him from a life of poverty and violence. Unfortunately, one lesson was not taught, a lesson that doesn’t matter nearly as much unless you’ve got an enemy around: check your food BEFORE you eat it. It was a lesson often learned by those with allergies and the picky eaters of our society, oftentimes the hard way for the latter who naturally assumed their sandwich wouldn’t have mayonnaise and made their server suffer for their lack of foresight. For those without that though, who cares?

Y/N panted, but as they looked up, an exhausted gasp emitted from them. Miles was gargantuan, his upper details barely visible from their view, but the smaller details of their shoes and legs were heightened. Every speck of sweat, every scratch and imperfection in the leather, every leg hair was visible as if it was under a magnifying glass. Those details were heightened at a level humanity often never gets to see. This daze that Y/N experienced didn’t last, as it was rudely shattered by the bellowing pop of the toaster.

Time was running out. Y/N found a stool and wrapped themselves around the leg of it, inching their way up like a caterpillar. After lots of pain, they managed to reach up onto the seat and pull themselves off. They jumped onto the handle of a drawer, but losing grip in one of their hands. Sweat from their hand transferred to the handle and loosened its grip too. Looking down, the hard tile promised a swift death to anyone who dared fall from such a height onto it. Closing his eyes, his grip let loose and he fell…

As Miles spread his peanut butter onto his toast, he thought about his roommate, Y/N. He heard a bang from their hall, and he wondered if it was Y/N banging their head hard or if it was Buford ding-dong-ditching him for the 2nd time this week. He was fully aware of the beef between the two, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to go to Buford’s again and risk losing their acquaintanceship. Then again, Y/N was a closer friend, so did he need to ditch Buford.

His thoughts lead the peanut butter toast to slip from the plate, landing upright below the handle of the drawer, exactly where Y/N fell. The timing was perfect, and Y/N survived by falling into the peanut butter. The impact still winded them for a moment, but they realized they were in this peanut butter. They didn’t realize yet that the peanut butter was slightly sticky.

Within the 5 seconds it fell, Miles gripped the toast, unaware of his roommate near the edge. A sense of vertigo fell upon Y/N as they rose up to Miles’ level. Their near-death accident not only had been prevented, it might nab them help. As loud as their baby little lungs could provide, they shouted out for Miles for assistance. Despite their effort however, their sound waves were unable to penetrate Miles’ large greasy ears, in part due to a loud fan keeping the air circulating in the room, an in part due to his minute size. At the very least, Miles’ eyes worked perfectly and hopefully would notice them waving their arms. It was with a degree of effort and their frustration that their arms had sunk into the thick, creamy peanut butter. Despite all of his effort into waving, they couldn’t penetrate the creamy butter. Their only hope was for Miles to spot them. To their utter fear, when Miles opened his mouth wide, revealing all of the details in their tongue and gums that they realized in fear that they had not been noticed. They couldn’t help but notice that his teeth were white and shiny, but sharp and somewhat pointy. The taste buds and other spots on his thick pink tongue were quite obvious at this size. Saliva coated it in a thin veneer, revealing Miles’ ravenous hunger. His throat looked healthy, with a lack of tonsils noticeable and his uvula being relatively short, not grabbable, that’s for sure. As their heart beat faster and faster with fear, Miles bit down on the bit of toast Y/N resided in. Quickly, Y/N was covered in moist toast and water-soaked peanut butter and was swished back and forth, somehow missing every single tooth that bit down on the clumps of food in Miles’ mouth. Hot, somewhat minty, somewhat rank breath filled the cavern and made the air stagnant. This was hell. Every single second that ticked by was filled with yelling and fear, filth and heat. Y/N screamed for help, begging Miles not to swallow. A wet sound rang through as their begging fell on deaf ears and they slid towards the awaiting opening to the throat.

Miles switched the fan off, and while continued chewing heard a familiar voice, extremely quiet but close at the same time. In order to hear this voice better, he decided to gulp down the food in his mouth, sending Y/N down the slick, wet tube known as the esophagus. He thought he had heard the voice say not to swallow, but he couldn’t imagine why.

Fear coursed through Y/N’s vains as the rhythmic gulping sent them further and further down the tube, squeezing them and keeping air from their chest, nearly making him pass out, until eventually they fell into the stomach, face first into the liquid below. This place was essentially a smelly sauna cranked. The place was immensely hot and stagnant, with a liquid smelling of acid hiked up to Y/N’s chest. White bubbles covered the walls like vines. Despite what they had just learned about the sulfuric acid present in the stomach, Y/N weirdly felt no pain or any other effect. It was just unbearably hot. They continued to yell, but were drowned out by the churning noises as the stomach processed the toast clumps next to him. Just when they thought this couldn’t be any more miserable, clumps of peanut butter and toast fell onto them and penetrated their already-ruined clothes and just made them feel even worse, as if the humidity couldn’t ruin their mood more.

Miles, finished with the meal, wondered what the voice had wanted him not to swallow for. It has sounded like Y/N, but it couldn’t have been them. Maybe it was his imagination or someone’s phone in the hall behind the wall they were facing. Around this time, Buford entered the room, eyeing Miles as he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge.

“Hey [Buford], have you seen Y/N this morning? I’m worried about them?” Miles inquired.

“No”, Buford said, giggling.

Miles didn’t believe Buford, saying, “Don’t lie to me. I know you two have something against each other. If you did something, I’m going to have to report you, and I don’t think that would be worth your time with how many warnings you’ve received already.”

Buford realized he wasn’t in the mood to go to the office despite the fact that his parents would make this charge go away like the others.

“Let’s just say my new atom reducer works…”, he replied, dashing away like a coward.

Miles, tired as he was, attempted to piece together everything in his mind. He wondered if Y/N had managed to get to him…

About this time is when he realized what had happened: he had somehow, someway, eaten Y/N. His closest friend here, he had just swallowed them, consumed them like they were nothing to him but just a garnish. Miles felt light-headed and a sense of vertigo at this moment and ran to the trash can, vomiting everything in his stomach out.

Around the time Buford came around, Y/N had gone from yelling to crying. They were now alone in this hell of an organ, with nobody knowing about this. He was going to die here, and nobody would even know what had happened. His tears were interrupted when the entire stomach sloshed to the side, knocking Y/N into the juices. The entire stomach squished up, and Y/N was shoved forcefully back up the tube and expelled past the uvula and every single tooth into the waste bin.

Miles quickly spotted Y/N and cupped them into his palm, hyperventilating and panicking.

“I’m so sorry dude, are you okay?! I’m so so sorry! I can’t believe I let this happen to you!”

Y/N replied hoarsely,

“It’s fine, I’m good,” Y/N replied, tears still stuck on their face indicating that they weren’t good at all. Miles grabbed a moist paper towel and washed Y/N off. This was an odd sensation. Here he was, holding his friend in his hand, cradling and protecting him in his most vulnerable position, like a baby is by their mother. Y/N felt like a baby, but felt nurtured and protected, cared about. Staring into Miles’ large spherical eyes, he saw Miles in a different way. More than a friend, but a protector, a caregiver, maybe even more. They almost didn’t want this moment to end.

Miles checked his watch and realized he was running out of time. Apologizing, he left Y/N on the dresser of the dorm with a granola bar and a cotton ball for a chair, and dashed out. Y/N was usually annoyed when Miles left him in times like this, irritated or just generally apathetic. But now, he wished that Miles would be there, not for his help, but for his presence and care. There was also the issue of their classes. They would have to miss them and had no alibi or excuse. Thankfully, Y/N generally had a good reputation and didn’t miss many classes, so punishment wouldn’t be that severe.

By the time Miles returned that afternoon, Y/N had returned to normal size, clearly having showered and changed clothes. They kinda looked cute in their Rolling Stones shirt and lounge pants, with their messy hair nearly covering their eyes. The situation earlier had been a nightmare for them both, and would be henceforth referred to as the “Peanut Butter Toast Incident”, but was more of a bonding experience for the two. Miles moved from peanut butter toast to other kinds of toast and refused to eat it with peanut butter up until the writing of this story at least.

We’d love to tell you that Buford changed or got any consequences for this, but nothing could be proven for sure. Burford improved none, as you’d expect. A few weeks later, due to separate circumstances, they did move a floor up in the dorms, but that’s about it.

As for Miles and Y/N, this was the start of a close relationship, whether platonic or romantic we don’t care to know. It was either way the start of something new between the two that started with Buford and some peanut butter toast.

[thatonemarveldude]

Hello I’ve come to offer tumblr a Spider-Man OC/sona. :)

His name is James and I love him. I’ve been meaning to draw him for months but just never got around to it.

Also the Australian Spider name was just a random thought I had. I was like “I could make a huge spider sona and base it off of a spider from Australia because the spiders there are big.” And then I proceeded to creep myself out due to the spider pictures. I only kept the name lmao.

Update: his hero name is Huntsman Spider

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 2

AO3

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Finch didn't consider how they survived ‘stealing’. It was borrowing - they only took what they needed; what wouldn't be missed. Finch didn't borrow with malevolence. Well, not much, anyway - it was easy to resent the humans that had so much while borrowers struggled. And there were definitely things a borrower didn't need to survive, per se, but dammit, couldn't a person want nice things? The beans wouldn't miss a strip of fabric or the odd bauble. It would go to good use, anyway!

It was laughably easy to borrow from this bean. Finch was reasonably cautious in the beginning, but they quickly learned that they could get away with a lot. Borrowing food in the same room? Easy squeezy, done and did. The only threat was making too much noise, but Finch padded the soles of their boots so that was a great big non-issue.

Was Finch balancing too close to the proverbial ledge? Oh, yeah.

Were they gonna keep doing it? Oh, yeah. The adrenaline rush was crazy.

What reason had they to stop? The bean wasn't aware of them and got rid of the traps - Finch must've been doing something right. They were on the hottest borrowing streak in their life. Now, obviously, they didn't take too much, but Finch wasn't worried about their next meal and that was every borrower's goal. An honest-to-dirt stock of food. Finch got so lucky with this place.

The tell-tale guilt came back. Faces flooded their mind: faces they were supposed to protect and cowardly abandoned. The grating snarl of grinding metal, of brick and wood falling and the screams-

Finch snatched up their thimble bucket. Shower, they decided. It was time for a shower.

Later when Finch went out, there were strawberries on the counter. Fucking strawberries. How could they resist? Sure, the human was right there, but when would Finch get another opportunity like this?

The human's name was Matt. Finch overheard it from a phone call with another man. 'Froggy', they believed that one was called. A bean with a proper name.

Finch crept into the open, not bothering with that time-consuming ducking and hiding nonsense. His back was turned. Voices from the radio filled the apartment. Finch had the advantage. It was fine. It was fine. Hairs on the back of their neck stood on end and their nape vaguely prickled. A borrower's warning system, triggered by a bean's proximity, and just another sense to bombard their brain with information.

Was the man's head twitching their imagination?

Finch reached the countertop and grabbed a strawberry. They backpedaled. For such a large being, he moved with such ease and speed. It was easy to forget how big a human was till they were in the same room. Finch stuffed the strawberry in their bag and climbed down. They took a final peek at the bean before slipping into the crack behind the fridge.

Finch was learning how much they could get away with. They were testing the waters. Taking food right out from under his nose? Oh-ho, no other borrower would dare. But Finch did. They froze, statuesque, when he moved around the apartment. A dangerous but thrilling game of lights on-lights out. He lumbered and stomped like one of those gigantic movie monsters that terrorized cities. His steps shook the floor, even when Finch was safe in their shack under it. And when Finch was above... they could feel their bones rattle with each thundering impact. The random smirks he sometimes wore were unsettling. Like he was sharing a private joke with himself. Finch tried not to think about it.

Matt was making tea.

Matt. It felt odd not referring to him as simply 'the bean'. A name was personal; it was a connection. It was unsettling.

Matt was making tea. Finch wanted one of those sugar cubes, normally sealed in a jar with a lid too heavy to even consider lifting. They peeked out from behind the fridge. The bea- Ma- he was standing there with a kettle, pouring water into a tall mug. Finch swallowed. If they were human, he would be one of those skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

He turned around. Finch jogged to the discrete handholds they'd made in the side of the counter. Even a sighted bean wouldn't notice the indents - they made sure of that. Finch had yet to make the same accessibility for the island, but it was top of the to-do list. They climbed, unable to see the bean. They heard crinkling.

When Finch peeked over the countertop, a sleeve of cookies was in the bean's grasp. Finch's vision tunneled. Damn. Fresh cookies…

No, stop, bad! Get the cube, get out. You have food at home.

Finch pulled themself up and over the edge. They watched the bean closely, looking out for sudden movements or changes on his face. The open jar stood between themself and Matt.

Easy. No problem. Just don't make a sound and everything will be fine.

The bean in question was fighting to contain his astonishment.

Matt's intrigue piqued. Tiny was getting braver. With every moment spent in his presence, they grew more confident. It nearly drew a chuckle out of him. Tiny was cocky - cocky that they were getting away with all this, and that he remained ignorant during their escapades. That's why he could only sense a bare trace of fear on them: they were underestimating him. They were assuming a blind man couldn't possibly know when someone was stealing food and office supplies right under his nose, even making a ladder in his furniture. That was vandalism. Matt tracked Tiny's soft steps on the countertop, closer and closer, as he placed a few cookies on a plate. Did they think he was that oblivious? Matt was honestly a little offended.

He wondered how far they would go if he kept up the act.

He walked away - suddenly, he needed something from the fridge - and they took the opportunity to scale the jar and snatch a sugar cube. He heard shuffling fabric as they stored it somewhere - it seemed to be a mini duffel bag. They paused next to the plate of cookies and walked away with a sharp exhale. Tempted, but deciding they didn't want to risk it. Priorities.

Matt returned to fish out the teabag. Tiny froze. A fawn response. Matt was familiar with it. It never worked. This time, though… he let it slide. He felt bad scaring the little guy. Then again, they had the audacity to steal right in his face. A little surprise would be good for that ego they were sporting.

Tiny snuck away, down their makeshift ladder and into the floor once more. He heard the release of breath followed by a relieved giggle. Alright, it was kind of endearing, letting them get away with shit. Matt would never deny his soft spot for those in need. Matt allowed himself a secret smile. He broke a piece off a cookie and dropped it next to the fridge. He didn't know there were so many weak points in his apartment. He should probably get that checked out.

Despite cleaning up the glue traps, there was one the bean forgot about. Maybe there were others. Maybe it was intentional - awfully convenient that it was in a spot Finch rarely traveled by, and also very conveniently below a drop with poor visibility.

How did Finch know this?

They were stuck in the damn thing, that's how.

"No, no, fuck," they hissed, lifting either leg. The glue was unfairly strong and the edge too far. They didn't have any rope to throw. The nails that Finch climbed with were useless, and the rubber bands tied around those too pliant for any length.

Regardless, Finch detached the rubber bands from their belt. Clutching them tight, Finch threw a bent nail at the edge of the trap. The metal recoiled and dragged straight into the glue. Finch swore a vehement streak. They tugged, but the elastic had zero resistance. It was stuck just the same as Finch. Their single remaining nail burned like a rod of fire in their clammy palm. They desperately searched for some kind of ledge. Furious tears shone in their eyes.

When they'd dropped down and felt the floor squish under their feet, they were merely annoyed. Then they heaved and pried and pulled till sweat coated their face and the severity of the situation dawned on them. They were stuck. They hadn't felt so helpless since that building came down. That fucking building. Anger rolled in their gut for being so careless and stupid and not trying hard enough.

The glue was like one of those tar pits they'd heard about: the ones that trapped mammoths and dinosaurs and preserved their remains. Finch had never seen a fossil. To humans, dinosaurs were the titans that walked the earth. Finch would've liked to see a skeleton of a creature to earn that title.

Finch was going to die here. The human had doomed them. Really, how long would it be until he remembered the trap existed? If he remembered it existed. Finch always pictured a brave or exciting end: eaten by a bird, in battle against a rat or spider, run over by a car. Here, slowly wasting away... hm. Acceptance washed over them.

Time passed. Not once did their grip on that nail loosen. They could do nothing but think and wait and wait and think. Every choice and regret hit them in succession. Was their life flashing before their eyes? It felt far longer than a flash.

Finch was replaying their biggest regret on loop when the front door shutting knocked them out of it. Oh, goodie, the orchestrator of their demise was home from work. Abruptly, Finch realized they never got to try one of those cookies.

Something was different when Matt got home.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He put his cane away and shrugged off his jacket. There had been a tangible shift in the atmosphere. Wary, Matt walked around and scanned his apartment. No new scents - nobody had broken in. Matt tried to ignore it and spread out the papers from their case on the table. He was trying to take his dedication to his job seriously this time - letting Karen and Foggy down again wasn't something he could stomach. Foggy, especially, had hurt too much to bear.

Matt was too distracted. Finally, he realized what was wrong.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department. Nothing worrying.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were... quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange noise under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "You know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

...He should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was... shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess... you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," they blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and got up from his prone position.

He was holding a tiny person. He could hardly believe it, but feeling was believing. All of his focus lasered in on the small being. How their chest rapidly expanded and fell, the thrum of their terrified heart against his thumb and ears. How delicate their bones were as his fingers closed around them, thin as a bird's. A bag was slung diagonally across their back, the items inside pressing into his palm. Their clothes were handmade, stitched together with large thread - thankfully with textures that didn't make him gag. Were those overalls? Or maybe a jumpsuit. Buttons on their flat front dug into his thumb - small, yet still bigger than their hands. And their hands... they were miniscule. Teeny fingers pushed at his own, digging into the creases of his skin and their prints indecipherable. Shoes scraped the underside of Matt's fist, sharp points on the toe of each boot threatening to scrape him up like the furniture they were fashioned to dig into.

Everything about them was fascinating. But he couldn't help noticing how pronounced their ribs were.

Finch remained tense as Matt carried them to the kitchen. Trapped in his clutches, they could do nothing but let him. What happened now? The cautionary tales never got this far. Being caught was the ultimate end for all those stories, with the killing and torture reserved for the footnotes and overactive imaginations of listeners. Finch weakly struggled, knowing they couldn't possibly escape but not wanting to just sit and take it.

"Here. I'm putting you down," Matt said. He lowered his hand and released Finch before walking away. "Just a second."

Finch tried to book it. Their shoes peeled off the countertop like prickly burs and they cringed at the sound and sensation. Taking a single step was a harsh, sticky ordeal. "Damn," they muttered under their breath.

"Going somewhere?" asked Matt, more lighthearted than he had any right to be.

Finch shot a glare at him over their shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it. All the better, actually: they could show as much vitriol as they liked without repercussion. "Yeah, chuckle it up, twelve stories. I wouldn't be here if you didn't set that shit up."

Matt disposed of the trap and sought out a roll of paper towel, which he ripped and ran under the tap. "You're right. I'm sorry." He placed the damp paper towel near them. "For the glue."

Finch accepted it and glowered the whole time. The warm water rubbed the glue off their soles. A train of curses filled their brain that were one lapse in self-control away from becoming external. One thing had been itching at them; they decided to voice that instead.

"How'd you know where I was? How did you even know I was stuck?" Realization struck. "Or how I even exist. I didn't think of that. Fuck."

Finch watched his features wrinkle and strain before relaxing. Matt said, "That's on you for assuming a blind man won't notice someone stealing right in front of him. Really, it's insulting."

"Stealing? Heh, no, no, it's called borrowing. We borrow things. There's a clear distinction. Beans steal, borrowers borrow." Their eyes widened.We. I just revealed our name. They played up the aggression, rising to their full, diminutive height. "So I got a little carried away. And what about it? You gonna put me in a jar, huh? Oh, no, I borrowed some food. You got plenty! You gonna miss some crumbs? Some string? A bottle cap here or there?" They scoffed and planted their hands on their hips. "You try to survive and suddenly you're stealing. Yeah, lemme go get a human job real quick in your human economy to pay my human bills for my human house. I'll get right on that."

Matt, who was prepared to argue the definition of stealing vs borrowing, was left sufficiently gobsmacked. The lawyer in him wanted to correct their language; the empathy in him knew that they were right. He'd concluded on his own that Tiny had no other options. Many people rarely did. Hearing it made the legal voice pipe down, and also make the connection that Tiny wasn't the same species as him. Which... yeah, should have been obvious. Were they a fairy?

"I'm not mad about the stealing," he said. "Sorry, 'borrowing'. Which isn't the right- anyway. I'm annoyed about the sock but- but that's it. I even left some crumbs around for you. Once I figured out you weren't a mouse. I really don't have a problem with you living here. Well, there's- no, nevermind. You probably don't care about that." He frowned in thought. Would a tiny person living in the walls even know about Daredevil?

Finch's whole face furrowed. "Oh... kaay. That's- wait, actually? Like, actually? You're not lying?"

Matt huffed. "Again, why would I be lying?"

Finch threw their hands in the air, giving them a frustrated shake and gesturing wildly. "I don't know! You could still switch up on me! I can't trust you. Avoiding beans is how I made it this far. I'd be dead or imprisoned or dead if I didn't. I can't trust you. How am I supposed to believe you?" They ruffled their hair and growled. They pulled their bandana down around their neck and played with the smooth fabric, pacing. "I thought I'd be some kind of pet or- or- or experiment. Or dead. I'm so confused. I'm so confused. It's all so confusing."

Matt didn't respond at first. He let their confession sit in the air, giving it the room it deserved as he thought it over. A pet. Something distinctly sub-human; lower than personhood, undeserving of self-determination. Or an experiment - even lower. That was how the world perceived Tiny. That was how Tiny believed he perceived them.

Matt loved nothing more than proving expectations wrong.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Finch scowled up at him, then exhaled harshly. "Goldfinch. I go by Finch."

"Hello, Finch. I'm Matt. Would you like something to drink?"

"...what do you have?"

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