#so it's kind of hard for him to place himself in the shoes of mortal beings now

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Dysfunctional as always

Summary: Your family was not the greatest by all means, but it doesn't mean there wasn't any form of warmth.

Warning: Angst, comfort, and words of encouragement.

Male characters x Male reader

A/N: Written by phone and not proofread.

"I don't remember you," the man who has embraced his son frowns while he pulls away. The two men stood in a parking lot of a recently closed fast food restaurant with the intention of reconciliation. Nothing came of this due to the much older man false promises and impulsive disappearances.

The Cullens filled the void of the lack of family, your father leaving you with an ill grandmother to care for. Running and cutting you loose for anything that did not include you. Now, here you are dealing with the loss of the only mortal figure who truly cared for you.

Crimson eyes watch the man grow confused with an uneven smile. "I'm your father. Of course you remember me," the man who claims to be your maker stood here before you for one thing inheritance. The leech himself knew his mother in law must have left something behind for her one and only surviving grandchild.

A level-headed vampire out stretched arm prevents his platinum haired coven mate from departing the slimy leech head from his shoulders. "Leave him. We can not reveal ourselves. " A low growl comes from an equally angry vampire.

"You weren't there," your voice low barely a whisper. Your so-called father's staggers back at the somewhat light impact of a shove, a shove you delivered with uncertainty. Uncertain if you could bring yourself to truly turn away from him, the man you known half of your life before he became unbearable.

"What? Of course I was there, " a habit you had developed due to his absence. A habit where you insert the man face, voice, body, and once adrimible smile.

Replacing certain people who were present, Carlisle and Esme were the people who would suffer the swap. Your grandmother was Carlisle patient, always coming and going.

Made sure to answer her calls and never complain. Carlisle took notice of the newfound shoes at the front door. "It seems you have a shadow," the ill womam points out as a little face peeks out from the safety of the stairwell.

Carlisle knew you knew there, your little heart giving you away and your breathing. You were twelve years old, always watching and always imagining your father stood in his place. Your father false figure stood instead of the kind gentle blonde who made sure to leave his wife's homemade meals in the kitchen for you and the sick woman.

"Does he have any distant relatives who could take care of him?". A trip to the hospital turns into a nightmare, a nightmare the woman tried to avoid. "No, they are either far too busy to juggle anymore kids, or they are located across the country." Carlisle nods, striken with sadness at the thought of the boy who stood outside of the room.

Far too scared of the pale doctor and how the said doctor might say or do something to ruin the child's illusion. A lie, a lie where his father is a doctor who studied medicine to aid his mother in law and possibly save her from her fate. "He has been passed from relatives to relative, but he always comes back to me."

Alice has already foresee this at the request of Carlisle. He has already made up his mind. It'll be hard to convince certain individuals, but he is not turning this child down because of his nature.

"No, I don't see why he can't live with his father or mother." Rosalie is about to regret mentioning the boys' parents."What do you mean?," Rosalie undead, heart breaks alongside the many others present. "I agreed to take care of him while his grandmother spends a few weeks in the hospital. Waiting for an answer. " "I didn't know, " Emmet leans into his once unmovable mate.

"It took me by surprise too, the boys mother scummb to birth complications." Esme set a hand upon Carlisles clothed chest "and the infant. " Carlisle shook his head. "She never made it to see her fifth birthday," Alice squeezes Jasper hand.

"All he has is his grandmother and the hope of a foster family or distant relative. I doubt they'll take him in. So I ask each of you to consider a new member. " It didn't take long for the Cullens to adjust to the small boy and his oddities.

"You weren't there when she was born," the overwhelming memories of the Cullens took over your sense. Slowly, stickers peel off, revealing the true people present in your major and minor memories. From the ice rink of your first game of the season to the last.

To the time you fell sick, to your first ever big win to the moment your grandmother passed a few weeks back. To the time you acknowledged Bella as a sister and how you brought Edward back to reality. How you drill both Bella and Edward when they become unbearable and how they don't think before they do.

The man lets out a grunt as a fist breaks his once correct nose. The man falls back as you begin pulling and shaking the man. A struggle of somesort breaks out in the parking lot concert grounds.

"You weren't when she died!" You let out a long, drawn-out groan as you laid a hard blow to the man's face. "Alright, stop it!" But you didn't want to stop. You wanted him to feel the pain you had endured from the funeral arrangements of your fallen grandmother to the funeral of your little sister.

"Where were you!?" You hadn't taken notice of the blood that painted your knuckles. You never took into account how you could have handled this situation. How the sudden phone call made you claw at the skin of your forearm until Bella enclosed you in a hug.

A cold, gloved hand held your wrist in a gentle grip. "That's enough, I believe he understands," Stefan blood eyes meets yours, unaware you began to shed tears. "You have done enough little one." Stefan effortlessly pulls you to your feet.

You didn't protest or deny his embrace. "I'm sorry." Stefan made a tsk sound. "Don't apologize. You have every right to act out, " Vladimir watches as he keeps the third party from escaping. Trapping him underneath the albino boot, "Stefan is right. He should be the one apologizing, not you. "

"Blood, my hands," you pull away from the ancient ruler. "We have self-control, don't we? Vladimir, " the blonde nods with a little smile. "Let him go. Where will he go? Who will he turn to?" Your words shook the two vampires, but they obliged.

"You are lucky you have an understanding, son," Once Vlaimir lifts his foot from the man, he scrambles away. "He may come back?" You said while watching your once present father run away. "A risk a fool like him will take." You shook your head at Vladimir, who can see beyond your vision of the dark.

The texture of a handkerchief took you by surprise, "Don't want the Cullens to believe we are bad a influence." Stefan wasn't the only one who began cleaning your hands.

Vladimir was soft and slow, just like his coven mate, who took your left hand while he coddled your right hand. Once white handkerchiefs grew, Crimson red. You didn't make it easy either you were fidgety and anxious.

The adrenaline washed away from your once flaming body. Warmth seeping away at the thought, your father may report you to the police. A cold kiss to your palm brought you back. "You must remain still," Vladimir spoke against the palm of your skin.

You cast your gaze down "sorry" another pair of cold lips meets your wrist. Stefan freezing lips peppers small, slow, comforting, pecks upon the veins of your wrist. The sound of blood flow and the touch of your warmth engraved a smile on Stefan face "you done well, can't imagine what you will be capable of once you turn."

Vladimir agrees with another lingering kiss to your palm, "Your speed and strength are hard not to imagine." The two vampires will never let you down, nor will they ever leave you despite the Cullens' threats.

[nightcolorz]

Prompt: for whatever reason (cursed object, vengeful witch, wrong wish to a djin, whatever) Armand is human and his memories are only until the point where he got the mortal wound

He doesn't remember ever being a vampire, now he is in a strange place where strange magical things are everywhere (the elevator, the TV, cars, the blender...) and he doesn't know how he got here, doesn't recognise the strange old looking man nor does he understand his language but it is clear to him that he is like the Master

He is confused and scared but the man who is like the Master seems kind and he looks at him with love on his lilac eyes, he is very confused when the man doesn't respond to his advances and fears he'll be put out in the streets to fend for himself in this strange land so he tries extra hard to seduce the stranger

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT I NEED THIS FIC!!!

I loooveee fic concepts like this. Human Armand (Amadeo) is also like, so much of a different character than *The Vampire Armand*. Armand is incredibly resigned and self victimizing and weak willed, and Amadeo is a bad bitch who takes no shit. This little shit mocks the millennia yr old vampire to his face while he actively is beating the shit out of him + could rlly kill him, throws an ax through said millennia yr old vampires door cuz he’s been a dick to him, tells the performers at the party that Marius is killing people at to play funeral music as he dances around them, is a super athletic actually and a very skilled swordsman who won in a fencing battle against his violent ex to save his brothers (Assad zamans impressive pecks r character accurate believe it or not), responds to sexual harassment and rape threats by laughing in their faces, etc etc I could go on. My point is, I think it would be such a fun and interesting ride for Daniel to meet Amadeo, an armand who was still incredibly traumatized but hadn’t yet had his strength and agency cult indoctrinated out of him.

what’s interesting too is that Amadeo has experience with being thrust into a strange technologically advanced world full of perceived magic and devils work, that’s how he thought of Venice when he was sold there, and I think he would be able to adapt to it unusually well considering his situation. I could see an Amadeo equivalent of Armand’s technology explorations and blender experiments happening 100%. And he would 1000%% attach himself to Daniel and get weird and panicky over it. The idea of him trying to seduce Daniel to get himself security and failing bcus Daniel doesnt want to have sex with someone in such a vulnerable position and neither of them r either to communicate their perspective is heartbreaking 😭 but so character accurate. I imagine Amadeo would be confused by Daniel is refusing his offer of sex but still taking care of him and offering him shelter. He’s probably anxious as hell waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sooooo much potential here!!! Anon I rlly hope u write this cuz omg!!

[blametheeditor]

A Little Bit Goes A Long Way

Run Down: To be faced with your own mortality, would it change you for the better, or worse? David never thought he'd have to answer such a question.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Death scenes. Slight gore. Mentions of death and murder. Peril. Calling someone 'it' or 'thing'. Experiments. If you're new to this household, only happy endings, but certainly a roller coaster

*Cough cough*

______________

One minute, David is storming into the kitchen to demand why it’s taking twice as long as usual for food to be delivered out into the dining room. 

The next, the suited man is nearly sent flying back into the hallway from the swinging door slamming into him. Barely gets out of the way in time before a shoe as big as a bus stomps on him. Feels his limbs lock up and refuse to move as he slowly realizes what’s in front of him. 

He’s still in the kitchen of Fazbear Entertainment Center, all too familiar with the layout he changed around after signing paperwork that made him the sole owner of this franchise restaurant, as well as the faces of those he hired who were competent enough to keep their jobs for more than a week. He had opened the door a few feet away only a few seconds ago. 

And yet, somehow, everyone and everything currently tower over him. David couldn’t move the door a single inch now no matter how hard he tried. A rolling counter has wheels that are as tall as him and easily provides a place for him to hide. Chefs and waiters seem more like skyscrapers than people he signs paychecks for. 

That’s not the worst part. The sounds of people talking and food being made are so loud it makes his head feel like it’s going to split open. Simple actions such as walking within ten feet of him cause earthquakes that shake him to his core.

David can’t help but stare. He can’t look away despite knowing he could be killed at any moment if he doesn’t get to safety. Feels himself begin to tremble as it becomes harder and harder to deny what’s in front of him is real. 

Even though it’s impossible for someone to suddenly shrink, there’s no denying the proof before him. Unless he’s simply having an incredibly vivid dream, or hallucination, or something because this can’t be real. 

“Are those pizza’s done?” 

“Careful, how many times do I have to tell you-!” 

“Door!” 

David feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and in that moment dives under the service cart that stands beside him. Groans from his ungraceful landing before staring in horror as the door opens and someone steps directly where he had been only a  few moments ago. The thought of what would’ve happened, the idea this isn’t a dream and that could’ve been the end decides he’ll be treating this like it’s life or death. 

The business man tries to ignore his heart thumping painfully against his chest as he watches the bustling kitchen, catastrophic giants unaware of his presence. Reminds himself he can’t get stepped on while he cowers under the service cart. He’s safe, at least for now. Unless someone realized what happened and are searching for him. Or the cart gets moved. Or something gets dropped and- 

“Nope,” David murmurs as he closed his eyes to block out the world, clenching his fists to focus on something other than the constant trembles through the ground. 

Those kinds of thoughts are not helpful. He needs to think about finding a safe place, then figure out a plan on how to get his proper height of six feet. But safety’s first. 

...where the hell would he be safe at a size where shoes can crush him like a spider. 

Taking a deep breath in the attempt to calm his nerves, David opens his eyes one at a time. Forces himself to look at the layout down at the ground. Ignoring the fact everything that’s familiar is now deadly, just focusing on places he can run and hide without putting himself in danger. 

Going anywhere near the door is completely off limits. But if he travels further into the kitchen, there’s potential for a safe place to at least wait until the restaurant closes. Such as the toe kick space under the counters, though there’s not much depth to it and someone could spot him from the right angle. There’s small space under the ovens that goes as far back as the wall and seems to have the most cover, but he wouldn’t know if it’s too hot to stay down there. Out of everything, the pantry might be the best option, with plenty of shelves to hide under, and he’d be the farthest away from any possible incidents prone to happen in busy kitchens. 

With that settled, now he just has to figure out how to get there. There’s no cover between where he is now and the pantry door, just a full mile of open air in which he’d be completely vulnerable to dropped items, shoes, and being spotted. 

An involuntary shiver runs down David’s spine at the thought of someone seeing him. That would open an entire can of worms, especially if it’s realized he’s human instead of a pest. Getting killed is one thing, but there’s no telling what someone would do if they get their hands on him. It could range from making him pay for screaming at them because they weren’t doing their job right, to selling him to make a quick buck. 

A glance is sent toward the wheels of the cart he’s currently using as shelter. Because while this could be moved, it doesn't necessarily mean it will be. It had been put here for a reason. He can’t remember if this is normally here every other day, meaning it’s a toss up if it’ll get moved again. 

Which one’s better, then? Taking a chance out in the open, or hoping no one moves the cart? 

...what if he moves the cart? 

David stares at the large wheels for a moment before walking closer, willing to at least give it a try no matter how ridiculous the idea seems. If this actually works, he’ll take it. Though, he does hesitate to actually touch the wheel once he’s close enough to see just how filthy it is. Flinches when it dawns on him he’ll be covered in dust and dirt by the end of this ordeal. 

He sighs long and hard with the reminder of yet another earthquake it’s either this, or an almost guarantee of getting crushed. Grits his teeth and tries to shove at the wheel with all his might. Growls when doesn’t budge, changing his position only to end up with the same results. Meaning he did that for absolutely nothing. 

David looks back out at the kitchen. Narrows his eyes when he realizes the large island is closer to him than the pantry. And if he runs from the island to the counter...he’ll be covered for almost the entire walk. 

It’ll be a lot more work, and shoes are constantly walking between all of the counters, but it’s certainly safer. 

Now there’s three options. He doesn’t like any of them, but he hadn’t asked to get shrunk so these are the cards he’s been dealt with. As shitty as they are, he just has to make the most of them. 

Honestly, taking the long path to the pantry seems like his best bet. It almost seems like he’s been taking too long, so he needs to- 

His train of thought is lost when he sees a pair of shoes suddenly begin to walk toward him. And then words are booming through the air almost directly above. 

“Hey, is the cart claimed?” 

Fuck. 

David freezes. Almost screams when the wheel beside him is suddenly turning, scrambling to get a safe distance away. Feels his blood run cold when the entire thing begins to move. And then David starts running. 

He runs after the cart. If there was time to think, he might’ve recognized that as the worst thing he could’ve done, but adrenaline had taken control. The only thing he knew was that his only shelter was being taken away, and there was nothing he could do about it except follow. 

It could’ve ended with him getting caught under a wheel. With it stopping abruptly and him slamming into it. Getting left behind and ending up underfoot from someone walking past. 

None of those happen. Somehow by some miracle David stays with the cart before almost colliding with the underside of the counter. As soon as he hits the wall, he collapses, legs trembling so harshly it’s impossible to stay standing. Arms and chest aching after taking the brunt of the impact. 

But he made it. He made it and that’s all that matters. 

The business man pants, choking on air a few times. Takes a few minutes to slow his breathing and calm his racing heart. Makes the promise to fire every single person on staff for not realizing someone’s peril despite it happening right in front of them. It would be seen as unfair, and he could be sued for a lot of money considering he most likely wouldn’t be able to prove anything, but the thought makes him feel a lot better considering everything. It’d also be worth it. 

David doesn’t know how long it takes to recover, just that it’s dangerous for him to stay any longer. So despite the fact his limbs are still shaking, he carefully pushes himself to a stand. Absolutely refuses to take off his suit jacket even though that would make running easier and help keep him from overheating. Like hell he’s loosing an expensive piece of clothing. He might be shrunk and fighting for his life, but he still has standards. Would rather die with dignity over living with a tarnished reputation. 

Call him shallow and egotistical. The train of thought was able to calm him down, however. Distracted him from the thundering footsteps walking right past him as he walks under the cabinet's toe kick. Hoping its true purpose is rarely used. Unsure if he should be glad he’s short enough he doesn’t have to worry about hitting his head on the overhanging wood, or miffed that he’s shorter than four inches tall. 

The conundrum is forgotten as he turns a corner and becomes face to face with clog, one that’s not blocking his way, but the toe of the shoe so close David could walk forward and shove at it. 

Of course that wouldn’t do anything. The owner of the shoe wouldn’t even notice the attempt. With such a catastrophic object that he’s been terrified of ever since shrinking just staying in one place, it’s almost a slap in the face just how small he really is. He’s not even the size of a mouse that can easily clamber over the shoe. More like a large insect that would need to laboriously climb if it blocked his path completely. 

...he didn’t even think about that. Giants are terrifying, but what if he encounters animals at this size? There’s no shooing away a rat or crushing a roach beneath his shoe, they’re now threats to him instead of nuisances. 

Good news, as long as he doesn’t leave the restaurant, he should be perfectly safe. He ensured all pest had been eliminated on the first day, and has an exterminator on speed dial whenever someone reports having seen so much as a shadow creeping along the ground. 

As for the giants, he can hope he doesn’t have to interact with one anytime soon. 

“Is an oven finally open?” 

“Everything that was cooking the previous round is done. Did you forget to pull the pizza’s out?” 

Part of David wants to yell about how much those he hired are dumbasses to not check if something was left in the oven. The other part slumps in relief as the person standing at the island quickly leaves. The only condolence is the fact it doesn’t smell like something’s burning. 

He needs to focus. Forget about what’s happening around him, concentrate on getting somewhere safe. Fire everyone later. 

David looks across the vast distance from where he stands to the line of cabinets that connect to the pantry. This time, there isn’t a service cart to act as cover as he runs across. It’ll just be him, completely exposed. 

He already feels himself begin to shake at the thought of making such a risky move. His muscles protest at running the large distance in which the only time he’d be able to stop is when he gets to the other side. 

What if he doesn’t make it? What if someone walks by and never notices a miniscule figure? What if they do notice and trap him inside a jar? And what happens if he stays here? The toe kick is only four inches deep, that’s not enough space to guarantee safety. 

David steels himself before carefully leaning out from under the counter. Looks up to barely make out the timer’s on the oven saying there’s ten minutes left. Glances at his left where the pantry sits, door shut tight with the lights currently off. Checks his right to see this area of the kitchen void of stomping shoes. 

Go.

He doesn’t hesitate, knowing this might be his only chance, and sprints. Without a single look back to make sure no one’s coming. There would be nothing he could do, so he runs. Never slows down even as his legs burn from overexertion and his lungs send sharp pains through his chest. 

Then the ground starts to jump. David can see he’s already past the halfway mark, but cover is still too far away. He can’t turn around and go back because that wouldn’t be any closer. And even as terror races up his spine and he feels his adrenaline kick in, it’s not enough. He would be an idiot to ever think he could outrun a giant. 

He doesn’t stop. Though the footsteps growing closer and closer attempt to trip him with the earthquakes they bring. It’s a miracle they haven’t gotten to him. 

Until someone gives a small gasp. 

“Shit, there’s a bug in here.” 

“Are you serious?” 

David doesn’t stop. The counters are only ten feet away he’s almost there. 

“I can’t tell what it is, but I need to finish this. Can someone take care of it?” 

“I’ll get it, where is it?” 

Just a few more- 

The business man crashes into the counters at full tilt, not realizing he had actually made it. He swears he broke something this time. But he’s alive. He’s alive he made it he didn’t get crushed. 

“It’s under the counters by the stove.” 

It takes just a little too long for David to realize what that means. Stares out at the kitchen, almost confused why one pair of shoes is pointed directly toward him. Are taking steps toward him. Because he’s safe, he made it. 

It finally clicks. That even though he is somewhere he deemed to be ‘safe’, someone saw him, and they’re coming to take care of the pest infesting an area that needs to be sanitary. 

Once it finally processes David is far from safe, he scrambles to his feet even though he wants to do nothing more than to go limp. He doesn’t know what ‘take care of it’ means, but it can’t be anything good. Where is he supposed to go, though? 

If he was in the right state of mind, the idea of going for the pantry would’ve been recognized as the worst thing he could possibly do. Panic can do so many things, however, and the only thing he could think of was his original plan. Meaning it was the only logical thing to do. 

Yet just as he starts to turn and run in that direction, a hand grabs his wrist. Immediately has David turning to look at who it is, unable to remember why that shouldn’t be possible. 

A teenager stares up at David with wide eyes, tugging at his arm in the opposite direction than was previously chosen. “Follow me, hurry!” 

Any other time, David would refuse. This isn’t any other time, though. No, he was shrunk, had ran for his life, and is now being hunted down by a giant. So there’s not a single protest as he’s frantically led toward the ovens. Doesn’t hesitate a single second to continue following as he’s forced to hunch over to duck into the small area normally impossible to gain access to. Sends a look over his shoulder briefly to catch sight of someone searching all the wrong places for him. 

Then the entire kitchen completely leaves his sight, and he’s left with an alien landscape of metal over his head and a dusty floor. The worst part is how it gets dimmer and dimmer the further they walk. But David is now completely safe from becoming an exotic pet or being treated like an unwanted pest. The teenager who saved him from such a horrific fate never letting his arm go. 

That’s when everything starts to catch up with him. The terror of nearly dying. His limbs completely exhausted. No longer feeling dazed to finally process what just happened. 

“Wait,” David begins, breathless as he comes to a stop. As soon as he does, however, his knees buckle and he sits harshly on the ground. Sighs in relief he can finally rest without the threat of ending up dead. 

Instead of leaving him there, the kid immediately kneels down beside him. It’s almost impossible to make out features and expressions in the darkness, but a stranger wouldn’t be indifferent if the first instinct was to stay close. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

David shakes his head.  “Not hurt. Just...ran for my life.” 

“That’ll definitely do it,” the kid murmurs, his voice never raising above a whisper. “I have a safe place we can go, but we can stay here for a bit. We just need to be careful that we don’t overheat.” 

...now that something was said, the business man realizes it is a bit hot where they are. Not burning, but definitely uncomfortable. Especially with the running he previously did and his jacket acting as the main perpetrator for making him overheat quicker than usual. 

But he can survive a few minutes. By then he’ll be able to at the very least stand up again. 

“Here, drink some water.” 

David hadn’t noticed any movement until something is being offered to him. At the promise of it being water, he quicky accepts it, hesitating at the odd texture as his mind recognizes the shape of a cup. Decides it’s not worth making a fuss over and simply drinks. 

It’s water, clean if a bit warm, but he can’t get over just what the fuck he’s using as a cup. “What, is this?” 

“The wat- oh! The cup, it’s just aluminum foil.” 

David stares at the shadowy figure for a moment. Glances up at the metal ‘roof’ above their heads to confirm they’re both only a few inches tall.  “Where did you get aluminum foil?” 

“Long story,” the kid says. “I can tell it to you later. Are you okay to start walking again?” 

David doesn’t want to go anywhere with a complete stranger until he gets answers. Who is this kid? Why does he have supplies? Why was he in the kitchen near the ovens at this exact time? 

It’d be a stupid idea to get on the kid’s bad side now. It was promised there is a safe place to go. So instead of earning himself a death sentence by being left here after making an enemy with the only person who can help him, David bites his tongue to keep from yelling. 

Instead, he carefully stands up, nearly hitting his head on the oven after forgetting there’s not as much space as there was under the counters. “Lead the way.” 

Out of everything, he was not expecting his arm to be grabbed again. “Just to warn you, it’s going to be pretty dark. But I know the way, and I’ve kept the path clear of rodents and insects, so it's not dangerous. Just, terrifying.” 

Wonderful. 

David has to grit his teeth to keep from sprinting in the opposite direction as he’s led to a fairly wide hole in the back of the cabinets. One that’s pitch black and promises a death worst than being treated like a roach. 

Yet the kid doesn’t even stiffen before walking through it. Which means the business man isn’t declaring he’s not going anywhere near it if some teenager is able to be that courageous. Meaning he allows himself to be led down the tunnel without any objection, secretly glad the grip on his arm gets tighter to promise he won’t be let go. 

They walk in complete silence. It amplifies the sound of their footsteps, but it also means they’ll be able to hear something making its way toward them. And then a faint glow appears in the darkness. Getting brighter the closer they get. David feels his chest get lighter when he’s finally able to see there’s a wall to his right, the wooden cabinets to his left, and absolutely no signs of eyes reflecting in the darkness behind him. 

It’s also revealed their destination was a piece of cardboard. 

“Come inside,” the kid encourages. Before David can demand what’s meant by inside, the cardboard is pushed open like a door. 

Admittedly put off by it, David warily walks through the apparent doorway. Finds himself standing in what he can only describe as a third grader’s shitty attempt to make a diorama of their house for a school project. Complete with a bed that’s nothing but a pile of fabrics, a plastic pizza saver repurposed as a table, and odd $1 prizes the restaurant gives away in exchange for tickets scattered across the room that could be interpreted as anything. And he can’t forget to mention candles meant to be put on birthday cakes acting as lamps. 

When he imagined a safe place, an odd hideout tucked in a corner impossible to access from the outside wasn’t it. Then again, what was he expecting? 

After taking in the room, David turns back toward the person who brought him here, finally able to get a good look at the kid now that he isn’t fearing for his life. Looks over the mop of red hair, bright green eyes watching him nervously, the numerous freckles decorating the nose and cheeks. Gives a glance at the patched up clothes so dusty it’s hard to tell what their true colors are. 

“I need answers, and I need them now,” David growls. “Who the hell are you?” 

“My name’s Fritz,” the kid offers quietly. “You’re David, right?” 

“Mr. Harrison,” is automatically corrected. But then the implication has him glaring. “Have we met before?” 

“Briefly,” Fritz begins. “I...h-here, sit down and I’ll tell you everything.” 

David isn’t given a chance to protest. The kid closes the poor excuse for a door before taking off a bag that wasn’t noticed previously to place it on the floor. A cardboard stool for the lack of a better term is then pushed toward him. 

Fritz then grabs an odd vase that looks like it’s made of metal. Untwists the top before extending a hand toward David. “Would you like more water?” 

He's confused, until he realizes he’s still holding the cup from earlier, one that looks like it’s made from the same material of the odd pitcher. Sighs as he hands it over to be refilled, it being abundantly clear Fritz is going to take his sweet goddamn time. David then carefully sits down, genuinely surprised the crude seat holds his weight. Begins to tap his fingers impatiently. Doesn’t think about how his legs appreciate the rest and how grateful he is for the water after such an arduous adventure. 

“When and where did you shrink?” 

David gives a look at the explanation starting with a question. “Not too long ago, about an hour or so. It happened right as I walked into the kitchen.” 

“The same thing happened to me,” Fritz reveals as he stares down at the table. “I walked into the kitchen to take an order out to a table, and then I just...shrunk.” 

David freezes. So this is apparently a thing that just happens? How is that even possible? Have other people been shrunk as well? Why didn’t he notice employees disappearing? 

And why has Fritz stopped talking? 

A sigh is withheld at the teenager looking as if he’s remembering something unpleasant. “And when did that happen?” 

“A-A few months ago,” is barely said loud enough to be heard. 

...wait. Hold on. 

David wants to call bullshit. There’s no way someone only a few inches tall has managed to survive for a couple of months. David almost died within the first hour. Fritz has to be lying. 

Except, the kid can’t be. The pilfered items scattered around the room seems more than what could be collected in a single day, or even in a full week. Fritz also looks underfed and exhausted. The long term kind. Like he really hasn’t had access to proper care for a while. 

Suddenly, David feels sick to his stomach. At the thought someone could’ve been crushed under the sole of his own shoe, and he never would’ve known. At the realization that if Fritz shrank more than a month ago, and is still shrunk, then the business man’s future is bleak. 

“So you have no idea what caused this.” 

“Not a single clue.” 

Then he really is stuck at this size for the rest of his life. However long that is. 

David stares at Fritz. “What have you done during these past couple months?” 

The teenager shrugs, looking everywhere but at the business man. “Surviving. The kitchen wasn’t the worst place to end up since I have access to food and water. After a month I ventured out into the main area after the restaurant closed. I couldn’t really go far, though. The animatronics could spot me, or I wouldn’t get back to safety before someone came in for the morning shift.” 

A shiver travels down David’s spine at the thought of encountering the animatronics at this size. Quickly pushes the thought away for a different time. “And no one realized you were missing?” 

Fritz flinches at his question. Finally meets his gaze with glossy eyes. “Did you?” 

For the first time since he could remember, David feels remorse. For not knowing someone who worked for him vanished without a trace. A kid for that matter. Didn’t care because he fired people daily, what was one waiter out of the multiple he goes through in a single week. The worst part is that instead of someone going into debt or not being able to pay rent for the month, Fritz had been damned to this kind of hell. 

Even though David would never have thought someone shrunk, he should be able to say he at least looked for Fritz. Make a missing report, check the cameras. If he had, who’s to say he wouldn’t have found the kid. Because attempts were most likely made to get someone’s attention. If David had been looking, would he have noticed? 

David clears his throat. “I will not live like this.” 

Fritz shuffles nervously. “Um, is there someone you could call?” 

The business man almost scoffs before freezing. Because he does not like the idea at all. But it’s either call someone who can at least offer help, or live off of dropped crumbs in his own restaurant. And he’d rather die than take the second option. 

“How the hell would we call-” 

David cuts himself off. Doesn’t address Fritz’s confused look, too embarrassed to look the kid in the eye. Instead, he digs his phone out of his pocket. Blinks against the light much too artificial against what the candles emanate. Stares in disbelief he actually has service. 

“Does it-?” Fritz begins, voice filled with awe. There’s no response to his question. David allows the screen to turn off as he stares at it. 

Who should he call? 

David doesn’t trust a single person on this earth except himself. That means he would have to completely rely on someone he normally wouldn’t even at six feet tall. And considering just how small he is, trusting the wrong person could end with his demise, even if that wasn’t their intention. 

Alright, if he thinks about this logically, his best bet would be Scott. Because if anyone knows about dealing with the impossible, it’s the man who’s William’s lapdog. 

...fuck, William. 

David doesn’t know why it took him so long. His boss is a smart man, knows how to get what he wants. But he’s also created a monstrosity David wishes he never had the honor of meeting. And if William is capable of making something like a certain mutated grape he had first been told was a highly advanced AI, then shrinking someone wouldn’t be completely out of the question. 

Why the fuck did William shrink him! 

“Da- Mr. Harrison?” Fritz asks with a worried look at David’s hand clutching his phone like he wants to break it.  “Are you okay?” 

No, he is far from okay. Good thing he’s able to finally take his anger out. Scrolls through his contacts before selecting Scott’s phone number. 

It takes a few moments for the call to actually do through, but it’s picked up on the first ring. “Hello, hello, David.” 

“My restaurant, 8 o’clock sharp. William has given you quite the mess to clean up,” David snaps. Not in the mood for pleasantries. Even if Scott is a giant to him. 

“I’m not a dog,” the sandy haired man growls. “I would also appreciate a little bit more information.” 

“Come to the kitchen, watch where you step, and listen carefully. Is that enough information for you?” 

“David, are you serious? At least tell me what Afton apparently did.” 

“He apparently shrunk me so I’m shorter than four inches tall and currently hiding behind the cabinets,” the business man huffs. 

Scott suddenly goes silent on the other end. When a minute passes, David checks his phone to make sure the call wasn’t dropped. 

“I swear to God,” the older man breathes. “If you’re lying-” 

“I’m not,” David interrupts. “8 o’clock, kitchen, watch where you step.” 

“Stay safe until then.” 

With that, they both hang up. And David’s met with Fritz looking a mixture of horrified, hopeful, and another emotion he can’t quite identify. 

“I, I-I take it you know someone who can help?” the teenager asks. 

Right. Fritz doesn’t know anything about the truth around Fazbear’s. Granted, it took David a few months to have a proper initiation, but he’s not a small fry employee. He has a lengthy contract that ensures his safety while working for the company. The teenager, on the other hand, is as disposable as the other night guards. If he’s being honest, William might’ve assumed the kid would’ve died within a few hours. Might’ve used him as a guinea pig. 

Surviving multiple months at this size is something William would at least have to respect, right? Or, would that just prove the kid is a liability that needs to be silenced. 

Now David’s faced with a choice. Have Scott meet Fritz, and they both confront William on getting the kid back to his normal size. Or, they play it safe, and David promises to find and care for Fritz once the business man is at his proper height. 

One look at the resigned expression conquering Fritz’s face, and it seems like his thoughts were heard. 

“Th-There’s still a few hours until 8. Would you like to rest for a bit?” 

“You won’t leave this room, will you?” David finds himself asking. Not because he’s protective and genuinely worried for the kid who could get into trouble before help arrives. He’s certainly responsible over Fritz, though. Meaning he can’t let anything happen under his watch. 

Fritz thinks it over for a moment. Nods his head. “I’ll stay here.” 

David doesn’t say another word. He drinks the rest of the water, turns to the poor excuse of a bed, and flops heavily into it. Uncaring if the owner hadn’t meant to give him permission to claim it for a nap. 

And if there was any objections, the business man was already falling asleep before he could hear them. 

”You killed him.”

David whirls around to see Scott staring at him like he’s some kind of monster as they stand in a kitchen that’s all too familiar. 

Anger flairs up, and the want to punch the shorter man in the face rises like a tide. He’s being judged like he’s some kind of murderer? What about Scott being best friends to a literal monstrosity? What about him following the orders of someone like William? What about the night guards? 

“I haven’t killed anyone,” David snaps. 

“Oh really?” Scott growls. “Someone didn’t disappear during a shift inside your own restaurant?” 

The business man bristles. “How was I supposed to know! It’s not like I would’ve known he shrunk. And he’s a teenager, they always walk out without telling anyone and just refuse to show up for work the next day.” 

“Do you know how many times he tried to get your attention? Tried to ask for help? Do you know how many times you ignored him?” 

...is that true? Did Fritz make it all the way to his office at some point? Did David nearly crush him like an irate gnat? Unimportant and nothing but a distraction from his work? 

“What about you? Don’t act so high and mighty when you have actual blood on your hands. How many guards died because your recordings didn’t tell them how to survive?” 

“The difference,” Scott muses. “Is you feel guilty.” 

That’s an implication he doesn’t like for numerous reasons. The confirmation Scott doesn’t care people die despite it being his fault. The truth David is remorseful to not notice someone vanishing from his own staff. That he was close to playing a large part in William’s game without even knowing it. That his actions do have consequences. 

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“Don’t lie to yourself. He’s only alive because he fought for his life. You still pulled the plug.” 

“How was I supposed to know!” David shouts. “I didn’t ask for this! My job is to help the reputation of the company, nothing more! It’s not my fault William thrust this kind of responsibility on me!” 

“Neither did I,” Scott says so condescendingly David's fists clench automatically. “You don’t see me mourning every guard that gets killed, do you?” 

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” 

“And you’re any better? Tell me, David, what’s the real reason you don’t want to bring him to Afton?” 

“That’d be a death sentence.” 

“Or it’d be his only salvation,” Scott shrugs. “Let’s look at the savior complex you currently have. If you’re truly worried Afton would kill him to tie up loose ends, then what? Would you actually take care of someone you barely know?” 

David bristles. “Of course I would.” 

“Oh?” and he’s this close to giving in a punching Scott. “As a person, or as a toy.” 

He wouldn’t, no, David wouldn’t do that. He’s seen what it’s like being this small first hand. Nearly died numerous times, he wouldn’t offer Fritz help and only treat the kid like a desk trinket. Technically that would still be better than the way he’s currently living, but the business man wouldn’t do something like that. He’s an asshole but he’s not cruel. 

Yet he can’t help thinking about what will happen a month from now. When Fritz becomes more of a burden than anything. The one thing David can’t stand are people who contribute nothing to this world. It wouldn’t be the kid’s fault, he didn’t ask to be shrunk, but old habits would die hard. 

And David...he’ll forget what it’s like to be that small. Will stop being careful, won’t pay enough attention, and get upset if he’s told about his mistakes until- 

“Well?” Scott probes as David refuses to answer. Makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat after the silence stretches on. “They deserve more, David.” 

Now they’re talking about more than just Fritz. About the people he stepped on to get to where he is now. Everyone he’s fired from every business he’s helped in his career, uncaring about how it will affect their lives. 

Actually, you know what, he’s calling bullshit. David deserved getting to where he is. He’s done nothing wrong, and Scott of all people has absolutely no right to judge him. 

He gives into the temptation to wipe the goddamn smirk off the fossil’s face. Raises a hand as he steps forward to grab Scott’s shirt. 

Feels his heart stop when he hears a soft scream before it’s suddenly cut off. 

...no. 

He doesn’t dare look down at his shoe. Can only stare at Scott sighing long and hard with a sad shake of his head. “I tried to warn you, David.” 

No. 

“I didn’t.” Panic starts welling up inside him, his breathing getting shorter and shorter. “H-He’s not, I didn’t-” 

“You did.” 

No!

The words are only stated matter-of-factly. As if he didn’t just kill Fritz. After surviving on his own for months, and the kid’s fatal mistake was saving David’s life. 

”Was it worth it, David?”

“No!” 

David jolts awake, gasping for air before a panicked yell rises in his throat when all that greets him is pure darkness. Where is he, where’s Scott, and where’s- 

“David?” a voice suddenly calls. One the business man almost lunges at to confirm it’s real it has to be real he didn’t kill Fritz. “Oh, the light, sorry! Hold on, I’ll light one.” 

It sounds like actual footsteps and someone moving things around. But without being able to even see his own hands right in front of him, David can’t help but think his talk with Scott was reality and this is the dream. A sick and twisted nightmare where he’ll be forced to hear the kid, but never see him. 

Then there’s sparks, and a flame appears to reveal a corner of the room, as well as a short figure with red hair. 

Offers an apologetic smile before it turns into concern. “Dav- Mr. Harrison, are you okay?” 

Fritz is alive. Fritz is alive. 

David watches for a moment to ensure the kid doesn’t disappear. Once he determines it won’t happen, he flops back into the nest of fabric. Remembers lying down to take a nap. And the promise Fritz wouldn’t leave the room without him. 

“Just...wasn’t expecting to wake up to an empty void,” he manages to grumble. 

“Sorry,” Fritz repeats. “I just didn’t want to waste the light. But I forgot you wouldn’t be used to it.” 

David doesn’t respond. Too drained to do anything more than watch Fritz’s silhouette walk around the room. Almost looking like he’s packing things into the bag from earlier. Realizes he doesn’t know how long he slept for, reaching out to his right to tap on his phone screen. 

7:50pm. The restaurant is closed, everyone on staff should be on their way home after getting everything cleaned, and Scott will be arriving soon. 

Fritz clears his throat. “Would you like to head back to the kitchen to meet your friend?” 

David’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach for more reasons than one. But he forces himself to stand up. Glances at his phone’s battery at 50%. “I’ll lead the way this time.” 

That earns him an incredulous look before he turns on the phone’s flashlight. Fritz jumping back in surprise manages to make his lips curl up. After the scare, the kid beams. “That’s so much better then carrying a candle.” 

“Of course it- you've carried a lit candle around?” David demands once he processes the full sentence, sending a glare after the kid as he puts out the flame. 

“It was the only way to see until I got really familiar with the path,” Fritz explains. “I didn’t have a phone, and no one realizes when a pack of birthday candles from a box of hundreds goes missing.” 

Some people would be impressed by the lengths that were gone to adapt. David’s only thinking about how it’s a miracle Fritz didn’t accidentally kill himself by his own stupidity. 

Instead of validating what he was told with a response, the business man makes his way to the ‘door’, Fritz taking the initiative to open it and then close it behind them. Then they slowly walk down the dark path that’s barely illuminated by the week flashlight, but it keeps the darkness from becoming suffocating. It does nothing to calm David’s thoughts, however. Not just his terror on facing Scott at this size, but about what he should do concerning Fritz. 

“Fritz, did you ever try to get my attention after you shrunk?” 

“...a few times.” 

David suddenly stops. Feels Fritz bump into him before the teenager quickly steps back. He then turns so the light shines on both of them. 

Stares down at someone who has every right to yell and scream at him. Every right to hate David for not being there. For leaving him for dead when his life was on the line in the business man’s own restaurant. Failing to make up for his mistake when there were multiple opportunities if he just paid attention. 

Fritz doesn’t glare or even look upset now that the truth is out. The kid just looks...patient. Not entirely resigned, but not hopeful either. Just, waiting. 

“You recognized me when you saved me,” David says. Earns a nod for confirmation. “So why did you?” 

Fritz becomes panicked. “Why wouldn’t I? They could’ve killed you, I couldn’t let that happen!” 

And that’s when David realizes that even if Fritz was angry that his calls for help were never answered, the kid is nothing but selfless. Was willing to save someone who by every definition didn’t deserve it. Give up his resources even with no promise to be repaid for it. 

...unless he’s been hoping David is his only ticket out. 

“I don’t think there will be a way to grow you to your normal height.” 

There. He ripped the band-aid off. It was going to happen at some point. It’s best if the kid knows now so he doesn’t waste anymore of his time. Yell that he never should’ve saved David if he wasn’t at the very least going to finally escape from this hell. 

Fritz jolts like he was electrocuted. Stares at David for a moment as his green eyes well up with tears. Curls in on himself as he looks at the floor. “O-Oh.” 

Silence. 

The kid takes a deep breath, wiping his eyes before looking up again. “Um, would y-you...do you still have a chance?” 

...what? 

“I...I guess I had a feeling,” Fritz continues, voice shaky. “I mean, n-no one was looking for me, and after a week it seemed like this was...permanent. I-I didn’t want it to happen to anyone else, though. As terrifying as it’s been, no one deserves this. You don’t think you’re stuck too, do you?” 

It’s said with such a genuine tone of concern. Not for himself. Purely for David. 

“I don’t know,” the business man says. 

Fritz straightens up. “Th-Then we shouldn’t miss your friend if it’s your only chance!” 

David is a bit too stunned to do anything but allow the kid to grab his arm and guide him down the tunnel. Immediately ducks his head once they exit the hole and make their way into the main part of the kitchen from under the oven. 

“David?” 

Both of them freeze at the booming voice calling for the shrunken man. All at once, the terror he felt a few hours ago comes rushing up, and it demands he stays as still and quite as possible. 

“David, are you in here?” 

Fritz slowly comes back to life at the sound of Scott growing worried. Tugs at David’s arm until the business man starts to follow again. “Y-You trust him, right?” 

It’s a miracle the whispered words weren’t drowned out by the sound of fabric moving. “I-I do.” 

Not much. But enough. 

“David,” Scott rumbles, impatience seeping into his tone and causing the two to flinch. “I’m not in the mood for games.” 

They make it to the toe kick. Blink against the blinding light until they can finally make out the towering figure standing by the kitchen door. 

At this angle, David can see Scott entirely. From his sandy hair, to the obscure band t-shirt, to the black converse shoes. Despite the distance, there’s no denying the man normally half a foot shorter than him is a giant who’s shoes could crush him. Hands with fingers longer than he is tall. Hazel eyes similar to his own as big as his head. 

Ones that are narrowed in their direction. 

“David?” 

Oh shit.

Scott is suddenly walking toward them. Fritz immediately flattens himself against the counters. David, on the other hand, wasn’t quick enough and ends up falling onto his back from the earthquakes. 

“Please don’t be a large insect...” 

Look, David is genuinely terrified. But he can’t stop the feeling of indignation surging through him, finding himself sitting up with a glare meant for Scott for comparing him to a bug. 

It vanishes when a hand slams down a few feet away, a face the size of a billboard leaning down, the massive being going completely still when their eyes meet. 

“Oh my God,” has David recoil when the simple action of Scott talking ruffles his hair and suit. “David?” 

“Sc-Scott,” the business man manages. Feels his entire body trembling. “It’s me, I-” 

He hadn’t seen it coming. Even though Scott set his hand down close by, David thought he would be able to get out of the way in time. He didn’t even see it lift off the ground. One moment it seems harmless, the next fingers are curling around him. 

“No, don’t-!” 

David frantically attempts to scramble away as fear claws at his throat. But he's too slow, much too slow. A thumb the size of his torso settles on his chest at the same time another digit folds over his legs. He shoves with all his might to try and get the finger pinning him down away from him, gasping in pain when it only presses harder, forcing the air out of his lungs. 

Then vertigo makes his stomach flip. Meaning he’s being lifted up. Away from the ground, from safety, closer to the giant that’s staring at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.

“I can’t believe it,” Scott breathes. “He actually shrunk you.” 

David gasps as the grip gets tighter, shoving at the thumb and kicking his legs in the hope he can escape. “Scott...tight!” 

“S-Sir, you’re hurting him!” 

Everything freezes. 

“Wha-?” the giant mutters intelligently, and all David can see is Scott’s eyes looking at something down on the ground. Lets out a strangled yell when he’s squeezed suddenly. Pain erupting at the feeling like he was punched in the stomach and chest. 

“Open your hand!” 

David chokes on air as the thumb is finally lifted, curls onto his side as he just concentrates on breathing he can finally breathe. 

He sends a glare up at the giant watching him with a troubled look as soon as he can think again. “What, the fuck, Scott?” 

“I’m sorry,” the sandy haired man apologizes. As if it makes everything better. “I hadn’t realized. Are you hurt?” 

He chose the wrong person to trust. “Put me down!” 

Scott seems apprehensive. But then the hand is lowering, and David suddenly remembers Fritz once the kid comes into his line of sight. Had completely forgotten about everything that happened before a hand attempted to squeeze him to death. 

Bad news, his limbs are too shaky to get him away from the giant who’s proven himself to be deadly. Worse news, Fritz comes running over from the safety of the cabinets despite the fact Scott nearly killed David within the first five minutes. 

“Are you ok-k-kay?” the kid whispers, sending a fearful look up at Scott every other second. Offers a hand that’s immediately taken to help sit David up. Gently pats at his chest before recoiling at a painful groan. “Did anything break?” 

“Did anything break?” Scott repeats, at the very least sounding remorseful. 

“No, nothing broke. But I couldn’t, breathe for a good minute,” David snaps with a wheeze. “Now I owe Fritz for saving my life twice.” 

David was not expecting the weirdest part of his day to watch pupils dilate, unable to help watching in fascination as the brown ring seemingly retracts to reveal an almost gold color. 

Then cold fear races down his back at the realization Scott is looking at Fritz. “Twice?” 

The giant better not touch the kid. “It’s been a long day.” 

“I’ve got time to hear about it,” Scott says, doing a great impression of a thunder storm. Looks between them for a moment. Makes David curse and Fritz jump away when fingers curl in closer. “God, you make me feel like a monster.” 

“You almost crushed me!” 

“Your size,” the giant clarifies with a scowl. And despite the revelation of just how big the man is to them, Scott fails to connect the dots such a seemingly harmless expression only meant to show his frustration makes David shake from the thought there will be retaliation he’ll have no way to defend himself against. “But you’re right, I got grabby when I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. Let’s, start from the beginning.” 

“Fritz help me get down.” 

The kid slowly approaches Scott’s hand again. Grabs David’s arm even as he trembles to help the business man down the surprisingly high platform a palm makes. Nearly collapses onto Fritz when his legs give out because he’s still not at 100%. He’s on the fence whether to feel grateful or fearful of the finger offering assistance to get him standing upright. 

But Scott completely withdrawals his hand once David’s knees aren’t threatening to buckle. And with it, warmth the business man hadn’t realized was keeping the chill of the room at bay. 

David takes a deep breath. Well, as much as he can without it becoming painful. Looks up at Scott towering over them even while kneeling. “I shrunk the moment I walked into the kitchen, and apparently I wasn’t the first one. The same thing happened to Fritz a few months ago, and he managed to keep me from getting squashed because the staff mistook me for a roach.” 

Scott’s jaw drops. “Months?” 

Not what David thought the sandy haired man would latch onto. Then again, it’s not hard to see the kid is just a teenager. He thought the revelation of William shrinking any and all employees would be the most concerning part. But, this is only new to the business man. Scott’s been with the company long enough to be far too familiar with these kinds of scenarios. That anyone’s up for grabs with experiments, not the shrinking. 

David nods, because he has no reason to not believe the timeline. “Does that mean anything to you?” 

Scott hesitates. Looks at the kid cowering in his shadow. “It sounds like he was the first field test if I’m being honest. Did anyone come looking for you?” 

Fritz jumps when David elbows him, giving a small ‘oh!’ realizing the question was directed at him. “Um-m-m, no one called my name. Or, looked under the cabinets. I-I just, I remember a shadow when I first left the kitchen.” 

That sounds like Vincent. And Scott wincing just proves it. “So he was the guinea pig.” 

“He was,” Scott confirms. “I don't understand why Afton would make such a risky move. His parents would’ve-” 

David doesn't catch it until the giant stops talking. But Fritz’s head is...shaking. “Not my parents...” 

And that’s why David never received a phone call about someone missing while working a shift at his restaurant. Why Fritz vanished and no one really noticed. The kid was so unimportant no one would care if he was dead. 

David clears his throat. “Do you think William can grow Fritz back to his normal height?” 

“I-I’m okay Mr. Harrison,” is said at the same time Scott sighs. He pretends he didn’t hear it. 

“Even if he’d be willing to, I don’t think he can. If it took months to shrink you after shrinking him, it meant results he got in his lab weren’t the same as when Fritz shrunk. Meaning he had to make a few adjustments.” 

Meaning the kid is most likely permanently this size. 

Fritz doesn’t make a single sound. Scott’s careful not to betray any emotion. 

“Take us both to William,” David commands. 

“Mr-” 

“You are my responsibility,” the business man growls down at the kid. “Don’t be a dumbass. We’ll see if he can get you back to your proper height no matter how short it is. If he can’t, we’ll go from there. But you won’t be leaving my side to get crushed like a bug or end up as somethings dinner, understood?” 

Fritz stares up at him in shock. Like he was fully expecting to get left behind despite everything he’s done. And, if they’re being honest, that had been a genuine possibility. But David owes the kid his life. Besides, if he ever suggested not bringing Fritz along to fend for himself however long they’d be gone, Scott would kill him. 

That’s the only reason. 

A small but hopeful smile tugs on Fritz’s mouth. “Understood.” 

“Wonderful. Scott, set your hand down and we’ll walk on,” David directs. “Don’t grab us.” 

“I learned my lesson,” Scott murmurs as he sets a hand down palm up in front of them. 

He absolutely hates the idea of willingly putting his life in the hands of the giant. It’s the only way to get to William and demand their rightful size back, though. So with clenched teeth and fists, David steps up onto a middle finger almost as thick as he is. 

One that twitches and sends him tumbling. 

David scrambles to try and sit up, arms raising to protect himself from the bone crushing curling fingers. “Scott please don’t!” 

The hand opens again. “That was reflex, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to pin you, I swear.” 

David kicks at the nearest digit, sending a fierce glare up at Scott. “I’m starting to think even Fritz would be a better giant than you.” 

“I don’t have a guide on what to do when I find someone who was shrunk,” the sandy haired man defends. “This is new for both of us. And I don’t think you realize how ticklish you can be.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. You feel like a large bug crawling into my hand,” Scott smirks. Before David can protest, the giant looks away, face softening. “He’s okay, Fritz. Just a little rumpled.” 

“Way to scare the kid,” the business man grumbles as he sits up. Sees Fritz shaking like a leaf with skin so pale his freckles look like they’ll jump right off of him. “It’s safe, Fritz, Scott’s just a dumbass.” 

A small step forward as the strap to the bag is held in a white-knuckle grip. A careful step up onto Scott’s first finger. A fearful glance at the giant before another tentative step. There’s a shuddering breath as Fritz continues onto the hand until he makes it to Scott’s palm and immediately sits down. Curls up in a tight ball as he looks around in terror, expecting the fingers to snap shut around them at any moment. 

David slaps at the giant’s thumb. “Why didn’t you trip him?” 

“I was expecting it that time,” Scott grouses. “Unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes.” 

He doesn’t try and refute the claim. Not when he latches onto the fact that Scott now holds both of them. To do whatever he wants with. Put them in a pocket to take home instead of William. Close his hand until he crushes them mercilessly. Trips while walking and let them fall a hundred feet to the unforgiving ground. 

“Ready?” shakes him to his very core. 

...Scott will keep them safe. 

David nods once. Gasps when the hand lifts up way too quickly, gravity flattening him against the palm. Yelps and the same time Fritz shrieks when the ride up suddenly stops, leaving both of them lifting into the air before falling back down. 

This was the worst idea he’s ever had why did they ever trust a giant. 

“Are you two okay?” Scott asks, sounding confused as to why he earned such terrified reactions. 

“You...have no idea how physics works, do you?” David breathes, trying to get his heart to calm back down from the scare. 

Scott stares before his eyes widen, making a soft ‘ah’. “Was I too fast?” 

"Both starting and stopping.” He looks over at Fritz, relieved the kid at least doesn’t seem traumatized. 

“I’ll go slower,” Scott reassures. This time, the giant doesn’t wait for confirmation they’re ready, instead starts to stand up without warning. 

It feels like David’s stomach got left far behind, and he doesn’t dare try to look over the edge of the hand. But to Scott’s credit, he’s much slower. Careful to not abruptly stop so it feels like they’ll go flying. When they don’t scream again, the giant takes it as a que to continue on his journey. Turns slowly, but wind still tussles their clothes and hair. Footsteps jostle them so harshly it feels like their teeth might crack. 

“Feeling okay?” Scott asks. 

“Fine,” David spits out, not wanting to be reminded he’s being held tens of feet above the ground, completely vulnerable to someone he barely trusts on a good day. Catches sight of Fritz looking ten times worse than him, eyes shut tight and holding his knees as close as possible like his life depends on it. “Fritz?” 

“H-H-Heights,” is all the kid can say. 

That must be the worst phobia to have while shrunk. Scott’s sympathetic look says the giant agrees. “If there’s anything I can do to make it better-” 

Scott doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Because the second he steps through the kitchen doorway, David’s falling. Lands before he can try to scream. Braces himself for nothing but blinding hot pain. 

Nothing happens. When he opens his eyes, he sees Scott sitting on the ground, hand on his head as he groans from pain. And the sandy haired man is his size. 

What the fuck just happened? 

David pats down his chest. Winces at the pain from it still tender from Scott squeezing him, but other than that, he’s perfectly fine. No broken bones. No ruptured organs. He’s unhurt, and most importantly, he’s six feet tall again. 

...where’s Fritz? 

“Fritz?” David calls. Looks to his right and left. Next to Scott. But the hallways void of the teenager. Meaning he didn’t grow back to his normal height. “Fritz?” 

“David?” Scott blinks. Gasps when it hits him David grew. “How-? 

“Where’s Fritz?” the business man demands. Looks at hands completely empty of miniscule figures. Feels his heart clench at the thought the kid fell. “Scott where’s Fritz?” 

The sandy haired man gapes at him. Once it processes, once he realizes what it means to not know where the kid is, his eyes dart across the floor. “I don’t know. I didn’t even see what happened, I was just knocked into the wall.” 

“Fritz,” David all but pleads. Not daring to move. Afraid he won’t see the kid if he does. Afraid what he might find. “Don’t be an idiot, tell us where you are, kid.” 

“M-M-M-” 

His eyes snap over to the kitchen door at the softest sound he’ll ever encounter. Stares unblinkingly at the tiny figure trying its hardest to become part of the wall. Breathes a sigh of relief when it doesn’t disappear and the familiar features of red hair and a bag over the shoulder confirms it’s Fritz. The kid’s alive, the kid’s alive. 

“You dumbass,” David berates as he turns toward Fritz, careful to go as slow as possible to not spook him, especially with how the poor kid looks like he’s going to bolt at any moment. Trembling so badly it’s impossible to miss despite how small he is. 

Was David really that size? So miniscule that a strong breeze could knock him over? Not even as tall as one of the checkered tiles on the floor? It makes him want to do nothing more than pick Fritz up so he’s safe from everything that could possibly hurt him. David is all too familiar with how dangerous it is to be alone on the ground. 

“Took you long enough.” 

The voice makes David’s skin crawl. After checking to make sure Fritz won't move, he looks down the hallway to see a living shadow standing a few feet away. 

“What the hell do you want?” the business man growls, not happy Vincent decided to show up. What a fantastic end to the worst day of his life. 

“I was just going to make sure you didn’t lock yourself in the kitchen all night,” the purple man shrugs. “I assumed you didn’t want to stay three inches tall for a full 24 hours.” 

That sick son of a bitch. “You mean to tell me that if I had gone right back through that goddamn door, I wouldn’t immediately grown again?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

David’s head snaps over to give Scott a seething glare, silently demanding he take responsibility over his mutated grape. The sandy haired man sighs, fixing Vincent with an unimpressed look. “Was Afton’s intention to put David’s life in danger?” 

“Not at all. But accidents happen, and David deciding to go into the kitchen in the middle of a rush instead of during his rounds after the restaurant's been locked up was just unfortunate timing.” 

“Unfortunate?” David seethes. “I was nearly killed! Several times! Why didn’t you come to save me!” 

“I wasn’t around to help,” Vincent smiles and fuck him. “Besides, it was a happy accident. We’ve been trying to get your companion to come out of hiding for a while now, so I’ll just be taking him and be on my way.” 

Companion? Who-? 

David’s hand hovers protectively over Fritz. “And what exactly will you do with him?” 

“A few tests, a physical, a questionnaire,” Vincent lists. “After that, he no longer has any use.” 

That means Fritz is disposable. After surviving for so long, and is only reward is to be killed once William gets all of the information he wants. 

“You won’t return him to his proper size?” David questions. 

“Can’t,” Vincent says. “Though, if it was possible, he’s a liability, and we can’t have that. You know that, David.” 

Maybe he does. Because that was why he was hesitant about bringing Fritz to William. The cruel man can’t let experiments wonder around. Not with the possibility it can be traced back to Fazbear’s. 

And maybe he doesn’t really give a shit what William wants. “Then he won’t be leaving with you.” 

“It’s not a choice, David.” 

“He’s not hurting anyone, Vince,” Scott pipes up, and the sandy haired man might not be as heartless as originally thought. “He’ll stay within the company, David and I will make sure no one gets their hands on him.” 

“It’s a bit too risky for William, Scotty. What he says goes.” 

“He’s my employee,” David counters. Barely holds back a flinch as amber eyes lock on him with a death stare. The kind that says he’s pushing it. “He got shrunk in my restaurant under my payroll. That means I have first say. And I say he’ll stay here, completely out of the public eye. No one will know he exists.” 

Vincent stares at him for a long moment. David is expecting a knife to slice his throat open at any second. 

The purple man hums. “I will inform William. I may return with orders that it’s your life, or his.” 

They can’t give a response, not when Vincent disappears into the shadows. He fucking hates that thing. 

“Afton’s going to make you pay for that,” Scott huffs. 

“I already can’t go into my own damn kitchen without shrinking,” David growls. “I think I’ve paid plenty.” 

He then ignores Scott completely, turns to Fritz cowering under his hand. Glad the kid didn’t make a break for it, because who knows if that would’ve triggered the mutated grape into hunting him down. 

“Back to you being a dumbass. If I call your name, you better answer, or else I think you’re dead. Are we clear?” 

Fritz seems to look down in shame, but he nods his head in agreement. “Yes, s-sir.” 

David sets his hand in front of the kid. Curls his fingers in twice as a command for Fritz to climb on. “We’re getting you some proper food, and then we’ll talk about arrangements.” 

There’s hesitation. “You...y-you’re letting me stay?” 

“And making sure you’re properly taken care of,” David says. “It won’t be perfect, but you won’t have to risk your neck just to survive.” 

It’s the least he can do. Fritz has more than earned it. And the kid doesn’t deserve to die by William’s hand after surviving against all the odds. 

Miniscule shoes walk across his fingers, David smirking at the fact Fritz isn’t even as tall as his thumb. And unlike Scott, there’s no twitching to send the kid tumbling. Slowly lifts his hand up until they’re eye level without any turbulence. 

If he didn’t know Fritz was there, it’d be hard to feel the miniscule weight of an entire person in his hand. But the kid is here. Terrified, refusing to look anywhere except the palm he’s sitting in, breathing short and quick, 

Instead of an overwhelming sense of power, all David feels is the need to protect. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t lift a finger to nudge at the kid, absolutely fascinated by the miniscule movements of surprise. He could definitely get used to this. 

With the confirmation Fritz is alright, David tucks his hand against his chest before carefully standing up. Looks over at Scott standing up as well and dusting himself off. “Scott, grab a pizza and meet us in the main area.” 

“You can’t grab one?” Scott questions. 

“Not unless you want me shrinking again,” the business man responds as he slowly walks down the hallway. 

He hears a soft ‘I might’, followed by the sound of his request being heeded. Leaving him to glance down to make sure he isn’t jostling Fritz too much. 

David didn’t expect the kid to be looking back at him. “I’m not as bad as Scott, am I?” 

Fritz jolts. “N-No! I mean, he wasn’t bad. Just not...cautious?” 

“He was the worst giant we could’ve asked for,” David declares. 

That earns him a smile. “I wanted to say thank you.” 

This isn't something that earns him a ‘thank you’. This is making up for not being there when Fritz needed him. But he will be working hard for it. 

“I should be thanking you.” 

[corvidcrybaby]

Say, after reading your last commentary on Integra, now I need your POV on something I've been wondering.

What do you think will happen to Hellsing once Integra dies? To Alucard and Seras? Integra has expressed no interest in having children, and since she wants to avoid becoming a vampire, we know she won't be alive forever. Does she have a plan for that?

Hi! Omg so sorry to take so long to get to answering this, life has been insane on my end.

To answer your question, I'd wager there's a plan in place. Whether it pans out according to Integra's expectations or not is what remains to be seen. Integra mentions that the Organization will be passed over to the general military once she passes, and the Crown will thus assume direct control of the agency and its vampires. I'm willing to bet good money that the sigils that bind Alucard and Seras could potentially be transferred. If they are, then they'll keep up their job as the UK's resident vampire pest control until something extreme happens to break that bond of servitude. The nature of these sigils is unfortunately never explored fully, nor how they work, which leaves us with naught but speculation. However, this is my educated guess at how they probably work.

On the other hand, let's entertain the more interesting prospect of if those sigils are less malleable than we think, and it becomes impossible to bend Alucard and Seras to the will of someone else. From there? If the British military effectively has to try to keep these two under control through... What, good will? Threat of force? Both ideas are ultimately laughable. If that is the case, then I think Alucard is going to assess the inheritor's character and convictions. If he finds Integra's replacement to be unworthy, and there are no magic spells forcing him to play nice, then I think he probably peaces out to take a nice long nap. I think he probably goes into hibernation after Integra's passing - which, mind you, I think he'll be destitute following. It would be hard to read from him, but he holds Integra in high esteem, and went out of his way to return to her after Schroödinger-gate. That shows a high degree of loyalty, and I think Alucard would be laying low for a minute. After he wakes up, however, is when I suspect he might piss off into the unknown, wandering around the world - perhaps in search of interesting people to meddle with the lives of, secretly hoping he'll find the next Anderson, the next Integra, et cetera. I suspect he'll probably go right back to eating people, though. I'd put money on him perhaps being a bit more Punisher-esque on the humans he kills for food than before, since he has hinted at the idea of humans rubbing off on him in the series before. So less the kind of guy who devours the most innocent and defenseless people imaginable, and more likely he interferes with mortal affairs that he can justify to himself are morally bankrupt so he has a steady supply of enemies to destroy and humans to feed on. I don't see him turning all of England into a necrotizing wasteland with him at the head. I think that would beneath his interest by now. I think harassing and stalking people he deems unique or entertaining would occupy much of his time post-hibernation.

Seras, however, is interesting. I suspect Seras would stick around at Hellsing of her own volition, and would continue aiding Britain in its cause to protect people and slay undead monsters. That's what she became the person she is while doing, and I think with or without Alucard, she'll keep on generally being a goody two-shoes. But I think even she would grow weary of it eventually. With Integra gone, I think it becomes less and less like the home Seras "grew up" in - and if the new commanders are inept, then I think eventually Seras would reach a breaking point where she too, might go rogue. She might tag along with Alucard for a while, and I'd wager they keep regular contact and check in with one another on a semi-frequent basis (which, for vampires, might mean catching up once a decade or some shit). Seras is her own independent person, especially after accepting her vampirism and drinking blood to become autonomous as Alucard always urged her to be. But just as that's true, I feel their relationship was always one of Seras, despite everything, wanting to remain by Alucard's side. Their relationship would no doubt shift, and I suspect they might grow more reserved with one another, but I think they might find a new kind of emotional intimacy with one another - not romantic (I like Aluseras from time to time but this is my baseline read), to be clear, but I think Seras has the vampire equivalent of her late-twenties-development after Teggy passes. And from there? Anybody's game, but I think she keeps on bumping off rogue vampires - although I think with time, it might become more territorial than altruistic in how she carries herself. Less general heroics talk and more like, a vigilante warden type of dealio. She might come to see Britain as HER TERRITORY which would spell doom for any foreign vampires thinking they can feed on "her" humans. I think time as a vampire makes everybody go a little dark, but this is still pretty tame. It's Seras, after all. She'll flay you to ribbons but only if you really, REALLY press her.

Thanks so much for the ask!!!

[immortalsarcasm]

“Colour” – Echo Grid

Spotify | YouTube

He had found Daniel one night, splayed on the splendid rug before the grand fireplace which Marius so loved for it’s modern convenience and electric design (as much for his own peace of mind as for Daniel’s safety), the younger immortal nestled amid a heap of blankets from an overturned basket at the hearth side, and dressed in a familiar red sweater that Marius knew to be one of his own.

Marius’ gaze had lingered on that lovely sight; Daniel infrequently looking so tranquil as he did then in the lighter sleep of a mortal, which they too could still enjoy; Daniel’s build accentuated by the thick cable knit that draped heavy over that lithe frame, slender hands rising up from too-long sleeves to rest against his own chest. The firelight accentuated the delicate fan of Daniel’s lashes against his cheek and caught the golden threads of Daniel’s fine hair, imbued that fine lingering color of mortality in preternatural flesh that Daniel had yet to lose to time with a pallor that whispered of warmth. And Daniel was warm still compared to Marius, so young in the blood as he was, warm to the touch and his skin not yet so hard as it would become over many more nights and years.

Marius held to that hope still, that Daniel would continue to endure, would continue to change as he continued through time, thought at that very moment Marius was loathe to think too long on those hallmarks of passing time. Daniel who stirred in his slumber, who exhaled and sighed as if mortal breath were still a necessity, who aside from perhaps the most newly made of their kind, retained more lingering humanity than any of them, even more now than Louis du Pointe du Lac. Daniel drawing his arms closer to himself, burying his face into those plush sleeves and breathing deep before relaxing once more with the lowest and contented of hums.

How those movements and sounds pulled at something within Marius. Something long dormant, long forced down, long denied. It was not the first time it had happened, nor would it be the last. Nor for the first time he resisted the desire to reach out and touch that fine cheek and feel the suppleness of it beneath his hard fingertips. The very thought of it caused his hand to close and tighten, as surely as his own throat tightened. Far too impulsive and impetuous to act upon he had reasoned, also not for the first time. Daniel was too precious, too tender for such base longings such as the ones Marius had been caught up in for some months then; and how very often as of late he found himself in the snare of Daniel’s laugh, Daniel’s careless and unruly way of moving, the flash of Daniel’s eyes when, in those rare moment of lucidity, Daniel fixed his gaze on Marius and held him riveted. Daniel was everywhere, had become everything, and had unwittingly become the very center of Marius’ isolated and lonely world.

And Marius had learned to make do in his own way. Stolen, secret pleasures those; fingertips pressed to recently vacated chair backs to feel that dissipating warmth where Daniel had been slumped; taking up those little items left discarded and forgotten in Daniel’s wake, be it book, pen, an errant shoe kicked off halfway down the hall and holding them before at long last returning them to their place where Daniel could again find them and begin the cycle anew.

That too became how he sated himself later that same night; when before sunrise Daniel had come to him, wordlessly pulled off that sweater and pushed it into Marius’ hands before disappearing into his own room, and Marius had been left holding it, feeling that warmth still caught up in the fibers. Marius had, in the privacy of his own room where he retired, lifted it and breathed in deeply, as if the scent of Daniel alone might quicken and sustain him.

[lichen-teeth]

Narfi, He/they. A mischievous catboy whose type is morally questionable wizards. He’s an oc I made for @wormvermin’s Dungeon of Disrepute series. (Hehe I’m that one anon)

I wanted to make someone to match the Wizard’s freak.

Narfi is a sort of trickster god, who loves watching others for his own entertainment. For the most part he doesn’t get involved with his subject of interest, he finds whatever they naturally do much more interesting. They’re fascinated with what perverted things people can come up with, as a pervert themself. He can also get bored really fast if things become repetitive. So he’s frequently searching for new things for his attention to latch onto.

When Narfi does interact with mortals, he loves teasing and messing with them. He only uses his physical form to get physical. They love dominating, being both a bratty and a power bottom, and being in control when subbing. If he loses interest or gets bored, either he’ll spice it up himself or just straight vanishes during the act and leaves.

A particular interest of Narfi is of self-absorbed wizards and similar beings trying to play god. He’s annoyed by their egotistical nature, which is ironic because Narfi’s also quite egotistical. He finds the idea of dominating, humbling or humiliating them very tantalizing.

Which brings me to why Narfi’s in this dungeon in the first place.

He’s never really had an interest in dungeons, or doing any form of adventuring. He then heard word of a particular sex dungeon, which he found hilarious as a concept. They became enthralled with the idea of what kind of individual would come up with such a thing and pull it off.

Narfi then saw the Wizard and made it his mission to bed that man.

They could just use his abilities to immediately appear with the Wizard, but that would be too easy and not nearly as fun as if the Wizard is his reward after a long journey. Also there’s this whole dungeon, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. He also wants the chance to watch what happens inside, and admire the craftsmanship.

Narfi decides to go under the guise of a regular adventurer. They also have a special plan to do a celibacy run of the dungeon to edge both himself and the Wizard till they get to him. When Narfi finds a new toy, he becomes fixated on them. So he has no interest in the dungeon’s traps, and will find it easy to avoid them with his abilities. Even if anything were to get to them, his physical form doesn’t have any genitalia until they decide to form some. It’s also another form of edging which would keep the Wizard’s magic fleshlights from doing anything. Under different circumstances, Narfi would have a field day in this dungeon.

Narfi’s disguise is made to help with his celibacy run, while also displaying how he doesn’t exactly fit in this world. They’ll find no problem with avoiding monsters, but just in case, Narfi wears about 7 different layers of clothing. This inhibits his movement a lot, but it also makes him seem more mysterious with his deliberate movements.

His mask is a respirator to keep spores from affecting him. This was from before I read DofD #1. When I heard about the concept of the sex pollen from the synopsis, I thought there were going to be rooms full of the spores that the characters had to pass through. I was incorrect, but I kept the mask because it looks cool, and gives Narfi a more out of place look. I wanted that since he’s not from the same world.

Narfi wanted to look like a knight. He based a lot of his look on historic knights of the 15th century. Which doesn’t make sense with either the plated shoes and futuristic respirator. Narfi also completely forgot about something important. He doesn’t have any physical weapons whatsoever. He doesn’t need any since magic is his weapon, but it’s hard to pass as a knight without weapons. They were just too horny about wizards to remember that part I guess.

I have so much more to say about Narfi but that’s all for now. Be prepared to see this catboy a lot more.

[mylo-space]

Welcome to Your Future

Chapter 11: epilogue.

-

When Pigsy told MK that Macaque had gotten his memories back, he’d sort of expected a little more out of the situation. He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of it exactly, but he’d at least expected the shadow to be a tad less antisocial, but there hadn’t been any sign of Macaque in days. Pigsy and Tang had suggested giving Macaque space, and he had, but after a week of radio silence, MK decided that he was tired of waiting around.

He pulled up to the dojo on a day that was meant to be for training anyway, so it wasn’t as though he was trying to blindside Macaque with a surprise visit. Besides, he reasoned to himself as he parked the tuk-tuk outside, it wasn’t as though Macaque couldn’t hear him coming, what with the ‘magic hearing’ and all. And if the shadow had any qualms about him coming with no notice, then MK might suggest that Macaque get a phone so he didn’t have to be surprised by visitors–not that the recluse appeared to get many.

It seemed any concerns about surprising Macaque were unfounded, though, evidenced by the door opening before MK could even make it up the front steps, much less work up the courage to knock. “Hey, kiddo,” Macaque greeted, “I was wondering when you were going to show up. I was starting to get worried.”

MK spluttered for a moment, “You were- well, if you were so worried, why didn’t you come by the noodle shop or something?” he demanded. “You could have at least told me you were okay instead of just hiding out here in your dojo.”

“Yeah, probably could have,” Macaque agreed, stepping out of the door frame to let MK inside. “Come on in,” he called over his shoulder, “and take your shoes off. I just finished cleaning up in here.”

Crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him, MK was surprised to find a considerably less intimidating building than the one he’d gotten used to. Macaque’s place had never been particularly unclean, but it looked dusted and tidied, and the weapon racks that MK had been knocked into more than a few times were tucked against the far walls. “Huh,” he said, kicking off his shoes as he took a glance around, “so, uh… did some redecorating?”

“Figured I could do with an update,” Macaque confirmed. “I was recently reminded of the many wonders of the Mortal Realm,” he gestured to a TV sitting across from some new furniture–a couple of cozy-looking chairs with end tables. “This place doesn’t really serve me well as a dojo anymore, so I got some things to make it more comfortable.”

“It’s homey,” MK complimented, noting the rug spread across the floor and shuffling around on it aimlessly. Macaque hummed his appreciation, busying himself with something in another room–a kitchenette of some kind that MK hadn’t really noticed until that point. “This is kinda- like, this is weird for you.”

Macaque chuckled. “It’s not, actually,” he informed MK. “My alcove in Water Curtain Cave looked a lot like this before I brought most of the stuff here.” Something clattered, and MK peeked around a corner to see Macaque setting out an electric kettle–perhaps another ‘Wonder of the Mortal Realm’ that the warrior had taken a liking to. “It’s not quite Wukong’s treasure cove, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to organize.”

“Yeah, I don't think Monkey King ever bothers to actually organize that stuff,” MK mused, leaving Macaque to his devices and walking in awed circles around the room. The building was still made of hard floors and exposed pipes, but they looked less ominous with sprawling rugs and Macaque’s collection of artifacts on display. MK had seen a lot of them before, mostly the weapons, but the slight remodel made a surprising amount of difference, drawing MK’s eyes to the paintings rather than the spears and swords.

There had always been a number of pictures adorning the walls, but they had been straightened and cleaned to show off the vibrant colors. They were old, paint cracked with age, but Macaque had clearly taken good care of them over the years. Somehow, MK wasn’t particularly surprised by the idea of Macaque collecting and maintaining them; given the whole shadowplay incident, Macaque really did seem like a lover of the arts, when he wasn’t busy being the world’s shadiest teacher.

“You mind watering that evergreen behind you?” Macaque called. “Doesn’t need much, there’s a spray bottle next to it.”

MK glanced around, spotting a plant on a table in the corner. There were a few of them, he noted, but the one behind him was small with a few dry-edged leaves. “Uh- yeah, sure,” he grabbed the small spray bottle, giving it an experimental spritz before aiming it at the plant. “You trying to pick up a new, uh- like, a plant hobby? Because this is kinda cool, you know? It’s better than the shadowplay thing, anyhow.” He cleared his throat, setting aside the spray bottle, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Macaque said easily. “Hope I haven’t put you off shadowplays too much,” he made his way across the room with two steaming mugs. “They’re not a bad medium for storytelling if you use them right.”

Gingerly taking an offered mug, MK replied, “Yeah, well, maybe you can show me a less nefarious type of shadowplay next time.” He absently blew at the floral steam, the smell of tea calming his nerves a bit, “You do know, like, normal shadowplays, right?”

Macaque hummed. “Guess we’ll have to find out, huh?” MK made a disapproving sound and took a sip of the tea in his mug, though he quickly pulled away, the contents far too hot to enjoy properly. “So,” Macaque continued, indifferent to MK’s glare, “what brings you by?”

“Gee, I wonder,” MK muttered, setting his mug on an end table to cool. “Not like you disappeared for a week or anything.” He gave the warrior a pointed glance. Macaque at least had the decency to look something close to apologetic, idly swirling his tea with an odd, pensive stare. “Are you hiding out here to avoid Monkey King?”

“I’m hiding out here because it’s my house,” Macaque corrected, moving to set down his mug. “And I’m not avoiding Wukong, I already talked to the guy a couple days ago.”

MK balked, “You did?” he asked incredulously. “You guys weren’t fighting, were you? Because he’s not- are you listening to me?” he demanded as Macaque turned to walk away, the shadow giving him nothing but a dismissive wave in response. “Look, with the- you know, the whole Azure thing? I don’t think Monkey King is in a good place to be fighting people that used to be his friend.”

“Relax,” Macaque said, inspecting a tall plant in a corner of the room. “There was minimal fighting involved.” 

“Minimal fighting,” MK echoed. “And what does minimal fighting look like with you two?”

Macaque tsked and opened up a portal, reaching through and pulling out a small watering can. “Tend your own garden, kid.”

Certain that Macaque was using a turn of phrase, but uncertain of the meaning, MK gestured to the plant he’d just watered. “I just helped water your plants.”

“It’s a kinder way of saying ‘mind your own business’,” Macaque supplied, once again disappearing into the kitchenette. “You’re so hung up about what Wukong and I are doing,” he called over the sound of running water, “too worried about everything else to worry about yourself.” MK pursed his lips in thought, watching Macaque make his back to the plant in the corner. “You should be asking questions about the things you actually want to know.”

“I actually wanna know what’s up with you and Monkey King,” MK protested.

Macaque nodded absently, “Uh-huh, I’m sure you do,” he said, “but whatever issues I have with Wukong, and the issues Wukong has with me, aren’t any of your business.” His movements slowed for a moment, brows furrowing. “It wasn’t fair of me to put you in the middle of our fight in the first place, and I’m… I regret doing that.”

Which was almost an apology, MK thought, the closest he’d get from Macaque, anyway. Still, “So… why did you do it, then?” he asked cautiously, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “I mean, like, I get you have issues with Monkey King and all, but that seemed, uh- personal.”

“It was a bit,” Macaque agreed. “I definitely wanted a fight with Wukong, but there was a lesson in there for you. I should have been a lot better about that than I was, though,” he admitted. “I got hung up in all the ways you were like Wukong, I thought you had to be taught lessons the same way, too.”

MK tilted his head. “With a circlet?”

“By force,” Macaque clarified. “I knew what the Lady could do, and I thought I was preparing you for it by taking your powers, making you watch me fight Wukong.” He reached with his leg for a small stool, stepping up to water a small, hanging plant. “And I didn’t want you making the same mistake Wukong did when it came to the friends department,” he added. “He made everything a hundred times harder for himself by not listening to the people that cared about him, and I couldn’t risk you making that mistake with Lady Bone Demon putting the universe on the line.”

“Is that why you put my friends in your stupid magic lantern?” MK stressed  “I did notice they were gone, you know; I just thought they were just ignoring me. I mean, I definitely could have been listening to them better,” he admitted, crossing his arms self-consciously over his chest, “but I wasn’t, like- it wasn’t like what you described in that play.” He shook himself, summoning back his frustration. “Seriously, how did you think that was a good lesson plan?”

Macaque made a vague noise, carefully dropping off the stool and kicking it back where he found it. “Eh, hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

“No, that- that is not ‘eh’, and then we move on,” MK said firmly, something close to anger taking root in his chest. “You kidnapped my friends,” he emphasized. “I don’t care how ambiguous your morals are, I know you know that wasn’t cool.” He jabbed a finger at Macaque angrily, “I can deal with you pinning me to mountains, and teaching harsh lessons about fighting and not fighting or- just, whatever, okay? But-”

“Your tea’s cooled,” Macaque interjected easily, taking his watering can to another potted plant. “Wait much longer and it’s gonna be cold.”

“This is seriously what you’re doing now,” MK demanded, trailing Macaque around the room. “You- you’re just making tea and tending to houseplants, huh? That’s it?”

Macaque hummed, tilting the watering can over another plant. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

“I’m not buying it,” MK said flatly.

“I reckon there’s not a lot I could say that would convince you.” Macaque opened up another portal, sticking the watering can inside. “But there’s really just not much else for me to do anymore.” The portal closed and Macaque gestured to a chair, inviting MK to sit. “I figured it’d be better to be somewhat productive with my free time now that I’m not scheming as much.”

“As much?” MK echoed, edging closer to the chair next to the end table where he’d placed his mug.

Macaque shot him a sly smile, “Well, you can’t blame me for scheming just a little,” he reasoned. “Wukong and I might not hate each other at the moment, but that doesn’t mean he’s not fun to mess with.” MK gave him a disapproving glance. “Hey, the teasing is mutual. You won’t catch Wukong saying a nice thing about me anytime soon, I’m allowed to mess with him just a teeny bit.”

“Yeah, whatever,” MK muttered, finally plopping down in the chair. “None of my business, anyway, right?”

“See, now you’re getting it,” Macaque praised. “You can't always be running around in other peoples’ business.” He reached through a portal and plucked out his own mug of tea. “Can't help anybody if you're not taking care of yourself.” His nose scrunched in thought. “Well, I guess you could, but what’s that gotten you so far? Wears you out after a while.”

There was a part of MK that wanted to argue, because being a hero meant you always helped; busy, tired, scared, a hero was supposed to help. Maybe looking out for number one worked for people like Macaque, but MK had been bestowed with a power he couldn’t run away from, and knew he had to use those powers to help people. Just because Macaque was kind of a selfish asshole, didn’t mean MK had to be. 

But as much as MK liked to play dumb sometimes, he’d seen firsthand what Macaque and Monkey King’s relationship looked like before disaster had struck. Macaque, before he’d been a scarred, mysterious shade, was a good, unwaveringly loyal friend who followed Monkey King, no matter how stupid and hopeless and lost the cause was.

The shadow had helped fight an Emperor to build a paradise, and what did it get him?

“Okay,” MK said slowly, carefully picking up his mug of tea and cradling it in both hands, “I think I got it.”

Macaque hummed. “Got what?”

“This lesson,” MK shuffled to sit a little more comfortably. “The whole ‘tend my own garden’ thing.”

“Wouldn’t be a very good co-mentor if I didn’t teach you anything,” Macaque replied. “What do you think?”

MK sipped thoughtfully at his tea while Macaque took a seat, grunting a bit as he lowered himself into the plush-looking chair. “I think,” he started slowly, “if you want to keep co-mentoring me with Monkey King, then you have to stop talking bad about him all the time.”

“Probably,” Macaque agreed.

“But if I keep asking about Monkey King,” MK continued, “then you’re probably gonna end up saying something I won’t like.”

“And,” Macaque added, “your noodle shop friends tell me that you’re waiting for Wukong to be honest with you. Asking me about things kinda defeats the purpose of waiting.”

Disappointment tugged a bit at the corner of MK’s mouth. “Well, am I ever going to get a straight conversation out of you? About anything?” he demanded.

Macaque shrugged. “I did promise you at least one.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I sorta promised Wukong that I’d stop being such an asshole to you and your friends.” Before MK could express any kind of hope about the situation, Macaque added, “Wukong isn’t safe, though. He gets all my wrath, all the time.” He chuckled a bit as MK deflated. “Sorry, kiddo, but we still got a long way to go before Wukong gets any sort of kindness out of me.”

“Oh, yeah?” MK asked. “Then what was that smile in the Scroll all about?”

“None of your business,” Macaque sang. “That’s about to become your least favorite phrase, by the way. Keeping you out of my qualms with Wukong means you don’t get any more monologues.” He set aside his mug of tea. “But, as long as you’re asking the right questions, I’ll be as honest as I can be.”

“Great,” MK deadpanned, preparing himself to deal with Macaque’s convoluted way of giving advice. “So, what can I ask about?”

“Depends,” Macaque replied unhelpfully. “What do you want to know?”

MK thought for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly, “I guess I wanna know… I mean, you don’t hate Monkey King like you say you do, right?” Macaque merely blinked at him, looking unimpressed with the line of questioning. “Come on, man, give me something.”

Macaque made a vague, contemplative sound. “Alright,” he conceded, “I don't hate Wukong.” His head tilted a bit, studying MK carefully. “Satisfied with that answer?”

Hesitating for a moment, MK furrowed his brow at his tea. “No,” he muttered, “not really.” He set his half-finished tea back on the table and declared, “This sucks.”

“Because you’re still not asking the right questions,” Macaque insisted, settling into his chair and reaching for his mug. “What do you want to know?”

“You-” MK huffed in frustration, “You don’t hate him, but you sure did act like it.” Macaque hummed into his cup of tea. “But now you're- you know, this. And, I don't know, maybe…” He racked his brain for a way to properly phrase his question. “Why don’t you hate Monkey King?” he tried.

Macaque clicked his tongue. “You know… that is an interesting thing to ask.” He shook his head, looking something between exasperated and fond. “You're going for the real heavy hitting questions, huh?”

“A certain co-mentor of mine encouraged me to never hold back,” MK reminded him.

“True,” Macaque conceded, putting his mug aside and lacing his fingers together. “Let’s see… I guess I could hate Wukong. I’ve certainly got enough reason to, more than most folks who hate the guy.” His head tilted thoughtfully. “But hating someone takes more energy than people realize and, frankly, I’m just too tired for that anymore.”

MK’s brow furrowed. “You’re… too tired to hate Monkey King,” he clarified doubtfully. “I’m pretty sure you run on spite, dude, you don’t ‘get tired’ of anything.” He narrowed his eyes. “I thought we were gonna be honest here.”

Chuckling, Macaque admitted, “Well, it’s not exactly a lie, but I suppose there is more to it than that.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Look, Wukong and I, we knew each other for a long time,” he explained, “and people like that just become a part of you, whether you like it or not.” His gaze grew distant for a moment. “Hating them doesn’t accomplish much when it feels like hating part of yourself.” He appeared to snap back into focus, turning on MK with a question of his own, “I mean, do you think you could hate any of your noodle shop friends?”

“Of course not,” MK said immediately. “Never. I’m, uh…” He tittered nervously. “I’m more scared of them hating me, to be honest.”

The shadow raised an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked teasingly, “because you’re always dragging them into helping you save the world?” MK glanced away at that, and Macaque must have realized that he hit a sore spot, because he amended with, “You know you’re not actually dragging them into your problems, right? They help because they care.”

“Well, sure, but nobody really dragged you into helping Monkey King, either,” MK protested. “You did it because you cared about him, and now you're... not friends, anymore. Or you pretend not to be.” He picked anxiously at the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t want that to happen to me and my friends, you know? I don't wanna end up pushing everyone away.”

“I don’t think you’ll have that problem,” Macaque tried, “you’re not Wukong, kiddo.”

“But I'm still ‘just that bit too much like him’, right?” MK muttered bitterly.

“In some ways,” Macaque replied, “yes. But you’re not like him in the worst ways.” MK glanced up at him curiously. “Wukong loves to fight, you know. Loves the thrill, loves the glory,” his lip curled a bit in disdain, “loves to win.” MK had just enough time for a heartbeat of panic before the shadow’s expression smoothed over, “He’s gotten marginally better about choosing his battles, but he still loves it.”

MK made a disinterested sound, “Fighting, yeah,” he slumped in his chair a bit, “not a huge fan of that, myself.” Macaque hummed in agreement. “You think that’s a good thing?” MK asked. “Historically speaking, it’s how I’ve solved all my problems.” He weakly mimed punching the air. “You know, by fighting them.”

“And it caused all of Wukong’s,” Macaque pointed out. “You fight because you have to fight, not because you like it.” He gave a vague wave of his hand, “And maybe that’s caused a few hangups, but it’s also given you allies. Friends, even.”

And MK frowned for a moment before realizing what Macaque meant. “What, like Redson?” he asked. “I mean, ‘friend’ is the word I would use, but I don’t think-”

“It’s not just about Redson,” Macaque interjected. “A year ago, the entire Bull family wanted you dead, and now they’re entertaining you for dinner.” MK pursed his lips in thought. “It’s about Spider Queen giving you time to escape the Lady because you talked to her instead of kicking her while she was down.” MK’s head snapped up at that. “Good hearing, remember?”

“Right, the hearing.” Fiddling with the fabric of the chair, MK admitted, “Look, I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at here.” Macaque tilted his head. “I made a friend out of someone who wanted to kill me, and some other lady who wanted to kill me died so that I could escape–surprise!-another person who wanted to kill me.” 

The shadow’s brow furrowed. “Uh… well, yeah. You made allies. Even if they were temporary allies, I’m telling you that’s a good thing. ” He leaned forward a bit to try and meet MK’s gaze. “What’s eating you?”

“Macaque, all those people got hurt!” MK exploded. “People who literally wanted me dead got hurt because of me.” He crossed his arms, curling into the chair defensively. “You say I’m good at making friends like that makes me any better than Monkey King, but what good is that if they’re still gonna get hurt, anyway?” He scoffed, “The only difference is that they trust me first. That doesn’t seem any better.”

An understanding washed over Macaque, his expression softening somewhat. “Ah. I see.” He sighed, and MK was shocked to see a glimmer of magic flick over Macaque’s face. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you overheard Wukong and I arguing about, would it?” MK’s gaze darted away as a long, jagged scar came into view. “Kid, I said I was gonna be honest, but I can’t do that if you don’t ask the right questions. So, do you want an answer or not?”

For a long few moments, MK wrestled the decision, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ve tried leaving my friends out of my problems, and it doesn’t work.” He took a breath, slow and steadying, “They just insist on coming anyway, or- or they get taken from me, and I’ve-” He sat up straight, “It’s pure luck that I haven’t lost any of my friends so far. That luck is going to run out, and then what?

“One of these days, they’re gonna get hurt in a way I can’t protect them from, and they didn’t sign up for that!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I didn’t even sign up for that!” He stood up, waving his hands around in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for- I’m a delivery boy! I didn’t want to fight people, I didn’t wanna almost get my friends killed!” He rubbed the back of his neck, pacing a small circle around the new furniture. “I mean, it was cool, you know? Beating the Demon Bull King, saving the city, Tim and Jim–or whatever those twin demons call themselves.

“But saving the universe?” MK pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Like, yeah, if I have to, but it sucks. It sucks for me and all the people I drag into it!” He turned to walk in the other direction, circling the chair like a clock. “Enemy people, friend people, people who hate me, people who care about me…” hesitation slowed his steps, “and people like you.” Shame crept into his chest, quickly realizing how emphatic he’d gotten over what was meant to be a civil conversation. “I keep hurting everyone in my path, and now I’m here, rambling to you about my problems. Again.”

“Kid,” Macaque pressed, insisting as gently as he could, clearly aware of how worked up MK had made himself. “What do you wanna know?”

MK shook his head. “I don’t know. I think-” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I mean, you and Monkey King were close, right? And you got really hurt.” His hands closed into fists, balled in the fabric of his jacket where Macaque couldn’t see the stress. “Did you ever regret it? Being his friend?”

For one heart-stopping moment, Macaque simply stared at him. Then, “I have several incredibly complicated feelings about Wukong,” he said finally, “and I have more regrets than I could ever put into words, but I don’t think my time on Flower Fruit Mountain will ever be one of them.” Macaque firmly set his mug on the end table. “Wukong was–and sometimes is –a selfish asshole. But,” he added before MK could protest, “we fell out with each other because we weren’t good at communicating what we wanted. You and your friends, you don’t have that issue.”

“I sometimes have that issue,” MK admitted. “A little bit, um… I wasn’t exactly forthcoming when I first found out about the Lady Bone Demon.” He winced, remembering Tang's expression asking if MK knew something he wasn't sharing. "Definitely kept that stuff to myself longer than I should have."

“Wukong and I weren't much better,” Macaque pointed out. “Kid, every hero has their whole, ‘I gotta do everything myself’ phase. It was a mistake, and you learned from it. The moment you start keeping things from them so that you can pursue power and glory is when you should start being concerned."

At that, MK shook his head, “No, I don’t care about- I don’t do any of this for glory.”

“And that’s where you and Wukong are very different,” Macaque assured him. “You’re going to make mistakes.” MK collapsed back into his chair. “I mean, a lot of mistakes.”

“Thanks,” MK grumbled, “you always know how to cheer me up.”

Macaque’s eyes narrowed a bit. “You didn’t come here to be cheered up,” he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “You came here for an honest conversation.” He took a breath. “And I’m telling you, with as much honesty as I can, that your mistakes aren’t going to define you. They won’t make you the next Wukong, and they’re not gonna make all your friends hate you.”

MK shifted a bit, mulling over Macaque’s surprisingly sage advice. “Are you sure?”

“If all the shit Wukong put me through couldn’t make me hate him,” Macaque said, “then I’m sure you’re gonna do just fine.” He was quiet for a moment, perhaps just letting MK take in the words. “Was that what you wanted to know?”

Hesitating for just a moment, MK replied, “Actually, yeah. I think it was.” He hadn’t realized that was what he wanted to know, but he found that was often the case when dealing with Macaque and Monkey King. Whether it was training or advice, MK somehow always managed to figure out the things he needed to know, even if it wasn’t what he’d set out to learn.

“Good.” Macaque said. ”Then you’re finally asking the right questions.” He reached for his tea and swirled it absently, letting MK sit with the advice for a few more contemplative moments. Then he said, “Okay, enough of that.”

MK blinked at Macaque in confusion as he sipped delicately at his tea. “Enough… what, honesty?”

“Emotions,” Macaque corrected. “Did Wukong ever tell you about his clone incident?”

“Uh… well, no,” MK said, blindly reaching for his mug. “Why, are you gonna tell me? What happened to ‘tending my own garden’?”

“What happened to being curious?” Macaque retorted. “Our fights aren’t your business, but what’s a few good stories gonna hurt?” He leaned against the arm of his chair. “Believe it or not, Wukong wasn’t all fire and brimstone back in the day. I get the feeling you hear enough about his worst days; the least I could do is tell you about his better ones.”

MK narrowed his eyes warily, “That is... weirdly nice of you,” he accused, “why would you do that?” Macaque opened his mouth, probably to brush aside the question, but MK interjected, “You don’t get to use the ‘just because’ excuse with me, man. In my experience, you don’t do anything ‘just because’ and it’s usually for a bad reason.”

The shadow’s jaw worked with some internal debate for a moment before he spoke again, “Do you remember me explaining how my Listening works?”

“Uh… vaguely?” MK replied.

“Okay, well, the reason I lost so many memories is because I was Listening to me and Wukong from our really early days,” Macaque explained. “I wasn’t careful about it, and it was… I mean, you saw how that ended up working out.” He glanced away, as though embarrassed by admittance. “And I’d rather not accidentally give myself amnesia again, so I thought talking could be a better way of reminiscing on old times.”

A smile found its way to MK’s face. “Reminiscing, huh?” he asked, met with a low, warning sound from Macaque. “I know you said you don’t hate the guy, but getting, like, nostalgic for the ‘good old days’ is kinda-”

“Hey,” Macaque interrupted, “I said to tend your own garden, kiddo; I’m trying to bury a hatchet in mine, and it’s none of your business.” MK huffed in defeat, already bitter about how accurately Macaque had predicted that he’d hate the phrase. “Now, that is all the honesty you’re getting out of me today, so do you want to hear a story or not?”

MK grumbled a bit, “Thought you were gonna be less of an asshole.” Macaque raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, fine, fine, I wanna hear the story,” he relented. “But only if you’ll watch TV with me after.”

“You’re going to show me that show about dragon squares, aren’t you,” Macaque deadpanned. “What makes you think I’m gonna watch some stupid show about Wukong?”

“Because you said I was allowed to bug you about watching the anime thing with me,” MK replied cheekily. “You promised.”

Macaque rolled his eyes. “I made that promise when I was a much nicer person, kiddo,” he pointed out. “I don’t know if I feel like keeping that promise.”

MK shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m too optimistic for my own good,” he said plainly. “So, I’m just gonna bug you about it until you eventually say yes.”

The shadow took a breath, considering MK for a moment before his eyes lifted to the ceiling in exasperation, “I already regret promising to be less of an asshole.”

“Well, I regret nothing,” MK said delightedly, knowing that the defeat in Macaque’s voice meant that he’d already won. “Now, tell me a story.”

Macaque sighed, “And this is my future,” he muttered, “entertaining Wukong’s latest bunch of mortal friends.” He ran a hand over his face, glaring at MK tiredly, though a small smile eased the expression a bit. “You know, I think Heaven might have sent you as karma.”

“I think Heaven probably had nothing to do with this, actually,” MK said, scooting to the edge of his seat. “Now tell me about the clone incident so we can watch TV.” His hands tapped his knees excitedly. “Like, you were actually washing blue paint out of your hair for days? Was it a painting clone? Because I actually had one of those, but-”

“Easy with the questions, kiddo, I can't tell the story until you stop chattering." Macaque chuckled, "You’re lucky you’re such a good kid, you know that? It’s gonna get you real far in life if it doesn’t get you killed."

MK gave a flippant wave of his hand, “Eh, I’ll worry about the rest of my life when it gets here." After saving the universe from being destroyed twice, MK was eager to take things as slow as possible until the next time he had to be a hero. Until the world ended again, MK was all arcade games and storytimes and noodle delivery driving; 'the rest of his life' was a million mile sprint away for all he cared. "All being a good kid gets me at the moment is a potentially embarrassing story about you and Monkey King, and that’s good enough for now.”

Macaque smiled, “Good enough for now, huh? Well," he leaned forward a bit, holding out his mug, “here’s to ‘good enough for now’.”

Holding out his own mug, MK met Macaque in the middle, mug clinking together in a small show of camaraderie. He was far from satisfied with how everything played out in the end, and he still had more questions than answers when it came to Monkey King and Macaque, but, “Good enough for now,” he agreed. He'd have all the time in the world to figure out the rest.

[mindsafe]

❛ the lights are too damn bright. ❜

passing cars glare at him through the crack in between curtains. the whites of their cold, hard eyes are almost blinding. fucking voyeurs.

kenny is drunk. not as drunk as he could be, but drunk all the same. he's drunk enough that he fumbles with the lock && key to the ( shared ) apartment; he's NOT drunk enough to trip over the doormat when he enters // he's drunk enough that his jacket reeks of tobacco && whiskey, && its intoxicating scent clings to stale air; he's NOT drunk enough to forget to take off his shoes && leave them by the door ― shoe racks are a waste of money && space, he argues // he's drunk enough that his legs give out && he collapses at his altar, like a blind heretic; he's NOT drunk enough to forget the scriptures that he recites into skin, && for once, he believes every word: ❝ --I LOVE YOU. ❞

religion has always been a source of contention. as a boy, his grandfather had taken him to synagogue && tried to instill in him the core values of the faith: COMPASSION. HUMAN DIGNITY. INTEGRITY. JUSTICE. QUESTIONING. COMMUNITY. it made sense, until it didn't. too many rules; too many contradictions; too many hands grasping at straws for some kind of meaning. for every ethical dilemma, there were at least a dozen answers; for every answer there were at least a dozen arguments for stringency && leniency. how the hell is one man supposed to know right from wrong, if no one else does? maybe that's what made it beautiful; maybe that's why he still holds onto his piece of shared imperfection.

kenny stopped attending synagogue after his grandfather passed. he never liked praying; never found any meaning in it. that changed when he found uri, or rather, when uri found him ― on his back && under a car, stealing a fucking catalytic converter. as it happened, they took a liking to one another // as it happened, kenny took a liking to prayer. he'd make countless pilgrimages to the temple erected in between his lover's thighs, where he'd confess his love, instead of his sins. he doesn't want forgiveness. he just wants to be a part of something.

kenny is drunk. not as drunk as he could be, but drunk all the same. he's TOO drunk to entertain the raunchy ideas that cross his mind ( he remembers a life before ‘ whiskey dick ’. two lives, but who's counting? ); he's NOT drunk enough to pass out in the man's lap, like a mutt picked up off a street corner ― although that wouldn't be too far off from what happened. . . he loses himself in soothing words && careful fingers that keep him tethered to the present.

his breath is sweetish sour when he finally exhales. ❝ you should talk more often. . . i like hearin' you talk. . . whenever i talk, i don't know what the fuck i'm sayin; i don't even think about it. but you? you could breathe life into a fucking obituary. ❞ kenny never liked quiet places. when serenity was too oppressive, he'd throw a bottle just to hear it break; he'd drive his knuckles into the wall just to savor the echoing impact. he's strangely quiet tonight, staring at the tired reflections in the tv screen. passing sirens bathe them in shades of red, white, && blue. for a fleeting second, they're ETERNAL, until darkness paints them as mortal; as something imperfect. laugh lines, && crow's feet. . . jeez, he's gettin' old ― they both are.

uri was robbed of a long life, old age, && a peaceful death ― things kenny took for granted. he thought it was all boring. the word he was looking for was: ‘ uncomfortable ’. he was so sure that his grandfather's shoes didn't fit him. that he didn't belong anywhere. getting old doesn't scare him in this life. he wonders if it scares uri. if uri is ‘ uncomfortable ’.

❛ the lights are STILL too damn bright. ❜

kenny is drunk. not as drunk as he could be, but drunk all the same. he's JUST DRUNK ENOUGH that when he speaks, he speaks with ( slurred ) conviction && doesn't know when to shut up. uri never tells him to shut up. he cranes his neck, angling his face towards the other man after what feels like a lifetime. he's so pretty.

❝ i don't like FORGIVENESS. forgiveness feels too much like making a promise: let's say i ask you to forgive me for screwin' the pooch, && you forgive me with the expectation that i don't do it again; that i try && be a better man. . . well, what if i end up doing the same thing again? maybe it was an accident, maybe i had no choice, maybe i'm just a sick son of a bitch. . . either way, i broke my promise. i lied to you. i don't ever wanna lie to you. . . ❞ kenny pauses to breathe. to think.

❝ i don't want forgiveness, uri. . . i just want to belong. tell me i belong. ❞

car headlights sweep through the curtains of uri’s apartment. kenny has still refused to claim the space for himself, but he leaves traces of himself littered across the apartment. he’s there in the smell of smoke on couch cushions, in garish memorabilia that he bestows upon uri as gifts, with the slump of his jacket thrown over the kitchen counter. car headlights sweep through & paint uri pale. they paint kenny pale too.

kenny is drunk, uri thinks. or else he wants to be drunk. his legs knock against the coffee table as he sprawls against the floor. it makes uri’s knees ache to think of standing from such a position, so he sits on the couch next to him. their proximity is such that kenny flattens his cheek against his thigh. uri slides a hand through his hair.

kenny remembers all of it now & refuses to lay out with his tongue. instead, he has made a recent habit of swallowing it back with an amber burn. hard liquor in the first life hadn’t been enough to ever give him relief. kenny had told him that once, when they shared drinks in front of a fireplace. back then, his tolerance for drink had been incomparable. it still feels incomparable, but drink is enough of an aid to bring him to his knees.

it's a humbling thing to see a mountain kneel, to see a man pay homage to him when he himself has the energy to make mountains grow legs & walk.

in this world, there is never reason for any man to pay him homage. but uri is the residue of a god in a modern life & he remembers the benefits of deification. he remembers how he always felt resonance in the way that he spoke, in the way that something always pressed at the cage of his ribs & threatened that he was something larger.

he is the residue. & kenny recognized it in him even before he remembered. he ignored simple facts : that uri is less than his name; he is more than his name. he ignored these things & spoke too freely about thieving acts as though his crimes were a blessing that he bestowed upon uri, & uri had agreed.

even a god appreciates the magnificence of mountains. car headlights sweep through apartment curtains & highlight that in this life, the one one that they both remember, he is mortal.

he’s not sure how to be mortal. how to pretend that he knows how to answer domestic demands, how to keep a home. he’s not sure how to stay in one time, one place. he’s not sure how to give kenny a reason to want to stay sober. how to lie & say that he thinks that this life will have a different trajectory.

another car passes & highlights too much. he keeps stroking kenny’s hair. as though he hadn’t vanished for two weeks. as though uri had handled his absence well, had prioritized self-sustenance, hadn’t felt as though he were missing the noise of the paths that don’t exist in this life.

in this life, kenny is still a mountain. he is still a natural wonder, but demands in this world have not asked him to be more. to be ackerman, to be supreme. in this life, his name is reiss. his name is his name is uri. he is his name. he is less than his name, he is more than his name. he has the ability to preach with no convictions, & he hasn’t figured out how to look past the residue.

he doesn’t think kenny knows this. but kenny presses his cheek to his thigh & sinks into comforts, sinks into the want for belief.

kenny has always wanted belief, has always wanted to mold religion against the weathering of his skin & soul. he wanted a place on the pathways that uri could see, & sometimes he looked to uri for more honest sermons than those he would give before a crowd.

but this is a second life, one in which they’ve been stripped of past power & reallocated into a new religious purgatory. in this second life, there are a lot of unspoken wants turn into raw wires & it feels like the first time that it is appropriate for uri to look at kenny as a man, for kenny to look at him as a man.

car headlights expose too much. uri dances his fingers alongside kenny’s temple & taps at the bone of his cheek.

he sinks into speech as though it were a ritual habit, as though it could fill the space. ‘ i’m sorry you remember things now, ‘ he says & means it. uri keeps talking, anyway. he talks around apologies that he never specifies — for the things that he will never be, about the pieces of kenny he remembers, about the good he remembers & paradise. he talks about the groceries he hasn’t bought, about the miles that kenny has put on his truck. he tells kenny sweet things over & over again. because he knows they will soothe.

he means them, too. but his tongue is practiced to preach.

‘ that’s what i believe, ‘ he concludes. his voice is a murmur. kenny noses at the space above his knee. uri feels too conscious of the intimacy, of the pitiful men they have become. he’s too conscious that there is a mountain kneeling before him, pledging to pay homage.

‘ for you? i will be any believer you want me to be ‘ kenny says. his voice slurs. he sounds tired. he says things that uri already knows, & he feels it sink a cannonball against his chest.

from @mindsafe : ❝ for you? i will be any believer you want me to be. ❞ ( kenny )

he hasn’t looked directly at uri in thirty minutes. in fairness, uri hasn’t directly at kenny in forty minutes. they sit together watching the black screen of a television. kenny sits on the floor. uri sits above. they are men forced to see one another as mortals.

uri’s hand stills. he pinches at kenny’s cheek a little, & he keeps staring the black television. this is the first time since remembering that kenny has vanished. it’s first time kenny had tried to leave because they felt something volatile between them, something that said that they were no longer beyond the rules. it’s the first time that uri has failed to pretend that it means nothing.

even so, it doesn’t change anything. kenny slumps against his thigh, & uri used to be a god.

‘ you’ll forgive me anything, won’t you ? ‘ he murmurs six minutes later. the answer is another thing he already knows. but he asks anyway. ‘ you know that i’ll forgive you anything, too ? ‘ because it’s something he doesn’t know.

kenny slumps against his thigh, & uri used to be a god.

they’re still eternal. car headlights sweep across their faces. the light renders them pale.

[shisnhou]

kill gojo

pairing: gojo x gn! reader

cw: toxic exes, toxic relationship, unhealthy obsession with one another, hints at cheating, do tell me if a missed any!

wc: 1.08

you're at the brink of your sanity.

and it's all because of your ex boyfriend who is insane himself.

you two have been broken up for eight months— nearly nine. the break up was not your idea. if anything, it was one thing you didn't even think about. you were more than ready to kill for him, to be his ride or die, to be everything and anything he wanted you to be. you used to have an obssesion with having him in your hands and any kind of separation made your heart beat in worry.

when you two broke up, it felt like you were going to split the world in half. the insanity was getting inside your head, the break up felt like the end of the world. you still chased after him since he was everything you knew and you had, but he threw you away and simply looked at you with disgusted eyes before he slamed the doors before your very eyes.

but after a few weeks of words from getou and a load of night outs with shoko, you brought yourself back in no time. you healed and forgot, you forgave for some reason despite holding every single grudge against him and his girls, and now you are thriving in a better environment.

the break up scarred you badly and you want nothing but to be free from all that hurt and anger.

you truly thought you could leave and make him a mere fragment of your memory.

that's laughable, gojo says.

"what the fuck, gojo?" you screech, kicking the door of his expensive sports car, denting the metal with your shoes. but gojo could care less about the dent, he can get his car repaired tomorrow, buy a new one even. the only thing he's thinking about is why you're so pissed at him. "why would you fucking punch him like that?" 

gojo zones out for a second. he looks at the dent and forgets that you are trying to lecture him about punching your excuse of a date- which he thinks is pointless. why would you argue with him when all he did was do the right thing? 

the right thing? what is it? oh, it's not a big deal. he just punched your date in the face because the man placed his hand around your waist without asking which caught you off guard. not that it made you felt uncomfortable, you were just surprised, you actually liked it, but gojo thought thinks that it's a mortal sin for another man to touch you, so he sent the man a punch to the face.

"he touched you." he deadpans, holding an expression that will make you lose your mind.

"okay, so what if he did? what does that have to do with anything?" you roll your eyes digging your nails into your scalp and trying to scratch the unscratchable itch inside your brain that's caused by your ex that's standing before you.

he does this all the time and you wish that you could just catch a breath.

"you're fucking insane." you mutter underneath your breath.

gojo laughs at that. he looks at you with his blue eyes piercing deep into your own, causing a shiver down your spine. "i can't believe that you're the one saying that." he smirks, brows raising, finger moving to tip your chin. "you were chasing me around nine months ago, hunting down girls i went around with, even after we broke up."

you scoff, wrapping your hand around his wrist and bringing it down. "i did." you proudly say. "you know why? because i didn't understand why we even broke up in the first place. i did nothing. infact, i did everything you wanted me to do, so imagine what position i was in when you abruptly left with a fucking text talking about how i'm too much for you." 

he says nothing back, simply watching you point all the arrows at him. it's clear to him that you want nothing to do with him anymore, but god that's too hard for him to bear.

truth be told, gojo doesn't even know why he broke up in the first place. he though  you were too much for him, but now that he's the one chasing you around after months after the break up, he wonders if was clinically insane.

"well, that was in the past. i'm here now! i'm here, right in-front of you." he opens his arms wide, as if to engulf you in a hug. to his dismay, you simply glare at him, unimpressed by his act. 

gojo heaves a deep sigh, putting his hands back down. "look, i know i made a grave mistake by breaking up with you. that was uncalled for. we both didn't need that." the glimmer in his eyes make you want to believe him, but you mentally shake your head, refusing to fall for his act. "being far away from you was a pain and i admit having you chase me around sucked. yet when you stopped chasing after me, i felt like i lost a piece of me—"

at that sentence you moved away from him, taking a step back and showing him your disgusted expression. "i can't fucking believe you. you fucking disgust me." you seethe, glowering at him and shaking your head. "i thought that you maybe changed, and you did, but for the worse. god, gojo, i really thought we could make ammends, but you make me want to walk away and forget you forever."

at your words gojo's brows furrow. you say nothing else, simply turning your back and walking away. but before you're able to walk a mere step away, he grabs your wrist. you're forced to halt, preparing a rally of words to tell him. but your literacy slips away when your eyes meet his dangerous ones.

"walk away and forget forever? you can't do that." he darkly whispers, smiling as if his intentions were innocent. "you can't have anyone else. i might love seeing you smile, but if it's with someone else it's going to be a problem. any other man with you is going to be a problem. a very big problem." 

the hold on your wrist becomes loose, but in return, his hand cups your cheek and forces proximity between you both. "i'm a mature man, but you drive me insane. if any other man tries to have you they can't.. because if i can't have you, nobody can."

this is not made to fantasize toxic relationship in any way shape or form. if you or someone you know needs help getting away from a toxic relationship, please contact local authorities.

[piratesfromspace]

Poison (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Reader

!! Spoilers for The Boys Season 3, episode 2 !! I’m interrupting my Top Gun mania to write for The Boys. I wrote this while on withdrawal from painkiller/AD and it turned out more angsty than I intended, but I’m pretty proud of this piece. Hope you’ll like it! TW: mention of death and alcohol, smut, p in v sex, kinda rough sex, angst, age gap, Reader is female and younger than Butcher but definitely of age (in her 20s or 30s)

MASTERLIST

Butcher had - has - many vices. Addictions come easy to him. But sex is not one of them. Not since he lost his wife. The first time at least. Now he doesn’t even have the hope of finding her alive. He knows she’s dead, she won’t come back. He can’t decide if it’s worse or not than being in the limbo of maybe.

Her death has dug a new hole in his heart. In his already flimsy ethics. He just doesn’t care anymore about what happens to him, he has decided to follow his instincts - all of them, even the lower ones. It’s a death wish and a hedonistic impulse all wrapped into one. Into his sick mind. Into his oh so very mortal body.

The last remnants of compound V are running in his veins. The green poison is temporary - but it’s a poison nonetheless. He hates every minute of it. It enhances everything: his strength, his senses, his wit, but also his darkness, his impulsiveness, his ugly desires. He has one hour left before withdrawal, maybe two. And his mission is done. He found the supe he was looking for, he had squeezed the answers out of him, and then he had killed him. There is blood on his shoes, on the lapel of his ragged jacket. He can still smell it, and it’s driving him crazy. All this power at the tip of his fingers, and nowhere to put it. No more supes to smash to a pulp. He’s growing restless. Frustrated. He needs an outlet.

And then he runs into her when he gets back to the safe house. He knows her somehow. She’s a friend of a friend of Frenchie. She helped them once or twice. Or they helped her? He’s not sure but he remembers her because she looked pretty and young and out of her depth. Not the kind of girl who would usually hang around the likes of Frenchie and Chérie. She had been kind to Kimiko, when most people act afraid or like she doesn’t exist. She was different in a way he couldn’t really describe. She also had been nice to him. Flirty even, if he must believe MM’s taunt. She had looked at him like he wasn’t the monster he is, and he had been unsettled for a second. If he weren’t trying to lie to himself, he would recognize she reminded him of Becca.

It’s dark outside - he has lost track of time. All he knows is the feeling of power pulsing under his skin. And the girl, she smiles at him, she asks where the others are, she offers some food she brought back just for them. She still looks pretty. Still looks out of place in this rundown basement.

Are you okay? You look like you just snorted a kilo of cocaine. She quips, and he chuckles because her french accent makes everything she says sound so damn cute. Is that blood? Are you hurt? She adds when she gets closer, and he can see the faint freckles on her nose, the way her eyes grow big and concerned under her long lashes. Her hands find his chest, she wants to soothe him, to understand and to cure. The compound V is still thrumming in his body. He still has all this energy to spare. He doesn’t know how to cure that, until her lips fall on his.

It’s kind of a blur - experimental drugs will do that to you - but he’s now pressing her against the wall, kissing her senseless. He buries his face into her neck, getting drunk on her smell, something sweet and girlish, until he rucks her mini skirt up her thighs and drags his fingers against her clothed cunt. The fabric of her panty is damp, and he swears he can also smell this. He’s rock hard in his jeans, already leaking, like he’s a freaking teenager again. He snatches the fabric aside and gathers her slick before pressing circles into her little clit. She gasps and pants and it makes his ego swell. She grabs his arms as he pushes her even more against the wall, and he has to step back, let her breathe because he just forgot for a moment that he could crush her in a blink if he wanted to.

Please, Butcher She begs. He hates that she has to call him by this name, but it’s the only one she has for him. Still, he’s more than happy to comply, and to finally open his fly. He notices the way she tenses when she sees him. He’s never been this hard, this big, full of his drug-enhanced blood. He keeps his fingers on her clit, rubbing slow as he breaches her. He has to remind her to breathe and relax before he starts moving. He’s holding her, driving her up against the concrete. He can do that without breaking a sweat, without worrying his bad elbow will give out. She weighs nothing in his arms, it’s like carrying a cloud. She feels hot, scorching hot and tight and wet around his cock. He grinds his hips carefully, he wants to stay in control, to make it good for her, even though the green shit in his veins commands him to go fast and hard. Top take, to rip open, to not worry about the consequences.

**

She had always found him kinda hot. She finds everyone kinda hot actually, that’s her problem. But the first time she saw him, with his stupid grin and jerky attitude contrasting with his rugged appearance, she knew she was doomed. Butcher, two syllables that don’t try to sugar coat who he is. It’s not a hyperbole either. He has that violent aura, that assured bravado dipped in a very dark sense of humour. He also has the body count - in the very literal sense - to back it up. Everything about him screams danger, and the stories she heard should raise a thousand red flags. But she decided that he was too handsome to dwell on such consideration. It was actually part of the appeal. Her survival instinct was already fucked up, another dubious choice in her so called romantic life wouldn’t make a difference in the mess that was her existence.

The concrete wall is unforgiving for her back. She’s deliciously split open on his cock, pinned there with nowhere to go. He had swept her clean off her feet effortlessly. He looked buffed anyway, but she was not ready for this. Something was wrong with him. He was too quiet. There was a faint glimpse of too bright orange-y light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He seemed on edge, ready to take on the world and to burst into tears at the same time. She wanted to help, as always.

He moves slowly, filling her so well, one of his hands between her legs, touching her where she needs it. Calloused fingertips on her tender flesh, the pressure perfect. It’s surprising because she thought he would be way rougher than he is - and she would have been happy with that. She could have dealt with the manhandling, and the quick fuck with no tomorrow. It would have been the perfect way to flush him out of her system. The almost-tenderness he’s displaying, the care, yet basic enough, he’s putting into this - she’s not sure she can process. She peers up at him with half hooded eyes, and he looks on the verge of crying. She surges forward, kissing his lips, drinking whatever sorrow is bothering him. She wants to help, as always.

***

Butcher keeps fucking her through the kiss, he licks into her mouth with a renewed hunger. She tastes like bubblegum and vodka, and it makes perfect sense with the rest of her. He tries to forget the sudden realisation she was the first girl he was sleeping with since Becca’s death. It had hit him from nowhere. Compound V has the nasty side effect of making you believe you’re unstoppable - that is until something you can’t break with your bare hands, like emotion or memory, comes back to bite you in the ass.

Butcher… butcher! She calls him back to reality. A pang of guilt crosses his face when he notices the way she’s huddled harshly between the wall and him, the thin tank top she’s wearing not enough to cushion the soft skin of her back from the hard concrete.

He mutters an apology and he carries her to the old couch below the dirty window. She’s still so light in his arms, she feels unreal. A ghost. An elaborate hallucination. Maybe he’s slowly losing his mind because of the greenish liquid sloshing in his skull. The only thing convincing him she’s somewhat true is her warmth, her smell, the soft noises she makes. It’s crazy how being a supe sharpens his senses until he can pick up the smell of her sweat under her perfume, of her wet cunt, until he can hear the slightest hitch in her breathing, the thump of her heart speeding up when he pushes inside her again.

Soft moans fill the room again as he rocks gently against her. Her hands are buried in his hair, grabbing at the luscious locks. She tugs at his scalp, bites his bottom lip, and snaps her own hips to take him further. He smiles against her neck as he understands what she needs.

‘You fancy it rougher, luv?   He whispers, voice hoarse with this heavy accent of his. She nods greedily. What a pretty dirty little thing you are He acknowledges, a hand collaring her neck, and her pussy clenches on his cock at this.

A grunt escapes his lips, something feral, almost victorious, as he feels the last surge of cursed power coursing through his body.

[angry-geese]

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

[stingslikeabee]

As Rhayeon described the status of the world's current affairs, the sorrow that stained Melissa's honeyed orbs did not fully go away. It was so heartbreaking - the loss of life; the suffering that the planet endured to look as it did now; the fact that the Sun-God himself had needed to descend and take matters into his own hands.

It had been so rare - to have a god walking among mortals had been cause for celebration, an unique event where sometimes those precious few selected for companionship at such times could hope to bear him a champion. The children born of such fleeting unions would have a mix of divine and human blood, enabling them to achieve grandiose, song-worthy things.

Melissa had thought one of such remarkable paladins would have broken her free from the caves - but hearing these tales sobered the priestess up not only to the grave danger they found themselves in (despite the truce), but also to come with terms with her failure. The high priestess had been the great shepherd of the Sun-God's flock. It had been the duty of those in her shoes to ensure their numbers would grow, that people would be healed, that children would be taken care of.

Now, her eyes scanned the horizon and it seemed that not only her people perished, but also the planet; if Rhayeon himself walked the planet not as a celebratory move but rather as a last resort, it could not be interpreted in any other way but as a highlight of her poor job as his representative. Before Melissa could realize what was happening, a couple of tears dropped to her hand - and the brunette quickly moved to hide these, wiping her face as discreetly as she could and inhaling sharply.

The high priestess should not appear weak before her beloved savior; Melissa should instead work twice as hard to rebuild his cult from the ground up, if needed.

"We shall, My Lord. I will work tirelessly to assist you in any way I can," Melissa nodded next, proud of the way that her voice sounded - firm, obstinate, as any priestess should when addressing their one true god. After that, her sole focus was to help unloading all the crates they had salvaged from whatever Ravina's followers had left behind - even if the surroundings were strange to her.

The home where Rhayeon now lived was very different from the temples - ample and wide, but made of darker metal and possessing strange doors, as well as inscriptions containing words Melissa was able to read but failed to comprehend. The most unique thing was the figure inside - a statue of a man seemingly carrying a planet on his back; some sort of immensurable burden that forced him to bend and struggle to remain walking.

Was it some sort of allegory created after her time? Melissa could not tell, but also did not ask; Rhayeon's kindness and patience had been exploited for too long since she was rescued, inquiring more than was reasonably expected of someone of her station. As his high priestess - the Sun-God would provide; he would supply the information she needed, the tools for the faith, warm her hearth with his divine grace.

But something that the woman failed to consider were the biological necessities of her own body - perhaps the cave worked in strange ways and her spiritual bond had been enough. But outside, moving boxes between places, getting acclimated to how much the world had changed, the very presence of her savior in flesh and blood... Melissa started seeing black spots in her vision, the prelude for the fall that inevitably happened.

As much as her soul basked in the warm glow of purpose and intent, her body could not say the same. Nourishment, water, adequate rest - there was much that Melissa had been deprived of even if she had no memory of the time gone without these things, but now reality was seemingly intent on demanding the price due for the abuse endured in the absence of light and hope.

Rhys reaches out to make sure Melissa is belted in (trying his best not to stare, and even then this is less because of untoward desires and more because her robes look just as he'd painted them), and with everything in the back of the truck, he gets the engine going before shifting into first gear.

"I hate to admit it," he says, pressing his foot down for an easy slide into second gear, "but even the temples fell.

"Things went bad, Melissa. In the end, I had to come down myself to lure Ravina into a more tangible form, too."

Having created the concept of avatars himself, Rhys knows he ought to find an explanation for being proper flesh and blood soon. If ever he were wounded bad enough-- and here on Pandora, it'd be stranger if times were more peaceful than not-- there would be the expectation that he could simply leave. Foolish as it is, Rhys doesn't want Melissa to think that he'd abandon her.

Foolish as it is, he doesn't think he's capable of it. Not with the way she looks at him, expects things of him, and seems to feel incredible bliss just breathing the same air.

"I think," Rhys muses, "enough people have died because of me."

He offers her a brief glance and a wry smile. "It was time to take matters into my own hands."

They'd been in a wide canyon previously, but the more Rhys drives, the more their surroundings turn into the flat land of desert. Some cacti can be seen littering the environment, and the mighty wreckage of a fallen space station lies ominously in the distance. The light of the sun glints off of it, and if nothing else, at least the Pandoran desert looks enough like a wasteland that the thought of a great war happening isn't too far off.

"There isn't a lot left of what we had," Rhys says, "and even then, you can't really defeat a god. Especially not one that ruled the night like Ravina.

"She couldn't accept my kindness, but... she could accept a truce."

He makes a turn, even if sand surrounds them on all ends. A few spiderants come out of it, but the rumble of the truck keeps them at bay instead of seeking to ambush them.

"I can't tell you when she plans to strike again. But we'll be ready for her when she does, won't we?"

[astaroth1357]

What Would it be like to Switch Bodies with the Brothers

In honor of the swap event I suppose (but also needed an easy prompt because I’ve been really busy trying to clean/fix our house and the exhaustion is getting to me)

Lucifer

… Feel the power.

They would literally be so tall and so strong it’d be insane. The kind of body that’d make them want to break things because it’d just be So. Easy. They feel like they’re one of the strongest people in the room and they’ll start to believe it too!

But also, so much fatigue… Lucifer probably deals with muscle tension and back pain because of all the paperwork and stress so they’d be feeling all of that too...

Using his commanding powers would also be hella fun (and easy to abuse) so someone like Barbs is probably going to have to follow them around to be sure the mere mortal doesn’t get drunk on the sudden power...

Bonus:

Lucifer wants out of their body NOW. He hit his toe against a wall and is STILL limping it off… It’s humiliating and he hates feeling this fragile so somebody fix this!!!

Mammon

Why can’t I stop stealing things…?!?

Mammon’s hands practically have a mind of their own… The MC keeps walking by places and casually slipping other people’s things in their pockets without realizing it. It’s like a reflex!

It’s kind of bizarre for everyone else to watch because, from the outsider’s perspective, it’s scumbag Mammon taking their things… then apologizing like five seconds later then handing them back. He’s losing some thief cred over this for sure...

Aside from that, they have almost never-ending energy too so even the sleepiest MC is going to be bouncing off walls… Good luck to everyone else.

Bonus:

Mammon is now literally in the body of his favorite person and has zero clue how to feel about it. If he hugs himself is that like getting a hug from the MC…? 🤔 One thing is for certain though, he’s going to be glued to their hip the entire time. I hope they’re used to seeing themselves (literally).

Levi

aaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhHHHHHHhhhh STOP THE RIDE!! I want OUT of this nightmare!!!

They find out very quickly why Levi distracts himself so much: they feel inadequate All. The. Time.

If they can doubt themselves in any capacity, they will. If they walk into a room, they’ll instantly feel the (non-existent) judgement. If something makes them feel even slightly bad then it can snowball out of control. It’s… It's hell, it’s actual hell.

Chances are they’re going to end up a blubbering mess about as often as Levi if they don’t find a way to distract themselves too… 😔

Bonus:

Poor Levi is trying his best to help them manage being him but it’s not like he was super good at it either… 😥 At least in their body he feels more confident than ever so if nothing else he can step up and comfort them like they would him. Talk about role reversal… 🤷‍♀️

Satan

I can’t stop grinding my teeth and wOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP OVER THERE OR I SWEAR THAT I’LL-!!!

Their emotions are chaotic and they have no idea how to control them. At best, they’ll feel a steady level of irritation and at worst it'll snap into full blown rage. It’s like being a toddler all over again!

They’re going to end up counting to 10, 200 times over… and that might not even help.

On the plus side, though, they’ve never felt smarter! If there’s any time to sit in a wingback chair and ponder the meaning of life, it’s now so take advantage of it!

Bonus:

… Is this what normal is? Is this what CALM is?? A guy slammed into Satan on the street the other day and he didn’t feel the sudden urge to commit homicide… This is great!! Excuse him, MC, as he hijacks your body to go zen out around the House… 😌 Human Satan’s chill meters give Belphie a run for his money, who knew?

Asmo

*they’ve been staring at themselves in the mirror quietly for the last twenty minutes… and they feel the odd urge to moisturize…*

Being Asmo is actually a little freaky for the uninitiated. Suddenly SO MUCH attention is on them! They can’t walk into any room without being noticed, most of the time by total strangers. 🤷‍♀️

They also notice that people are waaaay more friendly to them now, though whether it's they're gorgeous or the accidentally charming them is anyone's guess…

It seems a lot of Asmo's beauty routine has also been absorbed into his very being because they may start autopiloting toward his bathroom if they don't catch themselves first...

Bonus:

Their body has never looked better than the day Asmo got into it. However they take that information is on them.

Beel

*too busy chewing silverware to say anything*

If Levi is emotional hell then Beel is physical. Being constantly on the brink of starvation is a real chore… 😩

Though at least they get to walk around in what amounts to a tank. They can look Lucifer in the eye and even feel like they can literally uproot trees! (which they may actually do if they got some fruit out of it...)

They also learn pretty quick that Beel can digest right about anything so the brothers try really hard to keep them fed. Otherwise, there'll be bitemarks in the drywall… (they don't even have Beel's marginal self-control so they're screwed! 😓)

Bonus:

Poor baby is doing whatever he can to keep then fed because he gets it. He doesn't envy being in his shoes, though he does feel a little guilty for enjoying being full for change… 😔

Belphie

So tired… Body heavy… Whhhy….

Belphie's body apparently runs with exactly ¼ the energy needed to get through a 12 hour day by default.

It WILL make them go to sleep. Even if they think they're fine one minute, they might blink and be passed out for an hour.

It's also somehow immune to all forms of caffeine and probably even cocaine. 🤷‍♀️ Someone else is going to have to fix this, because the MC can't be bothered… Please just let them sleep…

Bonus:

Belphie's boooored... Days feel twice as long now and he can't get this human body to take naps right! Lucifer is going to have to fix things soon because an idle Belphie is far worse than a crafty Satan... 😣

Check out my Masterlist for more!

[laequiem]

Kiss-proof

/ Jude has lost Cardan in the mall. Of course, he is in the one place she would never go. Domestic fluff, fluffy fluffiest fluff

Fandom: The Folk of The Air

Rating: T for mention of characters having a sex life, but that's it.

The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

read on ao3 • part of Tales from the Mortal Realm

I check my bulky flip phone for the 5th time.

4:23pm.

I don't know why I expected Cardan to be back on time. I had some errands to do—which might include lingerie I wanted to keep secret until our anniversary—so I told him to explore the mall on his own. I gave him some (real, non-glamoured) money to spend like a child with an allowance.

There are so many red flags with this whole plan.

I do not like to admit it, but I'm worried. My extravagant husband has enough trouble fitting in with humans when he is with me, I can only imagine the trouble he can get himself in without me. Or the trouble that can find him when I am not there to protect him.

I get up from the bench that I had designed as our meeting point. Where could he be? Anywhere I would not go, which does not narrow the list down very much. As I walk around, I can imagine him enjoying every single one of these places.

Cardan smelling some bath bombs and chatting up with a pushy Lush salesperson. All that glitter, all that dye—the servants would rage at having to clean the tub afterwards.

Cardan entering a sterile-looking jewelry store, eyes glittering at all the precious gems.

Cardan browsing Hot Topic, digging into bowls of plastic rings and looking at shirts for bands he does not know.

My stomach drops as I stand before the one store I know I will find him in. Black-and-white striped pillars stand on either side of the storefront and the dreaded white font over black spells out the name of the store: Sephora.

I have never entered a Sephora before. They are intimidating and I know nothing about their products. Whenever I needed new eyeliner, I would just ask Vivi to buy me whichever one she thought was best. Nowadays, I can count on my husband's extensive makeup collection and skills.

“We have servants to do this!” I had insisted the first time he approached me with a kohl pencil. He had laughed, and I let him line my eyes. Ever since, I look forward to it. It’s a small, intimate gesture with which we prove our love to each other without saying a word. It is his way of showing care, and my way of showing trust.

I pass the threshold of the store and I spot him immediately. Even without my True Sight making his glamour ripple when I gaze at him, I would still have a hard time believing he is human. His glamour is perfect—rounded ears, no tail, the glitter of his skin dulled down to a normal healthy shine—but every glamour should have a flaw. The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

Even amongst gorgeous people who perfected their faces through makeup and good lighting, he stands out.

For me, however, bewilderment comes from seeing Cardan wait in line like a normal person. Like a boy who did not grow up as an entitled prick. It shakes me so much that I stop in my tracks and watch him walk up to the register once the previous client leaves.

He adapts better than I give him credit for. My heart swells with love for this male who keeps challenging and surprising me.

I go to bypass the line and I catch a snippet of his conversation with the boy manning the cash register. On the counter lay piles of makeup, from eyeshadow palettes to colorful eyeliner.

"A good choice!" the cashier exclaims, holding a dark lipstick, "it has the best matte finish. It even passes the kiss test!"

I swear I can see him wiggle his perfectly defined eyebrows. The smile he gives Cardan is wicked—the same kind of grin my husband gives me over dinner then he's feeling particularly hungry.

"The kiss test?" my husband asks, a grin forming on his sinful lips.

"Yeah," the cashier replies, "you can make out with someone, it won't budge. Or transfer."

I get to Cardan’s side and the cashier notices me then. His brows raise in surprise for a moment before he schools his features into a socially acceptable customer service smile.

I can't blame him for his surprise—Cardan and I could not look any more mismatched. His sharp features are accentuated with contouring and a lighter version of his usual silver highlighter. I, on the other hand, barely had time to brush my hair before putting on an oversized hoodie and leggings. I bet I look like someone he took pity on and brought to the mall for a makeover.

"Where is the fun in that?" Cardan looks at me then, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Still, I suppose I will have to try."

I roll my eyes and he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

The cashier tells Cardan the total, and he raises a brow when my husband starts counting cash. I know other humans use cards nowadays, but without a permanent address in the Mortal Realm, we have been dealing exclusively in cash—mostly given by Vivi in exchange for Elfhame goods.

The boy thanks Cardan for his purchase, and it's all I can do not to laugh when he replies "you're very welcome", like that is a normal thing to say to a retail employee.

On our way out, Cardan stops by one of the many mirrors in the store and applies his new lipstick, ending with a pop of his luscious lips.

"Really? You couldn't wait until we got back to the hotel?"

I smile teasingly at him, and he grins back. The lipstick is deep, dark purple.

"If I did, nobody would see it but you." He slides an arm around my waist and winks. "That would be a shame, when it looks so good."

I roll my eyes and slip out of his embrace, making towards the exit. When my back is turned to him, I allow myself a smile. It does look good, I think, though I won't give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

"Jude, wait—"

With those long legs of his, Cardan catches up to me quickly. He puts a hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. I lift my chin to look at him, and his expression sends a chill down my spine. This face used to send unwanted images of our younger days to my brain—Cardan spitting on my shoes, pulling my hair, kicking my lunchbox. Nowadays, this wickedness sends my blood rushing south and fills me with memories of his clever fingers and his face between my legs.

"I was not done," he says as he circles my waist again, pulling me towards him sternly. "I have to debunk the claims the boy made."

"Fine," I say, and peck him quickly on the lips.

He chuckles. "You know that won't do, Jude dearest."

Cardan leans towards me. Instinctively, I part my lips and close my eyes. Even after all this time, I hate that he has this effect on me, even though I know it's not fair. I have spent my whole life training with a blade while he spent his training his mind and body to seduce and manipulate.

His lips claim mine and I all but melt into him. I forget where we are, how utterly exposed we are to the judgement of others. I seek out his tongue with mine and bite his lip the way he likes.

Cardan pulls away and I chase after his lips, desperate for more, until I feel his mouth on my neck. Slender fingers grip my chin, angling my head to allow him access.

I open my eyes and finally remember myself, where we are and how inappropriate this is—

"Cardan!"

He hums in question as his cruel mouth continues kissing its way up to my ear. His hand moves back towards my nape and tangles in my hair, pulling lightly.

"We're in—you can't just do that! People are—"

I look around, mortified. The mall is not that crowded, but I see people looking abruptly away when I look in their direction. A mother covers her child's eyes as she notices us. An old lady sneers.

I feel Cardan grin against my skin before dragging his teeth up my ear to nibble at the curved cartilage.

I give a small shove to his chest and he pulls away with a chuckle that curls my toes.

"You're shameless," I say.

"You look like you drank an entire bottle of faerie wine," he replies, then gives a quick kiss to my heating cheek.

When he pulls back, he inspects my face with narrowed eyes, then my neck. He lets out an impressed hum.

"It seems he was right. No marks."

I laugh and his eyes light up, a genuine smile forming on his dark lips.

"Will you buy more, then?" I ask.

"No. I prefer when it leaves marks."

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

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

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

[writers-worst-nightmare]

Kittens (Keith x reader)

Song you are singing

Warning(s): A TON OF CUSSING, reckless driving, got lazy at the end, Keith loosing one of his lives

THIS IS A REAL LIFE AU WHERE THERE IS NO SPACE OR ANYTHING AND THEY ARE ON EARTH

Fandom: Voltron

Word Count: 1,510

Pairing(s): Keith x reader

Genera: chaotic fluff

A/N: this is basically a Voltron version of “no braincells“ but I added a twist to make things more interesting

Request are always open!

Keith stared at the tiny kittens surrounding him, he froze in place and looked up to you as a plea of help witch was rudely declines when you started snickering before bursting out into laughter. Soon the whole crew joined in on laughing at Keith with a bunch of kittens. Pidge was snapping pictures and uploading it to their Instagram, Lance was recording a tiktok, Shiro was trying to get the cats off of Keith, Hunk was laughing, and you where adding more cats to the pile on his lap. “Y/N DON’T ENCOURAGE THEM!” Shiro scolded. You rolled your eyes before grabbing a small black and white kitten and placing it on Keith’s lap. The crew had decided to meet up after band practice and stay at your house. Little did they all know that you fostered animals, you had a couple of dogs and Birds but you mainly fostered cats cause they look so fucking cute.

“But it fuuunnnn!” You wine, only making Hunk laugh even harder until he was literally on the ground laughing so hard.

“They are kind of cute…” Keith muttered as he stared at the cats and back at you and then back at the cats.

“Why don’t Keith and I go to get some cat stuff at the mall, you three can make yourselves at home by the way!” You called as you dragged Keith into your car and hopped in the drivers side.

“Oh no…” Keith muttered as he stared wide eyed at you starting the car.

“What?”

”Please don’t tell me—“

”Oh, yeah I am driving!”

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!”

You locked the car doors and started to drive on there highway. Keith relaxed a bit as he thought that you where going to be normal

Big mistake

As soon as you saw all the muscles sink into the car seat you smirked and pulled up a radio station. Since Keith hasn’t been with you in the car before (for a good reason since everyone that has let you drive a car was gotten sick) he didn’t know that you LOVES music. Probably even more then you loved anime (which was saying something).

The fuck? Hold on Bitches got beef but don't wanna fight me Quit all that barkin', ho, bite me Bitch Hold on

”What the fuck is this?” Keith asked as he started to lean forward before the song started and you higher Ed the volume all the way up

Bitch, you fat, need a tummy tuck (Yep) You dropping diss songs, man, bitch, get your money up (For sure, then)

”It is called ‘go best friend’ and it is awesome” You answered as you rolled down your window and started singing along to the beat of the song and speeding slightly.

If you 'bout it, then run it up Used to be cool with this bitch, but she mad that I'm coming up

Keith hesitated softly before pulling up the lyrics on his phone and starting to sing along slowly. Afraid of what would happen next. You turned right and got on the off-road. Keith stiffened as he has heard one to many times what happens when you go off road and onto the dirt paths that you have most likely made yourself.

You a thot, you gon' suck it up I got a white bitch in the club, wanna pump it up (Woo, woo)

You started speeding even faster the before and Keith was prepared for the worst. Looking for a pencil and a piece of paper before settling on a anime journal that you had and a pen

Fuck a speech, I'ma sum it up $hy on the track and you already know she gonna fuck it up (Ayy, yeah) Bitch need to worry 'bout a bag I'm rocking these shows, and that's why she mad (Aha)

”I am going to give Lance my fuck you energy, Shiro my Hot Topic shirts, Pidge my suicidal thought, Hunk my fuck boy energy, and y/n my outmost hatred.” Keith started to say as he wrote out his will.

“Oh come on I am not that bad of a driver!” You pouted, looking away from the road and staring at Keith. Keith widened his eyes and grabbed the steering wheel so he could drive.

After this diss, you goin' out sad Bitch, you not bougie, you don't got no class (Bitch) Turnt in the booth and I'm piped off that gas Spin on yo' block, then we hitting the dash (Shoot, shoot)

”The last time you said that Pidge ended up in a flicking tree!” Keith argued, holding back the urge to choke you out, you rolled your eyes and elbowed the emo boy out of the way to take control of driving

It's still love for you, though But, bitch, I'm 'bout to get on your ass (Haha)

You started screaming the lyrics and Keith’s heart seemed to be going backwards as he grabbed his phone and gripped it tightly in his hands before button the record button.

$hy gotta potty mouth You wanna talk shit? Bitch, let's talk 'bout your body count You stink, throw your body out Tryna hang wit' the kid, I'm the life of the party now (Yeah)

He stopped the video and sent it to the “why do we still exist?” Group chat that consist of the gang

-character development Sasuke sent a video-

Non-binary owl: WORK IT Y/N YEAAAH

Sapnap but better: oh no…

Panda dude from beastars: have you written your will yet?

-character development Sasuke sent a picture-

Character development Sasuke: already got it written out

Won’t shut up about how bisexual this man is: I GET FUCK YOU ENERGY?!

Sapnap but better: I GET FUCK BOY ENERGY

Non-binary owl: can we all collectively agree to play/sing WAP at Keith’s funeral

Your lil' sister look up to me (Yeah) Bitch, you can't rap and you really not touching me (No) Just like a virgin, lil' bitch, cannot fuck wit' me And I never been pussy, bitch, you know what's up with me (For sure, then)

Won’t shut up about how bisexual this man is: As long as I get to do the dance

Panda dude from beastars: NO ONE IS PLAYING WAP AT ANYONES FUNERAL

Panda dude from beastars: Look Keith you are going to be fine

Why this bitch wanna pop shit? We was just cool, now this bitch wanna act like a opp bitch (The fuck?)

“What happens if I go off the edge…?” You wonder out loud, Keith looks up at you with a panicked expression.

Oh, she mad she can't stop shit Said that my breath stink 'cause I'm spittin' that hot shit (Hot, hot)

“NO Y/N DON’T GO OFF THE EDGE! THIS IS NOT FUCKING MINECRAFT!!” Keith lectured as he tried to roll down the window but silently cried to himself as he realized that you had child’s lock on.

Quit all that barkin', lil' bitch, and come bite me Bitches got beef, but they don't wanna fight me (Wait, wait)

You ignored Keith and smiled up yourself as you almost ran over some ducks

Turnt to my music, but swear they don't like me You got my number, ho, FaceTime, Skype me These hoes wanna be me I'm on your radio, soon I'ma be on your TV John Cena, bitches can't see me (Nope) I'm goin' up, and it's hella fans wanna meet me (Hey, haha)

“WHY DID YOU ALMOST RUN OVER DUCKS?!” Keith screamed as he plastered himself against the window.

Bitches don't get me Bitch, why you hatin? You could've been goin up with me (For sure, then) Spear on the bitch like she Britney You could dissed any bitch, but instead, you gon' pick me (Okay, the fuck?)

You did a wide turn and Keith practically flew in the air, he got up off the floor and cursing the seatbelt for failing to protect him against your ruthless grasp.

Make a bitch wanna hit me (Ayy, ayy) Bitches be cap on my name, the shoe did not fit me (No, it didn't) Show these bitches no pity (Yeah) These bitches wanna be friends, admit it, you miss me (Go)

Keith peered over the dashboard thanks to him now being on the floor and distantly saw the mall “YESSS WE ARE ALMOST THERE!!!!” Keith exclaimed as he got exited ready to leave this hell hole that mortals calls a car

Wrap up the beat like a doobie I don't give a fuck 'bout opinions, you know I'ma do me (Hey, hold on) Bitch, you a gnat, you a groupie Told that lil' bitch it's some snacks, and we pulled up with Scoobies

you lowered the volume to one as you pulled up in the parking lot and slowed down the car before parking somewhere close to the mall. You didn’t even look bothered to the fact of your reckless driving while Keith was looking like a whole tumbleweed fell over and hit him in the rib cage.