#Tiny trouble

[orellazalonia]

Tiny Winged Trouble

Summary: You’re only a few inches tall, full of sparkle and mischief. When SHIELD accidentally captures you in a jar, Steve and Bucky are tasked with figuring out what you are. You refuse to speak at first, until Steve gives you a cookie. Now they’re stuck with a clingy, stubborn fairy who calls them “Tree” and “Shadow.” (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 1.1k+

A/N: It was either mermaid reader or fairy reader. Fairy was easier to write soooo… Enjoy! Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Tiny Trouble Masterlist

You were caught in a jar.

A pickle jar, to be specific. It still smelled faintly of vinegar and dill, which you found personally offensive and not just because fairies are very sensitive to smell.

You were fluttering peacefully through the trees near the outskirts of New York when a group of shouting humans in dark armor leapt out from behind a bush and trapped you in what they called a “containment unit.” You didn’t know what SHIELD was, but their agents were very loud and very rough, and they didn’t even ask your name.

You sat cross-legged at the bottom of the jar, wings tucked in, arms folded across your chest, trying your best to look unimpressed.

And then he walked in. Tall, golden-haired, broad-shouldered, a man who practically radiated kindness and confusion in equal measure. Steve Rogers.

He approached the table with another man behind him, darker, quieter, haunted-eyed but alert watching everything. Bucky Barnes.

“I thought you said there was an artifact,” Steve said slowly, looking at the jar.

“It is,” The agent replied. “It talks.”

You gave the man your most dramatic eye roll.

Steve crouched beside the table, eyes soft, voice careful. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You turned your head away and said nothing.

Bucky stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Do fairies sulk?”

You didn’t like his tone not cruel, just skeptical. So you stuck your tongue out at him and turned invisible.

Bucky jumped slightly. “Okay. That answers that.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured, holding his hands up gently. “We’re not gonna hurt you, promise. You just surprised everyone, that’s all. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Still, you said nothing.

It wasn’t until someone walked by with a coffee and a chocolate chip cookie that you broke your silence. You reappeared instantly, pressed against the glass, eyes wide.

Steve blinked, then laughed softly. “You want one of those?”

You nodded furiously.

Five minutes later, the jar was opened and you bolted straight onto Steve’s shoulder, snatched the cookie chunk he offered, and curled into the crook of his neck like you’d always lived there.

You stayed close after that. Not that they had much of a choice.

You built a tiny hammock out of tissues on their bookshelf. Braided thread into their laces. Tried to “fix” Bucky’s grumpy face with flower petals and got scolded, very softly, for it. You called Steve “Tree” because he was tall and smelled like sap. You called Bucky “Shadow” because he followed you around pretending he wasn’t trying to protect you.

You refused to be studied, refused to go back in any jars, and made it very clear you’d chosen your new home: right between two super soldiers who didn’t know how much they needed something as strange and sweet as you.

Sometimes, you’d land on Bucky’s shoulder when he couldn’t sleep, singing soft, wordless melodies that reminded him of something in the past. Sometimes, you’d perch on Steve’s chest as he read, snuggled into the fabric of his henley like a kitten with wings.

You were tiny, fragile, ridiculous, and completely, utterly theirs.

Even if you still left cookie crumbs everywhere.

-

Steve and Bucky discovered quickly how particular fairies could be. Or maybe it was just you.

See, they realized you were much more stubborn than they had anticipated which caused another one of your sulking moods. It started because you weren’t allowed to use the microwave. Which, in your defense, made no sense.

You weren’t trying to start another fire, that was an accident. And yes, maybe the leftover spaghetti had exploded the last time, but how were you supposed to know that foil was banned? You’d never had a microwave before. You grew up in moss and tree hollows and warm sunlight. Your diet was dew, nectar, and whatever you could barter from passing squirrels.

Now, you wanted popcorn, but Bucky had said no. He had looked down at you with his arms crossed and that stupid I care about you and you’re being ridiculous face, stating, “You almost fried the tower’s circuits last time. Find something from the fruit bowl if you’re hungry.”

You responded with the most dramatic gasp you could manage and fluttered up to the top of the cabinets, crossing your arms with a huff.

Steve tried to step in, intervening gently. “He’s not trying to upset you. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

You didn’t answer. You turned your back with your wings flaring slightly in righteous fairy fury, you refused to acknowledge either of them. Not even when Steve sighed and offered you a piece of shortbread. Not even when Bucky muttered something like “She’s sulking again, isn’t she?”

You remained a furious little sparkle, curled into a puffball of wings and pouting.

Hours passed. You still refused to come down.

They tried tempting you with cookies, with your favorite mug of rose petal tea, with one of Steve’s socks (which you always stole to use as a blanket).

Nothing. You were mad. And fairies, though small, are very good at holding grudges.

By the time night fell, you were still wedged behind a cereal box, curled into a mopey heap. And then… you heard a sound. Thump. It was a soft knock on the cabinet.

You peeked over the edge to find Bucky standing there, holding a tiny plate.

“I made popcorn. Not with the microwave. Just the pan.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t put salt on it. Figured you’d want to do that yourself.”

He set the plate down gently on the counter, then leaned against it, arms folded.

“…You gonna stay up there forever?” He asked after a pause, tone mild.

You turned invisible.

He smirked. “Cute.”

Moments later, you reappeared beside the popcorn and began nibbling, still silent, still frowning.

Steve walked in just then and paused. “Is that a peace offering or a trap?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bucky replied.

You muttered something under your breath.

Steve blinked. “Did she just call you a ‘grumpy tin soldier’?”

“I think so,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

You stuffed a piece of popcorn in your mouth and glared at them both, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

Steve crouched beside the counter, eyes warm. “Hey, no one’s mad at you, sweetheart. We just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You looked away before mumbling, “I wanted to make it myself.”

And that was the truth of it. You wanted to prove you could. That you weren’t just tiny and delicate and fluttery. That you could be useful, capable. That you weren’t always the one needing help.

Bucky leaned closer, voice quieter now. “Next time… I’ll show you how.”

You peeked up at him, suspicious.

“You can hold the lid,” He said, tone serious. “That’s an important job.”

“…Fine,” You muttered.

Steve smiled gently, brushing your wing with one careful finger. “We’re proud of you, y’know.”

You huffed, still pretending you weren’t moved before climbing into Bucky’s hand, wings drooping slightly from exhaustion and popcorn forgotten. You curled into his palm with a sigh, tiny fingers gripping the edge of his sleeve.

Still sulking but not as much. And this time, you weren’t alone.

[devildaisies]

🔥 H-O-T-T-O-G-O 🔥

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

found a wolf spider with a ton of babies on her back today in my room. carefully captured her and put her outside before updating the group chat

and the immediate response there was "let's get relocated with mama"

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

RESIDENT EVIL BODY TYPES THE SEQUEL!

part one...!

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[helpimstuckposting]

From Santa

Prompt: Magic | Rating: G | Wordcount: 2,957 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve was seven when he found out that Santa did not exist. He tried, once, the whole ‘Santa’ thing. After hearing the stories from kids at school, he ran over to Melvald’s and bought a tin of cookies with his allowance before skipping excitedly home. Some of the kids mentioned feeding the magic deer, because flying took a lot out of them obviously, and Steve wasn’t quite sure what magic deer ate, but he left out a few carrots in the yard just in case.

He was so excited, setting out the cookies in front of the big tree in the living room and hoping he’d wake up to find a present underneath, just for him. Maybe it would be a cool Hess Truck like Tommy wanted, or maybe it would be an action figure, or comic books, or maybe his parents would come home. The other kids said Santa was magic, that he could do anything, so Steve wasn’t picky.

He went to bed excited and could barely close his eyes to sleep, but the other kids said Santa didn’t come if you were awake so Steve tried his very best. He finally fell asleep with the taste of ginger snaps on his tongue (there was a whole tin, and Santa had hundreds, maybe thousands of cookies every night, so he didn’t think Santa would mind one less).

He woke up to a spotless and quiet house, no puddles from snow on Santa’s boots, no bites out of the cookies, and no present under the tree. No parents either. Steve didn’t have any more cookies that day. He couldn’t bear it.

When his parents arrived a week later, Steve was greeted not by hugs and exclamations of how much his parents missed him, but by his mother loudly and forcefully demanding answers to why her yard was scattered with gross old carrots, drying and cracking and covered in mud from the melted snow. So he told her. He told her about Santa and how he wanted him to come, how he went to bed early like a good boy, and waited all night. How he didn’t show up.

She laughed.

It was cold and icy, like the shards still hanging from the gutters on their roof. She told him he shouldn’t be impatient for his presents — they were in the car like always — and really, Steven, it doesn’t look good for a boy to be so demanding, and the presents certainly weren’t from Santa because the man did not exist.

Santa didn’t exist.

So yes, Steve knew from a young age that the jolly man in the coat and hat was simply a lie — told to children to excite them and give them something to look forward to. He didn’t really get it at first; were the presents not enough? Was the week off from school not exciting? Did they not look forward to Christmas morning without the story of a man sneaking down the chimney? But he’d also fallen for it. He was so excited, he liked the idea of feeding the magic deer, and leaving a treat out for someone delivering gifts out of kindness. He liked the story, that a man with so much power wanted to use it to make children happy. He liked being thought of, liked being remembered by someone he didn’t even know, liked that it was a reward for being nice throughout the year.

But it wasn’t true. And that was fine, Steve tried to convince himself. He still got the presents, and he still got his parents, even if they were a week late. He still got a hug from his nanny, and his mom let him have the rest of the ginger snaps, and he didn’t even have to clean up the carrots from the yard.

His parents left again, and school started again, and it was fine.

It was fine, until Tommy came barreling through the door with his Hess Truck held high and the praise of Santa spewing from his lips, and Steve noticed that not everyone shared in Tommy’s delight. Most of them did, and a lot of them brought their favorite toy to school just like Tommy, but a few kids (maybe three) sat still in their chairs — like they could avoid any questions if they blended into the background. They ducked their heads and they sank in their seats, and Steve wondered if they also found out Santa wasn’t real.

But Tommy singled one kid out at recess. He dragged him out, to the center of the playground, and told everyone that Santa didn’t go to trailer parks, that the kids in Forest Hills didn’t get presents from Santa, because only good kids got presents, and how could they be good if they lived in a junk yard. Those words didn’t sound like Tommy, but he was always repeating things his dad said, copying him and taking his word as gospel.

The kid, scrawny with a shaved head and angry brown eyes, sank into his shoes. Not in retreat, not in a cowering way. He sank into his shoes like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure his footing was firm and steady, and he shoved Tommy right into the ground.

Of course, only then did a teacher interject, and only the boy Steve didn’t know the name of was dragged away to the office. Tommy angrily scrambled to his feet and spat at the ground where the kid had stood, remarking that he was right and the Forrest Hills kids were definitely on the naughty list, Steve, wasn’t he right? Did he see that? What a freak that kids was.

Steve rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. He knew interrupting Tommy was just more hassle than it was worth, and Tommy was wrong anyway because Santa wasn’t real. He’d figure it out eventually, Steve supposed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

It was his walk home that gave him an idea. He saw the bus pass by as he trudged along, down the road and off in the direction of Forrest Hills trailer park. He wondered if that kid from recess was there, if he saw Steve out the window as he passed, if he really didn’t get any presents. He thought about all the gifts his parents gave him that were still packaged up in his closet because he had too many and he didn’t really like them all. And he thought about how much he wanted someone to think about him on Christmas, with no other purpose or desire but to make him happy.

So, with an inkling of an idea creeping its way through his head, he ran the rest of the way home and pulled out the phone book from the hallway table, as well as his yearbook from the previous year. There weren’t many numbers from Forrest Hills, but he did find the three kids from his class and a couple from the year above. He picked out which of his unopened presents he thought they’d like the most, and he wrapped them crudely in leftover paper he found in the study. He ripped off a few pages from the note pad by the phone, and wrote out in his best writing:

From Santa, sorry I was late

And then:

P.S. my elf wrote this

Because his best writing was still pretty bad.

It took him a couple days to plan and gather things, but in the dead of night — after his neighbors clicked off their porch lights — he piled all five presents into a little red wagon and tied the wagon to the end of his bike. He took off toward Forrest Hills, a little list of names and addresses crinkled in his pocket. He tip-toed around the dirt paths, freezing in fear every time his little wagon’s wheels squeaked, and placed the presents and the notes from ‘Santa’ on the doorsteps that matched his little list. He checked it twice, just for fun.

He felt lighter on the ride back home, and not just because his wagon was empty.

Steve was seven when he decided to become Santa himself.

It wasn’t obvious, the next day at school, and Steve didn’t do it just to listen to kids whisper about Santa visiting Forrest Hills a week late, but he did notice something. The three kids who had sunk low in their seats the first day back, who avoided talking to the others to brag about their presents, were no longer trying to blend into the background. They sat comfortably in their seats, and whispered among themselves, eyes twinkling a little more than they had a few days ago. Steve was ecstatic. He sat, buzzing silently with excitement as he tried to keep his face blank and neutral. Santa had to be kept secret, after all.

He did it again the next year, adding the newest kids to his list from the years below him, and saved up his allowance to get some cuter presents for the girls; some nail polish and art supplies, some coloring books and beads. This time he wasn’t late, and his handwriting had improved a lot from the year before (though he still blamed the elves for his wonky letters).

He had fun, learning how to wrap the paper around each gift, saving up his money to pick out presents he hoped the other kids would like, wondering what their faces looked like when they opened the door to find a present on their front step.

He was a little worried that the kids would be concerned Santa hadn’t made it inside, being magic and all, but he also noticed that none of the trailers had chimneys so maybe that was okay. He also learned that most of the kids in Forrest Hills did get presents, and he felt a little stupid for assuming they didn’t just from Tommy’s dumb comments, but he also knew they weren’t the fancy presents other kids got like bikes and new games.

He tried making his Santa presents a little more extravagant. After all, why would Santa give Tommy a brand new Lego set, but give Willie across town a pack of baseball cards? Steve just wanted to even the playing field a bit, knock Tommy down a peg or two when he tried humiliating another kid on the playground and that kid said Actually Tommy, I got the new Hess Truck from Santa, too! And Steve remembered wrapping it up, much neater this time, and almost getting caught on the stoop when a dog started barking at him. He muffled a giggle into his hand when Tommy floundered for something to say, coming up empty handed.

As the years passed and the kids in his grade stopped believing in Santa, he scratched their names off his list. He kept adding to it as well, though. He paid attention to the new kids in each grade, noticed if they had a little less than those around them, noticed if they were on the outskirts or if they looked a little nervous as the holidays drew nearer and nearer. He left presents for the Byers one year when he heard that Jon’s mom lost her job after his dad left. He left presents almost all over town, had the phone book highlighted with every address he wrote down in his notebook — a much needed upgrade from the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. He wrote a list, he checked it twice, and he made sure to slip through the dark like a shadow, avoiding anything that might give him away.

He was always surprised when no adults tried to stop him. Surely, the stoop presents were well known throughout town by the time Steve reached high school, but maybe they didn’t want to know who was behind it. Maybe they wanted to keep the magic alive, too. Either way, Steve played a successful Santa for nearly two decades before anyone found out.

It was Eddie.

It was always Eddie.

Eddie, the boy who knocked Tommy clear to the ground that first winter. Eddie, the boy who made Steve want to help. Eddie, the boy who received the first ever gift from Hawkin’s own Santa, though Steve kind of hoped that was a secret he could keep.

They were putting up the tree in their apartment, the first Christmas they were spending together. Eddie had brought several old ornaments from the trailer, ones that he stole from right under Wayne’s nose because lord knows the man wouldn’t want to part with them if he didn’t have to — a collector, that man was. Steve picked up one that, at first, had been unassuming, a clear bauble filled with glitter. Hanging it on the sad twiggy branch of their Charlie Brown tree, however, he noticed a little piece of paper inside. It was aged and a bit crumpled, but not too shabby for how old it was.

From Santa, sorry I was late, it read in squiggled, messy handwriting, the wonky letters leaning to one side more than the other.

P.S. my elf wrote this

Steve stared at it for entirely too long, catching Eddie’s attention as he hung the last ornament.

“Wayne made that one, if you can believe it,” Eddie said, tapping the plastic bauble with the nail of his pointer finger. “I mean, not the note,” he clarified, “that was Santa.” He whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if letting Steve in on a huge secret. Steve felt like he was going to cry, suddenly, the tears pricking behind his eyes. With a start he realized, selfishly, that he didn’t want Eddie to know. He wanted to keep this mystery alive for just a little longer, like a parent too sad to let their child grow out of the world of magic and wonder, like it was too soon though the secret had been brewing for nearly twenty years.

Eddie wrapped a cautious arm around Steve’s shoulders, unsure of where his sudden teary-eyed expression came from. Instead of facing his questioning look, Steve tucked his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck and listened as the man regaled him with the story of his first ever gift from the Santa Claus.

That year, Wayne had lost his job as a trucker because Eddie had fallen into his lap. He couldn’t leave the kid all alone, had to stay and take care of him, and he was between jobs until the holiday snuck right up on them both. They had a tree, just as shabby and sparse as the one they currently stood in front of, but there was no money to spare for gifts. Wayne had apologized, and Eddie had been very understanding for an eight year old — after all, he had been learning not to rely on adults, anyway.

He’d gotten in trouble when the school year resumed, however, for shoving an insufferable Tommy Hagan to the ground during recess. Of course Tommy hadn’t gotten in trouble, since vigilantism was an under appreciated form of justice, Eddie declared. Steve snorted into Eddie’s neck, just imagining the ranting tirade the skinny boy with a shaved head must have gone on, trying to defend himself to the principal.

Eddie was furious as he got back home, pissed off at Hagan, pissed off at his parents, pissed off at the world. And then — what to his wondering eyes did appear — two days later, Wayne had opened the door to the shittiest wrapped present he’d ever seen. Steve bit his tongue. It was for Eddie, according to the name scribbled onto the wrapping paper, and the little note declared it was a lost gift from Santa.

“Like magic,” Eddie smiled.

Steve had no idea that was his first Christmas at Wayne’s, and he had no clue what that first shove on the playground could lead to. He could still picture Eddie’s scrunched brow as he glared daggers at Tommy, could still remember the way he sank into his shoes and grounded himself for a fight, like he was used to it, like he knew what was coming. He wished he could picture Eddie’s face as he realized Santa hadn’t forgotten about him.

“Anyway,” he said, startling Steve from his thoughts, still tucked away in Eddie’s neck, “Wayne kept that note, and I think he’s got the one from the next year, too. He’d saved enough money for a couple presents that year, but I think he was grateful for a little extra help.”

Steve pictured himself, a tiny little thing, curled up in the living room, all alone on Christmas Eve as he wrapped up presents and wrote out his Santa letters. He remembered feeling less alone for the first Christmas in forever, because he was too busy sticking too much tape onto glittery wrapping paper and worrying about not getting caught to care that his parents weren’t home again.

He thought about the bag full of presents, tucked away in the back of the closet so Eddie wouldn’t find them, and his list of kids he collected from the library’s giving tree. He had planned on sneaking out, planned to slip away from Eddie’s prone form and deliver the gifts alone, like always, but Eddie squeezed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head and he realized that he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Maybe this year there could be two Santas, delivering gifts to the children of Hawkins in the dead of night. Maybe this year he could have some help. Maybe this year, there could be twice as much magic as the year before.

—

Bingo Prompts

[phykoha]

Sorry for not posting like. at all. Have this guy

[youwillfindilluminating]

sorry but karen watching frank sleep hits every one of my buttons

[elodieunderglass]

(Killie the jockey OC and his coworkers)

(Killie is absurdly strong! but also - this is important, listen up, Rossa - the instructions are written on the cap)

(As a dual champion flat and jump jockey, Killie is capable of opening jars and also immune to the lure of the single grape)

[puppetmaster13u]

Hear Me Out

Yokai Amity. What are yokai? Japanese spirits. And not just ghosts, a majority of mythical creatures? Yokai.

So how did this happen? Well, like most things, it can be blamed on the ghost portal in the Fenton Basement. And a lot of ecto contamination. Because while they're a small city? They're also in the middle of nowhere, meaning a lot of their foods and crops, they grow themselves. And the ectoplasm? Started sinking into the ground first. Y'know, where every plant grows and then both humans and animals proceed to eat it? Made even worse when those like Overgrowth or Vortex came through? Yeaah, it'd be a miracle if they didn't get contaminated and no surprise that most don't notice their humanity slipping with time with how it's happening to everyone.

Which kind of makes the situation Danny has found himself kind of hilarious? At least to him. The trenchcoat dude seems to be having an aneurism or something similar.

"So... not a meta?" the tiny vigilante child clarified again, head tilting from where he stood at the head of his group. Honestly Danny was enjoying this from his place sprawled across the park bench Honestly Amity had spoiled him with benches designed for extra limbs.

The blonde man seemed absolutely done with everything, hands twitching as though about to cradle his head in his hands or grab something. "No," he wasn't shouting but it was close. "For fuck's sake- your all lucky not to be cursed or worse-" He turned towards Danny. "Why the fuck didn't you?"

The hainu shrugged, wings doing more of the motion than the rest of him. "They're babies-" Or at least one of them was, borderline liminal as they were. "You play along with toddlers." Honestly he saw why his old rogues found this fun, even if he'd never go as far as they did.

The entire team of vigilante children bristled, one opening their mouth to protest before trenchcoat-soul-dude glared at them all before turning back towards him.

"Though what the fuck do you need that for that you'd steal it- not that any artifact like that should be in a bloody museum and not locked away where idiots can't get to it."

He snorted, the sound more dog-like. Or really more yeti-like, what with how he was taking lessons from Frostbite which meant large chunks of time in the Far Frozen.

"Technically I don't need it, my kid does," Danny held up a finger, marveling slightly at the clouds. It was quite different compared to Amity, what with how everywhere was so ecto-infused that the sky was effected.

"And what does a hainu need with-" the trenchcoat man motioned to the cursed object, which honestly wasn't that bad. But...

"Oh no, he's not a hainu, he's furaribi." Danny honestly wasn't surprised that Jordan wouldn't turn out the same as he, de-aged or not. Not that he was memory-less or anything, cores didn't lose that easily, but he did still have the physical brain of a child.

"Adopted?"

"Nope," he hummed, going over the list of things he still had to do today before returning to Amity. Sam had asked him to get a few more flowers to test how ecto would effect them and he had to pick up some computer parts for Tuck.

"How the fuck."

"My sister's a kitsune, my other sister is a shirouneri, my mom is a shishi, my dad a baku, godfather's an itachi, my boyfriend a raiju, my girlfriend a kirin, and my other girlfriend a yosuzume," he ticked off his fingers, not seeing anything wrong with it. Not like people could get into Amity easily after the whole GIW thing.

"... what the fuck does your family tree look like, mate, because that should be bloody impossible."

Danny shrugged, giving a sharp toothed smile. Yeah, the realms didn't care about that with how malleable ecto was.

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

(In case it's not clear: Hainu Danny, Furaribi Dan, Kitsune Jazz, Shirouneri Danny, Lion Dog Maddie, Baku Jack, Itachi Vlad, Raiju Tucker, Kirin Sam & Yosuzume Valerie) (Also feel free to come up with what everyone else might be) (Highly recommend yokai.com for a quick summary of each creature)

[orellazalonia]

Tiny Wings, Gentle Things

Summary: Steve gently teaches you human things like books, buttons, and manners, while Bucky encourages mischief, showing you how to pull harmless pranks around the tower. The others react with a mix of confusion, amusement, and affection. (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 700+

A/N: Little day in the life as I work on something else for them. Thank you to @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna for some of the ideas here. Enjoy! Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Tiny Trouble Masterlist

No one really knew what to do with you.

You were small, winged, usually perched somewhere high, and spoke only when you really had something to say. And even then, it was usually short answers or a half-muttered grumble. But Steve and Bucky understood your silences, the way you blinked slowly to show you were listening, or how you folded your wings just slightly when you were shy.

Tony tried, for about five minutes. He offered you a nanobot containment suit that looked like a miniature Iron Man armor. You stared at it, picked it up, and immediately used it as a bowl to hold berries.

Clint once tried to feed you a gummy worm. You were offended he gellied a worm, threw it back at his face, and disappeared in a sparkle.

Natasha never tried. She just nodded at you once, quietly, like she saw you in the way only someone used to silence really could. You nodded back. A silent truce.

But it was Steve and Bucky who brought you into their strange human world piece by piece.

Steve started with books.

Children’s stories at first, Grimm’s fairy tales (which you found rude), then picture books, then little poems he read aloud to you in the warm morning sun. You’d perch on the windowsill, legs swinging, wings drowsy and half-spread out, as he explained what a “library” was. You didn’t say much, just blinked slowly, then nodded once.

Then came buttons.

You were obsessed with them, often hoarding them after being given some as rewards for your lessons with Steve. The man would sit you on the table and give you different things one at a time. Sometimes it was light switches, other times old radio dials or clicky pens, and he would explain each time what they did.

“Elevator,” Steve said once, pointing to the big silver doors. “You press that button, and it takes you to another floor.”

You looked at him then at the button before pressing it. When the doors opened, you flew inside and hovered in the corner like a suspicious bee.

He didn’t laugh. Just waited.

You ended up going up four floors by yourself and refused to speak for two hours afterward.

Bucky, on the other hand, was… different.

He saw your silences as permission. Permission to teach you everything you weren’t supposed to know.

“Okay,” He whispered one evening, crouched beside the kitchen island like he was about to spill government secrets. “This is a prank. It’s not bad. It’s mischief. And Sam deserves it.”

You blinked slowly, sitting on his shoulder.

He held up a spoon and nodded toward the sugar bowl.

“Swapped with salt. Classic.”

You didn’t say anything, but when he looked away, you fluttered over and swapped every single label in the spice rack.

Bucky stared, then smirked. “Okay. Overachiever.”

From then on, it became a game.

You’d turn invisible and move Sam’s phone two inches to the left every day until he questioned reality.

You filled Peter’s web-shooter with glitter. You unzipped Tony’s backpack halfway so it spilled post-its everywhere. No one ever suspected you except maybe Nat, who watched you a little too knowingly.

You never laughed out loud. But sometimes, when no one was looking, your wings would pulse in little ripples like soft, silent giggles.

And sometimes Bucky caught you smirking behind your hand.

You didn’t talk much. But you listened.

You remembered that Steve said “please” and “thank you” even to vending machines. That Bucky never let anyone touch his dog tags but didn’t mind when you rested on them. That Sam talked too loudly but always smelled like clean laundry and summer air. That Wanda could feel emotions like a river and once gifted you a leaf shaped like a heart.

You never spoke of it, but sometimes you left little gifts.

A petal in Natasha’s drawer.

A marble in Peter’s hoodie.

A single, silver button beside Steve’s bed.

You were quiet, mysterious, and easily mistaken for decoration sometimes. But the tower shifted around you, softened. They grew used to the way coffee mugs were suddenly left out around the place or how the microwave would beep and no one was there.

And every morning, without fail, Steve would say, “Good morning, sweetheart,” to the windowsill just in case you were there, curled in a sock, pretending not to care.

[bowserphobia]

the return of Human Bowser- i mean Regular Bowser.

Transcript under the cut ->

Panel One Peach: Ugh... meeting the parents. Are you nervous? I'm SUPER nervous. Bowser: Pff, no.

Panel Two Bowser: WAIT- What d'you MEAN you're nervous?? If anyone should be nervous it should be ME!!!!!

Panel Three Bowser: You've probably had this human thing locked down since the day you hatched- Peach: So what? That doesn't mean they'll automatically like me!

Panel Four Peach: You know how I am. I'm a perfectionist.

Panel Five Bowser: ... Not based on how my nails are turnin' out. Peach: It'll wash off...

Panel Six Bowser: C'moooon. They're gonna LOVE you. You're making it bigger than it is.

Panel Seven Bowser: At least MARIO isn't giving you pop quizzes on MAMMALIAN TAXONOMY. Like, I GET it already. Hair, milk, inner ear bones, whatever.

Panel Eight Bowser: It's basically IMPOSSIBLE for you to be the one to ruin this, so why don'tcha calm down.

Panel Nine Peach: HEY. I'm PERFECTLY CAPABLE of ruining this. Bowser: NOT IF I RUIN IT FIRST!!!

Panel Ten Peach: I make a bad first impression sometimes. Bowser: Oh, come the fuck on- you're INCREDIBLY charming. Peach: I'll probably throw up. Bowser: I might hit on his dad. Mario: Ohhh my god. Oh my god. Luigi: Hmm... Hey, Mario, should I even broach marsupials? You think that'll come up at all?

[miyagi-hokarate]

Spot the difference

[tea-potato-gt]

A Borrower at the End of the World Part 18

Word count: 4600ish words

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***

Now…

The early morning sun came through the green curtains, illuminating the room with a bright, almost sickeningly cheery glow. A particular beam seemed to have it out for Jace because it shined directly on his closed eyes. He scrunched his nose and sat up with a grown, his body ached and protested with every movement.

Then Jace remembered why: He was forced at gun point to walk for miles, from midday till the sunset with only a few breaks here and there. He even carried his sister on his back at one point. Layla had hit a growth spurt recently and was already too big to carry, but it was either he carried her or one of the other soldiers would. Jace didn’t regret protecting his sister from those beans— people—soldiers, he never would, but his body definitely hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. 

Despite his physical exhaustion, Jace didn’t sleep well. He wasn’t used to waking up in such a squishy bed. It was too... nice. No bugs or mildew smell lingered on the plush surface. It tilted and sunk with his weight as he sat up and turned. His feet hung over the bed frame and didn’t touch the ground. The very fact they were sleeping in a bed with a frame was odd. The mattresses the kids slept on were placed on the ground, because Jace moved any bedding materials he could find into the room with a fireplace. The nights got cold out in the world, they needed to stay in the hearth of the house with a burning fire to keep warm. Any wood they could find in the house, including the bed frames would usually be burned at some point. But here in General Monroe’s mansion— their birth father’s mansion- the room was pleasantly warm all night. The blankets were thick and kept any chill from creeping in.

Jace rubbed his hands down his face and looked at his eight year old sister laying beside him. Layla was still fast asleep, arms and legs sticking out in every direction, like a tangled mess of limbs. He wished, as he did most mornings when he found his sister sleeping in a weird way, that he could take a picture. Maybe somewhere in this “Sanctuary for Humanity” there was a camera? If there was electricity and running water, what else was there? That would have to be a question for his father later.

Jace stood and tried to stretch out his back, then he heard it. It was soft due to the windows being closed, but something in Jace knew exactly what it was. It was a sound he hadn't heard in years. The distant memory made Jace grin wildly as he walked to the window.

It was the sound of beans. Lots and lots of human-beans. Busy, talking, living humans.

Just as Jace thought, in the morning sun the streets below his window had come alive. Hundreds of people walked about and chatted. Men, women and children alike. There were markets and shops open. People trading their goods, shaking hands, and making conversation. He saw a group of soldiers marching in formation down the street. The shoppers moved out of their way, smiled and waved at them as they passed.

Jace's breath was taken away, he hadn't seen so many people in so, so long. It didn't feel real. The previous night, this place was like a ghost town, the streets were devoid of life. And now in the day, it was a vibrant (mini)metropolis.

Jace felt a pull within his chest, he needed to be down there meeting and talking to those people! Experiencing what it's like to be surrounded by people bigger than himself (who weren’t trigger happy soldiers). He looked to Layla, the only other human-bean he had contact with for the past three years, she was still asleep.

Jace sighed, it wouldn't be fair if he went out there without her, she was just as deprived of human interactions as he was. He'd better wait till she woke up and they could go out there together. But Jace was too restless to try and go back to sleep. He decided to go to the bathroom where proper, functioning plumbing was waiting for him.

It was a nice change indeed.

***

Briar watched Jace’s large, socked feet walk across the wooden floor as the boy left the room. The borrower was sitting under the bed, his back against the wall. He promised to be here when the kids woke up, so here he was. 

After Briar departed the night before, he quickly found an entrance into the walls. It was behind the bed, fairly accessible to himself and good sized to walk comfortably into without having to duck too much. Maybe there were rats in the walls, chewing large holes in the wood, Briar shuddered at the thought.

As soon as Briar was in the dark safety of the walls, he laid down, using his satchel as a pillow, and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep. He was so exhausted that he felt like he could sleep through the apocalypse all over again and still be none the wiser.

But unfortunately, he awoke with the morning light that illuminated from the hole in the wall. He sat up with a crick in his neck, and his body hurt like nothing he had felt in years. 

Borrowers have a naturally fast healing factor, definitely faster than beans. But as Briar had aged in years, his ability to bounce back easily slowly diminished. If he sustained injuries like he experienced the previous day 20 or even ten years ago, he’d be back in action in a day or two. But now it usually took his body three or four times as long to heal. He huffed and started to stand, trying to ignore the massive headache coming on, and made his way back into the room the kids stayed in.

Briar couldn’t bring himself to sleep too far from the children, sometimes Layla would have bad dreams and cry. Sometimes she would call for Briar in her sleep. Most of the time Jace could calm her down enough for her to go back to sleep, but other nights, she couldn’t relax until she saw, heard, or touched Briar. The nights where she needed to feel Briar were the harder nights. Her dreams were so vivid, but once she was fully awake— usually when Briar was in her grasp— she couldn't recall what she dreamed about or why it was so distressing.

One night a few years ago, she was in such a daze and began desperately searching for Briar that she was crawling on the floor groping in the dark. She was screaming Briar’s name into the darkness like if she didn’t find him she might die. Jace had to hold his sister until she fully woke up, and at that point, Briar felt safe enough to come out when she calmed down. She held the borrower to her chest for what felt like hours and sobbed. Briar didn’t know what exactly she dreamed about that upset her so badly, but he did his best to scare away her night terrors.

Layla hadn’t had night terrors like that in over a year, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep too far from the kids. Yet he refused to sleep in the same room as beans. He found it too vulnerable, even if he trusted the children, his instincts would never let him relax enough to sleep near them. So as a compromise, he stayed in the walls close to where the kids rested.

That was on a normal night, but the place they were staying was not normal.

Briar refused to leave the kids that night when the beans who lived here were potentially dangerous. In fact, they most likely were. Never trust a bean, Briar’s Pa’s distant voice warned.

They were in an unknown, possibly hostile environment, given the way the kids were treated by those beans yesterday. But here they were, occupying space in the mansion of The General. The man who is apparently their real father.

The memory of that man holding, hugging, and kissing Jace and Layla left a sour taste in Briar’s mouth and irked him to no end.

The borrower let out a steadying breath as he felt the return of giant footsteps. He was pretty confident it was Jace. The boy had a distinct way of walking, modeled after how he watched Briar move. Borrowers were naturally light on their feet. Their steps are carefully placed to cause the least amount of sound or disturbance as possible. They were quick too, not pressing too heavily into the earth.

The way Jace walked made his steps mildly quieter and softer thuds than the average bean, but even with all the practice, there wasn’t much the boy could do about his giant size and weight. He was able to keep the earth tremors to a minimum though and Briar was thankful for it. At this point, the borrower walk came so naturally to the teen that he didn’t even have to think about it.

Jace slipped into the room and shut the door behind him as he made his way back to the bed. Before the teen could crawl back onto the mattress, Briar whistled like a bird four times. To the untrained ear, this might have sounded like nothing more than a distant morning sparrow, but Briar watched Jace’s socked feet freeze. Then like a building falling over in slow motion, Jace bent down and settled his large body on the floor. He extended his legs to the center of the room, as he peered under the bed. When Jace’s eyes finally saw the small form moving out of the shadows his smile grew. 

Briar gave a little smile as he came within reach of the boy.

Jace placed his hand out, palm up. After spending years with the kids, Briar (for the most part) no longer felt fear when the kids reached out to him. Even though he was roughly as tall as Jace’s hand, the kids had practiced over the years of proper treatment of their older, much smaller companion.

Briar nodded gratefully and took a seat on Jace’s palm with a grunt, his legs sticking over the edge of Jace’s hand. He felt his small body sink a bit into the squishy, leathery surface. Jace’s fingers twitched, but other than that he didn’t move. 

Jace put his chin on his other hand so the pair were at least a little on the same level. “Are you feeling any better, Boss?” Jace asked, his voice was a little hoarse from the early morning and the chaotic day before.

Briar nodded and looked down at himself, “I’ve felt worse.” He wasn’t sure that was entirely accurate, but anything to get that worried look off Jace’s face. The borrower didn’t like to be pitied. His head had stopped bleeding the night before, but it still pounded with a dull, distant ache. His back felt like he slept in the wrong position and his legs still shook if he stood on them too long. His left hand was out of commission given the terrible rope burns, meaning he probably shouldn’t go around climbing anytime soon. His injured hand (probably) wouldn’t stop him, Briar was nothing if not stubborn. Borrowers needed to climb like they needed to breathe. Though the lack of string and a proper hook might stop him. The Colonel had ripped off the string and thrown it aside like it was nothing the night before. Briar sighed. That was a borrowing problem for later.

“How’s your sister?” 

Jace glanced up over the curve of the bed, the only thing he could see was her right foot creeping over the side of the mattress. “She's fine, just asleep.”

“And you?” Briar reached out and patted the pad of Jace’s thumb. “How are you feeling, boy?”

“Fine I guess— Well as fine as I can be when it feels like I was hit by a truck.” Jace let out a breathy laugh that tousled Briar’s curly hair. 

“Yeah,” Briar tried to rub away the oncoming migraine by touching his temples. “I feel about as bad as the day I fell off your shoulder.” (That was probably the closest comparison Briar could get to being hit with a truck.)

“Okay– Briar, that was one time,” Jace dramatically sighed, “And I’ve already apologized for that more times than I can count. How many more times are you going to bring that up, old man?” He pulled the hand Briar sat on closer to his face, brought up his other hand and gently poked the borrower in the chest, mock accusingly. It was a rare day when Briar admitted to the pain he felt in his own body, even if it was at Jace’s expense, bringing up one of his earliest regrets when it came to traveling with the borrower. 

Briar snickered and pushed the intruding digit away, “I will stop the day borrowers learn to fly.”

Jace snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. Though you are light enough that you might just… float away,” Jace lifted his palm up a bit as if he was weighing the borrower, the man was very light, barely making an indent in his hand.

Briar smiled good naturedly as the surface he sat on was rocked a bit and was set back down.

“But if you could float, maybe I could tie a string to your leg and we could go outside together," Jace giggled at the idea. If briar could float, they wouldn’t have to worry about colliding with other humans and accidentally hurting Briar, knocking him off the kid's shoulders or crushing him in their pockets. If Briar could float, he’d just be coasting above it all.

“Outside?”

“Yeah in the town!” Jace didn’t pick up on Briar’s hesitation. “There’s so many beans out there, Briar! Real human-beans! I can’t wait to go with you and Layla!”

Briar paled at the mention of the kids going out there. Then he began to sweat when he realized Jace wanted him to come too. His borrower instincts were kicking into overdrive, he hadn’t had to worry about being in a house with dangerous beans in a long, long time. Now they were in an unknown mansion with psycho soldiers and there was an entire city outside crawling with giants. It was something straight out of a borrower horror story. “Y-You can’t go out there,” Briar spoke in a hollow voice.

Jace cocked his head, “Why not?”

“You— you might get picked up by a hawk!” Briar blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“Briar, I’m five and a half feet tall, I don’t think I’ve ever had to worry about being taken by a hawk,” Jace laughed incredulously and shook his head. “In fact, I don’t think any bean has ever had that fear.”

“W-well, it’s a pretty common worry among borrowers.”

Jace rolled his eyes with a smile, “But you know I’m not really a borrower, right?”

“Oh.” It seemed Briar had forgotten he was literally sitting on a giant hand. Well not forgotten, it was still in the back of his mind that the kids were huge compared to him, but he somehow forgot how different Jace and Briar really were. “I know. I know,” Briar chewed his lip, “It’s just good to have a healthy fear of things that could have the potential to kill you.” He wasn’t just talking about hawks now.

Jace paused and studied the borrower’s small face. “Is everything alright, boss? You look worried.”

“To be completely honest, no.” Briar looked up at Jace’s big brown eyes, “It’s just— I don’t want you to go out there.”

“What?” The fourteen year old frowned. “Why?”

Briar sucked in a deep breath and grasped Jace’s thumb, showing how important his next words would be, “Something isn’t right about this place. I can feel it. Even in this house,” he gestured around them, “every instinct in me is saying something is deeply wrong, it’s making my skin crawl.”

“Hey, maybe I can help,” Jace offered, he didn’t fully understand the borrower’s concerns, but he wanted to at least make him feel a little more comfortable. “Maybe I can ask my father about what this place is or – what’s going on–-”

“No!” Briar bristled at the very mention of the General, the thought of that man irritated him to his core and burned with white hot ire. He cut Jace off, “No— no, don’t engage with that man unless you absolutely have to.” Briar stood up from the boy’s hand, to be more at eye level with him. “And even then, stay out of arm's reach from him. I don’t like that man— I don’t trust that bean.”

Jace’s fingers curled in after the borrower’s small form departed from his palm. “I… I can understand why you might not like him… I mean, sure my father was a bit… intimidating last night, but after he realized his mistake he let us go. He fed us and we slept in a real, proper bed.”

“What do you think might have happened if he didn’t realize you were his kin?” Briar questioned. “Do you think he still would have let you go?”

Jace paused. He wasn’t sure. He was so grateful to be out of that jail cell, it hadn’t occurred to him what might have happened if they didn’t leave.

“For all you know, you are still prisoners here in this house. This bean house might be nice and all, but a gilded cage is STILL a cage.”

“Briar, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jace spoke in a cold whisper. “He’s my father. You just— you just don’t know him like I do.”

Briar huffed and ran his hands down his face, “I have said my peace about that man.” He breathed. “And I don’t want either of you to go outside till I know it’s safe and I don’t want you to talk to ANY beans in this house if you can help it.”

Jace’s mouth gaped open, “How can I not talk to any beans?” He pulled his hand back to him chest and clenched his fist. “I’m a bea— I’m a Human Being for crying out loud! We haven’t seen another person in nearly three years!”  

“Am I not another person?” Briar laughed bitterly.

“Briar, you know what I mean.” Jace said exasperated.

“I do,” Briar conceded. He was mostly joking of course, he knew what Jace meant, but if he wasn’t also a person, then what was he, chopped liver? “Understand this boy, if we bumped into a colony of borrowers, believe me, I’d be overjoyed, but I still wouldn’t trust them. You never know what people are capable of. Especially not Beans.”

“Well, you trusted us,” Jace pointed out.

“That was different–”

“How? You didn’t know us, and yet you stayed.”

“If I remember correctly, I didn’t talk to either of you for weeks until I trusted you a bit. And even then, I would only talk to you through the walls before I ever let you get anywhere near me, let alone touch me.” Briar was getting all riled up.

"Briar, please, this means everything to me— to us," Jace practically begged. "I mean— for a long time, I thought we were the last human beings in the world, and come to find out there is a whole town of people who were out there! And— and my father— OUR father is alive, Briar, and you're asking me not to even talk to him.”

"I'm doing it for your own good."

"My own good?" Jace laughed through gritted teeth, "For my own good." His face darkened and his frown deepened. Briar watched the giant opening and closing his fists with a strength that could crush a borrower's body instantly. Briar took an unconscious step back. It wasn’t often the kids made Briar nervous, but he was getting a real sense of danger forming in his gut. "This isn't for my own good and you know it. You're just asking— ordering me to do this because you're scared." Jace pointed an accusatory finger at the borrower.

"Of course I'm scared!" Briar practically shouted. Jace's eyes widened, it wasn't often the borrower raised his voice OR admitted to any form of weakness. Briar took a deep breath, trying to speak in an even, calm tone as he chose his next words: “Boy, all I’m asking for is that you and your sister keep a safe distance from them, until I know for sure if it’s safe or I find a way to escape ‘bean-town’.”

“Oh! So you're saying it's just up to YOU to decide if my people are safe? Don’t I get a say? Doesn’t Layla get a say–”

“Jace!” Briar raised his voice with a sense of finality that silenced the teen immediately. It wasn’t often Briar called either children by their first names, let alone shouted it. “I’m asking you, as a friend with many, many years under his belt to just be cautious.”

“I’m not a kid, so stop treating me like one." Jace rose up on his elbows, putting a good foot between their eyes. Whether or not he was indenting to be intimidating to the borrower, he definitely was. "I know what I'm doing," he said through gritted teeth. This wasn’t the first time Jace had talked about feeling he was being treated like a child, and it definitely won’t be their last. Briar liked to make executive decisions without either kids’ say. It was always Briar who picked where they stayed, rarely taking Jace’s ideas into account. The teen knew why the older man did what he did, but he still didn’t have to like it. 

“I’ll keep treating you like a kid as long as you ACT like one." Briar spat back. A bean using his size to intimidate another person seemed pretty childish to the borrower. "Especially if you are going to make half-cock decisions that put your life and your sister’s life in danger.” 

Jace instantly deflated.

The small man saw the hurt in the boy’s eyes, maybe Briar had gone too far. He let out a deep sigh and rubbed his uninjured hand down his face. Briar was the adult between them, he needed to act like it too. “I know you’re not a child. Of course, I know that.” Briar sighed, exasperated. “Just – just give me some time to figure this out and stay as far from those beans as possible. Please.”

In reality, Briar knew he had no control over the actions of beans, not even the kids he took care of. No matter how much he begged or kicked or screamed, the power of ultimate choice would always be in the hands of those bigger and stronger than himself.

Jace huffed, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to stand. They were just going in circles. Jace had to step away, his body was practically vibrating with anger and irritation. Briar always hated being near when either kid was experiencing 'big feelings' as Jace’s mother used to call it. The teen looked down at the small man from his full height. "I can do what I want, boss." He spoke the title 'boss' with such a venomous tone, never spoken out of his mouth before.

Last resort. The borrower really didn’t want to do this. Briar had to speak louder than usual to be heard by the towering bean, "I hate to pull this card, boy, but you promised me when we met that you would do anything I ask as long as I traveled with you."

Jace scoffed, "It was a stupid deal anyway. It's not like we need you around anymore--"

Oh.

Both the bean and borrower froze. The silence in the room was deafening.

The ground felt like it had just dropped out from underneath Briar. He couldn't breathe no matter how hard he tried. Dread and desolation coursed through his small body. A nagging fear that had steadily been building inside Briar's mind for months, was now all consuming.

They don’t need me around anymore…

It had been spoken into the world and there was no taking it back.

Jace paled. His throat constricted like his scarf was too tight. He stared at the borrower, who looked so small in such a gigantic room. So far away. "Briar... I--" Jace was cut off by the sound of rustling sheets on the bed. Layla was awake. Jace was surprised she didn't wake up sooner, what with the fight between him and Briar.

Layla yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked around expecting a small man to appear before her. Briar had promised to be there when she woke up, and Briar always kept his promises. 

Jace took a deep, steadying breath and looked back down at the floor, the borrower had disappeared under the bed. Probably for the best, Jace was still pretty upset and he didn't trust himself not to say anything else horrible. The teen didn’t like feeling guilty, but he was much too proud to apologize. Even if he tried to apologize, it was all too fresh that it would probably come out sounding backhanded.

Jace spoke in an unsteady voice, “Layla, the boss is und–”

A distant voice called from under the bed. “I’m right here, child.”

Jace’s blood pressure rose for a second at being cut off. Ugh! Does that man take delight in pissing me off? The teen thought as he opened the bedroom door and stomped out of the room.

Layla perked up and looked down to her left, there was a couple inch space between the bed and the wall, there peering up at her was the borrower. He waved, though he could only see part of her face, he could tell from the crinkle in her brown eyes that she was smiling at him. 

Layla’s face was suddenly replaced by her chubby hand as it descended towards Briar. The borrower took a step back, not out of fear, but respect for the powerful appendage. It finally stopped a couple of inches away from the floor. Layla most likely got stuck and couldn’t go down any further.

Briar smiled, he wasn’t sure if she was going to try to pull him up, but he walked to her chubby hand and gave her middle and ring fingers a hug. He wrapped his arms around the digits, and he distantly thought that her fingers would be about the size of an eight year old borrower. Her thumb gently tapped his back, not enough pressure to be able to lift him, but it felt nice and reassuring. She probably still remembered the painful reaction he had the previous day to her trying to hug him. Briar hated when he upset the kids, it seems like that was the only thing he could do in the last 24 hours. 

When he felt he was done, he gave her fingers a quick pat. She released him and gazed down at him from the crack above. 

“I’ll be back, but it will be a while, okay?” Briar called up to her. “I’m going to explore the walls. Stay inside the house if you can and don’t talk to any beans, okay?”

Layla nodded in reply.

With that, Briar glanced one last time at the space where Jace had previously stood before he stormed out. Briar let out a hefty sigh and entered the crack in the wall behind the bed. 

When he was finally inside, he had to lean against the wood for support, his legs shook like they couldn’t carry him far. Was it from exhaustion? Anxiety? Anger? Fear? Briar wasn’t sure, but Jace’s words echoed in his mind as he pushed himself to a stand and forced his body to move.

“It's not like we need you around anymore…”

He felt empty, like the cold, dark tunnels around him.

***

***

A spoonful of angst for my lovely readers 🎁😌 (sorry, not sorry) 🥰

Next chapter will be posted next Monday!

***

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[crabsnpersimmons]

love that @linafoxoficial's Giant Sun and my Clip both bond over not sleeping, and her recent art made me wanna draw the meme:

(somewhere off screen, Moon is fuming)

[ahappydnp]

overdosing on yaoi cocaine? what about having to self regulate every time dan and phil open their mouths