#g/t july 2023

[entomolog-t]

G/t July : Thief 

Mark is not a fan of dirty lil feral tromping around in his food. Its unhygienic. 

---

I love the idea of a human who can’t stand borrowing. Not because they care about stolen crumbs, or the invasion of their privacy, but just because the idea of someone handling their food is gross.

Do you let your human friends grab food off your plate with their bare hands? Would you eat food that they stepped on? 

No. Of course not. Because its UNHYGENIC. 

Also bonus points if anyone spies the lil reference. 

[delimeful]

just a little rush (2)

G/T July Day 5: Caught

warnings: angst, remus POV w more theoretical gore than usual, mentions of surgery & gore, jerk giant minor oc, panic, dissociation, dehumanization  

-

Remus hated to admit it, but Pattycakes had been right.

He definitely should have waited a little longer before trying for his next escape attempt.

It was the woulda-coulda-shoulda sort of regret that he didn’t usually waste time on. He was well aware of how many of his plans were bonafide bad ideas, and he generally went through with them anyhow.

The alternative was letting the fire ants under his skin grow more and more intolerable until he ended up doing the dumb thing anyway, but even more recklessly. It wasn’t so much a ‘choice’ as it was a ‘delay of the inevitable’.

After all, he was the only one getting hurt in the end, right?

Now, watching helplessly from behind birdcage bars as that bastard human loomed over Patton, he was finding that there were some consequences that could make him feel regret, after all.

Initially, the bastard had seemed eerily unperturbed by catching Remus in the act, even if his grip had gone dangerously tight for a heartbeat. He’d dropped Remus back in that gaudy cage without even a single word of scolding, turning away with a preoccupied gaze.

That should have been the first sign that something was about to go horribly wrong.

As it was, Remus’s bad feeling didn’t catch up with the reality of the situation until the human walked in mid-phone call, stopping right in front of them. The bastard looked them over with a calculating eye as he spoke to the tinny voice on the other end about prices and procedures, as though they were too dumb to put the pieces together.

Patton hadn’t stopped shaking until hours later, his wings tucked as tight against his back as they would go. Remus had forced himself silent for once, knowing that the gory thoughts he had to offer would only make the situation worse, and simply squeezed Patton against his side as securely as he could.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. No matter how hard they tried to cling on, it only took a single human hand to wrench them apart.

When the bastard had walked in with heavy leather gloves on, Remus had thought he was ready. He’d been prepared for his wings to be mangled, for tiny hollow bones to shatter and wiry muscles to be ground to a pulp, for even the lifelong pain of a botched amputation.

He hadn’t been prepared for the human to grab Patton, instead.

He was shouting, barking swears and threats and pleas that he barely registered as words as Patton was pinned against the polished wood of the nearby table.

It was like he had to make as much noise as possible to counter Patton’s awful, tremulous silence. His cellmate’s face had gone blank and pallid, eyes distant. A few of Remus’s shouts had made him twitch, but nothing seemed enough to bring him back to himself now.

The human— the monster pressed down on Patton’s wing joints and forced the feathery limb to flex open, soft blue plumage on full display.

It picked up a pair of narrow scissors, ignoring the compulsive twitches of the overextended wing under its hand.

The howl that Remus made was inhuman, shredding out of him like razor blades in his throat, and the human paused to glance over at him for the first time.

“Huh.” Its expression was pleased, almost smug. “That vet was right on the money with that ‘social creatures’ thing. Maybe this will finally teach you that there are consequences to your actions, hm?”

It flicked the scissors open with a metallic sound, and as though it was a signal that all was lost, Patton went entirely limp with resignation.

Remus forced himself to keep gripping the bars with numb hands, to keep his ears uncovered, to keep his gaze locked on the only friend he had here. His heart felt like a hammer against his ribs, his mind conjuring up a hundred different gruesome imaginings that were all nothing in comparison to knowing it was about to happen for real.

Patton was going to be grounded forever, at best, and it was his fault. The least he could do was witness exactly what he’d caused.

The monster slid the scissor blades into place, adjusting the angle once or twice, and then snapped them shut with a sharp snkt!

A fistful of feathers tumbled free from Patton’s wing, jagged at one end from where they’d been sheared off. Another cut, and more downy blue scraps fluttered down to the desk’s surface.

Remus felt his breath catch in his throat, a sick and sudden hope twisting through him.

He waited on pins and needles as first one wing, and then the next, had their feathers cropped short with snip after snip of the scissors. There was no split flesh or severed bone, only the near-silent whisper of more and more feathers being cut away.

There were a few moments where the scissors got dangerously close to clipping a blood feather, but ultimately, when Patton was deposited back in the cage, it was without a single wound.

Well. Without any physical wounds.

Even as Remus gathered his friend into a crushing hug, Patton remained unresponsive. Checking him over revealed dull eyes and his shorn wings laid out limply behind him.

He didn’t twitch, not even when the human reached in and clicked a thick, bulky piece of plastic around his shin.

More than willing to pick up the slack, Remus lunged at the intruding digits with a snarl and bared teeth, his wings flared out aggressively.

There was no biting through gloves that thick, though, and with a few casual movements, it had him pinned down with suffocating force. A pair of fingers pinched around his leg, pulling the limb straight and maneuvering something hard and smooth into place around it despite his best efforts to kick and writhe.

There was a click, and the bastard finally, finally withdrew, closing and locking the cage door thoroughly behind it.

Remus barely spared a glance for the thick plastic cuff that had been latched around his lower leg or the wire cord connecting it to the other half of the restraint where it sat on Patton’s own leg. It didn’t matter, not compared to the insistent urge to reach out and make sure that Patton was really there, really alive despite his current lifelessness.

At first, he scoffed at the idea that it was a punishment to be linked to his only companion in this sterile gold-leafed hell, but a closer inspection of Patton’s wings revealed the truth.

Almost every single primary had been severed, an obvious gap with a long stretch of jagged angles left behind. Patton wouldn’t be able to fly like that. Remus would be surprised if he could even manage to glide like that.

Oh. He understood now.

Without use of his wings, the chances of them escaping dropped as abruptly as a piano from the top of a skyscraper, going from challenging to near-impossible.

Hurting Patton and making him watch had been the punishment. Cuffing them together, making it so that any attempt to fly, to escape, would end with Patton inevitably dragging them down— that was a reminder.

Maybe they could still manage to find a way out, if Patton could be persuaded once he came back to himself.

Maybe next time they got caught, it would be the wing itself that was snapped, instead of just the feathers.

Maybe the punishments would continue to escalate until all that was left to cuff Remus to was Patton’s bloodied corpse.

“Sunshine,” he tried with an unsteady voice, desperate for a response, anything to get his mind off the miserable hopelessness of their situation. “Can you hear me?”

Patton didn’t even blink, his mind far away and his body unresponsive. He stared through Remus with glassy eyes, and Remus bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing his breathing into something steadier out of spite alone.

Okay. Patty Wagon wasn’t quite ready to come back yet. That was alright.

Remus could take care of them both for a little bit.

He drew Patton closer, folding his friend’s wings back in as neatly as he could and resisting the urge to run his fingers obsessively over the irregular edges of the cut feathers– they’d need to be removed, but not now. Not now.

Once his mangled wings weren’t laying askew, Patton started looking a little less like roadkill. It was alarmingly easy to maneuver him into a hopefully-comfortable sleeping position, as simple as wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squishing him against his side like they were dead fish in a tin.

It might have been his imagination, but when he ran his hand over Patton’s back, he thought it was a little less tense than before.

With nightmarish visions still playing on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked, Remus mantled his wings to hide the both of them as best he could, and settled in for a sleepless night.

[andtheyreonfire]

ev’ry mem’ry i’ll keep

1 - fade away in the blue

Ao3

Wc - 1,619

AN: Written for G/t July 2023, Day 8.

~

Akechi comes back to warmth, and a solid, living bed.

He opens his eyes, finding his face buried in the crook of a massive, curled thumb. He blinks. Fog dulls the sharper edges of his thought, remnants of sleep obscure his vision. He blinks again, looks around, watches fingers long as he is tall twitch against his back. His legs rest against a giant, calloused palm.

He sucks in a breath through his nose, and the smell of vanilla, cinnamon, and cheap detergent hit him like a truck. His eyes widen. His head snaps up, and—

Ren Amamiya's giant, concerned stare looms above him, hunched over Goro like he’s something to be protected. From this angle, Goro has a perfect view of his unmasked face.

Realization dawns like a summer sun. A brittle smile splits his face, all cracked edges and sour cherries. Goro murmurs, “I'm dreaming, aren’t I?”

Ren tenses. His voice reverberates through him. “Akechi, you—something happened. Maruki did—“

Goro runs a—gloveless, how fitting—hand over Ren’s thumb. It’s barely the size of his nail. Ren shuts up. His digit is hard, used to handling tools and sharp objects. He cradles Goro’s form as if afraid he’s going to break it.

Gods, he’s warm. Too warm, too gentle for this to be reality. Goro would die before the universe could give him anything as soft as this.  

Goro sighs. “You smell like my mother.”

The hand holding Goro completely, utterly stills. If he craned his neck up he’d see—not a deer-in-headlights expression, because this is a dream, and Ren would never falter in a perfect reality. Whatever fog muddles Goro's thoughts would exist to obscure Ren’s face, like one of Tokyo’s skyscrapers jutting up into the heavens.

This is a dream—it must be, right? He deserves nothing less, nothing better, nothing real.

The hand beneath him is solid, sturdy as a real hand. Goro can feel the faint, rapid thrumming of a pulse, buried beneath layers of flesh. It almost, almost feels real, but—

This is a dream, and Goro settles into Ren’s palm, wrapping his arms around the boy's thumb. Almost on autopilot, Ren’s fingers brush against his back, cradling him, keeping him safe.

Ren’s voice rumbles, “Akechi—“

“Ren,” Goro says, against the skin of his—rival isn’t the right term here, is it? His apparition, his antithesis, the boy holding him in the palm of his hand. He buries his face into Ren’s thumb, and lets exhaustion mar his tone. “...Let me have this.”

Wherever this is, be it an afterlife or a cruel, fleeting reminder of what Goro could’ve held, he’ll take it. He’ll let himself rest.

There’s no price for being vulnerable when you’re already dead.

Ren’s exhale ruffles his hair. His breath smells like coffee, complimenting the scents his mother wore before her death. Goro feels a single, massive finger trail down his side. It’s beautifully warm, just as the rest of Ren is.

“...Okay,” Ren whispers. Goro closes his eyes. “I'll...I've got you. I'll figure everything out.”

Goro takes his reassurance, as fleeting as it is, and slots it into the place where he keeps his mother’s last words. It only takes Ren’s fingers moving to blanket over him, before he slips away.

So long as he’s dreaming, maybe this death will be kind to him.

~

Goro wakes up, and that’s a surprise in and of itself. His eyes widen as he registers that familiar, soft warmth around him. Only—fabric blankets him, thick and heavy. His weight dips it into a hammock. It’s dark; he can barely see his hand in front of his face.

He’s curled up against a wall, one that thrums with a rhythmic, pulsing beat, like that of a heart. He feels more than hears it pumping, drumming under his hands. A piece clicks into place.

He almost jolts as a voice rumbles through the wall, through Goro, impossibly deep and twice as loud, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Amamiya. Joker. Ren. Distantly, he remembers massive fingers cradling him, remembers a dream-like fugue where anything could happen. The fog’s gone, his exhaustion cured by the last time he slept, slept in Amamiya's hand>—

The city chatters around him, muted by a layer of fabric but no less blaring. Amamiya's chest is solid under his body. Goro himself is uncomfortably warm, in his coat and Amamiya’s coat because he’s, what, curled up in his pocket like a fucking hamster? This—this isn’t—why is he so small—?

Something warm and massive slides over Goro, cupping around him and the pit of fabric. Goro isn’t able to quell a full-body flinch.

The warmth stills. Above him—no, surrounding him, voice reverberating like a clap of thunder, Amamiya asks, “Goro?”

Goro’s digs his fingers into Amamiya's chest. Why doesn’t he have gloves? Why isn’t he bleeding out? Why is he so small?

Amamiya darts through the crowd—and that’s his hand, isn’t it, squishing Goro into his chest like he’s an unruly cat? This isn’t right. He should be dead, rotting on a ship in the cognitive remains of Tokyo, not—whatever this is.

What the fuck is going on?

Amamiya takes a sharp turn. The chatter of the city begins to fade into a muted hum. He keeps walking. Goro jams his teeth into the flesh of his hand. He isn’t fucking dreaming. What—?

Amamiya stops. Goro cranes his neck back as—something pries open the fabric above him. Light floods into the small space, and massive, dark shadows reach in. He throws himself into the corner of the fabric, heart pounding, arms braced in front of him. Thick, leathery trunks slide under his arms and chest. Goro sucks in a breath as they tighten, lifting him up, up, up—

They drop him on something solid and warm. Goro's head snaps up, and he meets concerned, dark eyes the size of his head. Amamiya's face completely fills his vision, his fingers hovering at Goro’s sides.

He winces. “Goro—“

“What the fuck is this?!” Goro shoots to his feet, refusing to be curled up in Amamiya’s fucking hand like some kind of pet—before throwing his arms out because he refuses to eat shit like this, too. “What the hell did you do to me?!”

“That’s what I'm trying to figure out.” Amamiya's voice is low, calm, completely level, like he’s trying to be fucking soothing. Like he isn’t 20 times Goro’s height. “I have a hypothesis, but you woke up before I could confirm it.”

Goro yelps as Amamiya's finger brushes against his foot. He doesn’t hear Amamiya’s next words, because he’s too busy drowning, because he’s—

He’s completely helpless, isn’t he?

He’s literally standing in the palm of Amamiya’s hand, body no longer than one of the boy’s fingers. He probably doesn’t have his phone, doesn’t have his gun, doesn’t have an once of strength to his name. Amamiya could overpower him with—what? His hand? His pinkie? He’s buried too deep in the subway’s corner to escape. No matter how far he’d run, Amamiya could catch up to him in a matter of steps—unless, of course, he doesn’t decide to simply crush Goro beneath his heel—

“Hey...are you...?” Amamiya’s voice rumbles through him. Goro's breaths are coming too fast, too quick. It doesn’t matter. He—refuses to be someone’s plaything, stuck under a corrupt god’s control, again. But he—he can’t—

“Put me down,” Goro forces out. He drags his eyes to meet the giant’s gaze, expression hardening into a desperate glare when Amamiya’s eyes crinkle with concern.

He bites his lip, teeth gleaming like fangs gleaming like knives. “Goro—“

“Don’t—fucking call me that. Get the fuck off me. Put me down.” His voice cracks. It doesn’t—matter. Stand your ground, look into the barrel of the gun levelled at you, shrug off the social worker’s hand when they ask about your mother. Keep going, overcome, do it alone if you must. He can’t string together his thoughts long enough to manipulate his target, but Amamiya’s heart has always fucking bled.  

He looks around, searching for an alternative exit. He’s about to hurl himself off Amamiya's hand when he replies, “I—I need to talk to you. I don’t want you to run off.”

Goro chokes out a laugh, high-pitched and manic. “Where the fuck would I go? Let go of me. I—I swear to God, Amamiya, I'm going to fucking—“

“Okay,” Amamiya breathes, and Goro flinches when the hand beneath him lowers. His breath’s coming in too fast—and Amamiya noticed that, didn’t he? Shit—but it doesn’t matter when freedom’s so close. He resists the urge to brace himself against Amamiya's thumb.

Goro wastes no time flinging himself off when the hand reaches solid ground. His shoes stumble against the floor of the subway, and he shudders as its cold wracks through his body.  

It’s fine. He’s fine. Suck in a breath, dance away from the giant crouched in front of him, steel himself and save face for the cameras. No one likes a quitter, Akechi Goro. He's a goddamn ace detective. He’ll figure this out, and he’ll find a weapon that’ll stop Amamiya's hands in their tracks. Eventually.

Goro cranes his head up, scrambling for whatever control he has. Amamiya's hunched over him, crouched on the floor like Goro's a particularly interesting bug.

Goro swallows, clenches his clammy hands, and grounds out, “You are going to explain to me what the fuck you’ve ‘discovered’, and you are going to fix this, right now.”

Amamiya winces, and Goro knows, tar spreading into his stomach, that fixing this will be far, far easier said than done.

[kitpaw-animates]

G/t July #9: Rainy Day

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

Who knew playing Mario Party DS against a borrower would be so fun and frustrating? Laura sure didn’t.

[evieismol]

Gt july #18: fire

Easton, Angie, Dave, and Gus around a cliffside bonfire that’s probably only warm for 3/4 of those characters

[raventroll80]

G/T July

Day 2: Bird

Look who it is! It’s Em! I know I haven’t really done much with the main Stowaway story but I promise you I am working on it.

So for now enjoy this mildly spoilery drawing of Em and her bird friend

[cutetinyartist]

G/T July Day 2: Bird

Well it's midnight over here so here's my next G/T July Prompt!! This is v silly and kinda Self-Indulgent but ah well

Synopsis: A Giant and Tiny are sat cloudwatching together when suddenly something appears that the Giant absolutely loathes...

Characters: Essentially just me and my BF tbh-

Word-Count: 236

It was a perfect afternoon for me and my Giant as we lay together in the lush green field, happily gazing at the clouds together and enjoying the mild breeze. Comfortable in the nest of my Giant's soft hair, I felt nothing but bliss.

"This is so perf-"

"Oh you FUCKER-" He suddenly groaned before I could even finish, abruptly sitting up and launching me onto his shoulder. The fast movement was disorientating, and as he started swatting at the air I realised what the issue was, "Fucking seagulls!!"

My Giant's adorably grumpy attitude was always amusing, but my laughter turned to a surprised yelp as he plucked me off his shoulder and dropped me in his palm. He tried to intimidate me with a hard stare, though there was a twinkle in those beautiful eyes.

"It's not funny! I hate those flappy little fuckers!! We're not even near the sea, why the fuck are they here???"

At this point I really couldn't contain my laughter, "You are such a grumpy old man sometimes!" Now, I don't like seagulls that much either (especially because they attack puffins, and those little guys do nothing wrong) but my Giant's unbridled hatred towards them always amuses me!

A moment passed before his grouchy facade was broken with the most adorable smile and chuckle, "You know, you're lucky you've got such a cute laugh... I fucking hate those birds though!"

[unusuallysized-nsfw]

G/t July Day 28/29 of 2023

The Theme Is: Cursed

Given my usual schtick youre probabbly expecting me to dump lore or talk about irl stuff or otherwise skirt the lines of PG

you were PROBABBLY even expecting this preamble.

well here it is.

heres the cursed post

you ready?

Square Cube Law Prevents G/t from ever occuring irl and studios wont do it in movies cus its too expensive for too little profit.

Now THATS cursed!

[entomolog-t]

Finding Strength

Finally finished a G/t July Prompt; Impulsive! I’ve been planning this story for a little while based off of this post, and I’m so happy for an excuse to start posting it! 

- - - -

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

Word count: 2715

CW: Adult language

Life was good, thought Tamius, and he needed it to stay that way. The tiny man slipped out from the small hole he’d made behind the fridge, with more than just a little skip to his step. He found himself dancing as he trotted out from beneath the appliance, some peculiar human song stuck in his head as he strutted out in the open. Like clockwork, at 4:01 pm he had heard the human clamor down the stairs, apparently giving up the hunt for some misplaced bottle of perfume, followed by the thud of the door as she darted out of the house. A near identical scene would play out almost every other day; Always in a rush. 

This human's apparent lack of time management leading up to whatever it was humans did when they left their homes was the greatest blessing he could ask for. That titanic fool would pick up her phone, notice the time and barrel out of the house, hastily leaving whatever it was she had been doing unattended. Most days this was usually in the form of food left on the table, alongside whatever they had been doing on their laptop. 

He quickened his pace to a jog, the air around him filled with the scent of something absolutely divine awaiting him on the kitchen table. His parents had been so worried about him going out to find a place of his own- but man, they were worried for absolutely nothing. All that fretting and bothersome nagging about safety protocols and potential dangers had nearly had him question if he was ready to go out on his own- but this was so easy! He’d somehow managed to stumble across the easiest human imaginable; The epitome of obliviousness. This colossal oaf a woman was scattered, unorganized, and inattentive; the perfect combination in his mind. Scavenging was always plentiful, and even better yet, she never noticed a single thing he took. 

A total ditz, he thought. 

His luck hadn’t stopped there either. Even with her chaotic nature, this perfect mess of a human was somehow still wonderfully predictable; Out of the house by 4:00pm nearly everyday, back by 7:00pm, in bed by 10:00pm.

But the best part? That enormous twit was the least intimidating human he’d ever seen. He had watched them countless times, almost pitying them as they struggled with each step up the stairs. Their movements were perpetually stiff and sluggish, as if they were perpetually exhausted… The only time he’d seen any sort of energy from them was when they’d dart out of the house. 

He tossed his hook upwards, a smirk playing across his face as it caught the edge of the table on the first try. Oh yeah, this borrowing stuff is a cakewalk. Hand over hand, he scaled the length of kitchen twine he’d swiped a few weeks back, loving how its rough texture provided him extra grip as he climbed.

Heaving himself up, he surveyed his score. He could have kissed that bumbling idiot. There it was, a half finished stack of banana pancakes, complete with chocolate chips and maple syrup. His mouth watered. He walked up to the plate, hands perched on his hips. He had brought a wad of cling wrap to take back food in his bag… but…

Fuck it. 

She wouldn’t be home until 7:00, why not enjoy a meal at the table?

Tamius continued to hum that strangely catchy human song, reveling in the freedom of being out in the open. He found himself bouncing along to the rhythm, anticipation building for the oh-so-sweet bounty before him. Nimbly, he danced around the plate, his skillful movements filled with lighthearted vigor, as he avoided stepping in the pools of syrup. He ripped off a large and syrup soaked chunk of pancake, and proceeded to stuff his face. Thank God for dumb huma- 

His thought was interrupted by the slam of a door and a myriad of expletives. He felt his body go rigid.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m going to be late.”

Fuck was right. 

Deep breath. He hastily scanned his surroundings. Kleenex box on the table. Cup to his right. Bag on the chair- Bingo. 

He dove. 

Tamius landed in the open bag with a soft thud, rolling into a stand. 

He felt a familiar cocksure grin creep back onto his face. Too easy. This human could throw no curveball that could catch hi-

For the second time in the span of less than a minute, his thoughts were interrupted. His world lurched and he was flung back, narrowly stifling a yelp.

Oh- oh no.  

She had come back for the bag. 

It was his turn to curse; a torrent of expletives slipped from his lips, whispered fiercely through gritted teeth. Where the fuck was he supposed to hide?? He was trapped. Unknowingly caught. No. This couldn’t be happening. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the thunderous steps taking him further and further away from his home. He felt his throat tighten. Fuck. He ran trembling hands through his hair, pulling at firstfulls as if should he pull hard enough he’d rip an idea straight from his scalp. The booming slam of the car door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. 

He needed a plan, and he needed one now. 

Breathe. Scan. Asses. Decide. He inhaled deeply, and tried desperately to ignore how his breath quivered in his chest. He was fine. Not scared at all. This human was an absolute ditz. The epitome of human idiocy. He just needed to figure out how to keep out of that colossal ditz’ line of sight. The car engine roared to life and Tamius felt as his every muscle stiffened. They were leaving.  He steeled his nerves. 

Think. Don’t focus on the car. You need a plan. 

His legs seemed to move on their own, as if trying to keep pace with his frantic thoughts.

Okay, so I’m trapped. We are driving away from the house. If I stay in the bag, the bag will get brought back to the house around 7:00…

He chewed his lip. Three hours was a long time to lay in wait in the stupid confined space of the bag, but what other option did he have?? He could try to escape while that big oaf was driving, but then he’d still need to get back in the bag to get back into the house… The house that was growing farther and farther away by the second. 

What if he had to abandon the bag? He had no idea where he was. Even if he did, the distance to get back would be insurmountable. His heart hammered in his chest. Leaving the bag was not an option. There was no way in Hell he was leaving this easy life behind. He would figure something out… He had to. 

Tamius scanned his surroundings. The bag hadn’t been zipped all the way, and there was just enough light pouring through the opening that he could aptly assess his situation. He sat atop a towel, a pair of shoes to his left, haphazardly thrown in. There was a water bottle beneath him, along with various articles of clothing and a mishmash of smaller items scattered about; pens, deodorant, a granola bar, lip chap, perfume... He let a small smile creep on his face. This human was a mess, and he would not let himself be unintentionally found by someone incapable of intentionally finding their own belongings. If this idiot would just put things in the proper pocket, she’d have no- 

Thats it!

He took the small knife he’d fashioned from a discarded razor from his hip. That massive idiot never used the proper pockets! Carefully, he crawled towards the front of the bag. Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize how the pockets were oriented on the bag. In his mind's eye, he saw it; the pouch that sat at the lower half of the front of the bag. Yes! This would work! Opening his eyes, he cautiously judged the distance to right and left. He was dead center. Perfect. 

Taking his knife, he sliced methodically, keeping the incision as small as he could manage, lest his handiwork be noticed before returning home. Gingerly, he cut his way into the front pocket, clambering inside. He breathed a sigh of relief;  it was completely empty. She had no reason to peek in this pocket. He was safe. 

Tamius barely managed to finish his sigh of relief when he felt himself lurch forward as the car came to a halt. He clenched his teeth. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. The dumb human was just going to do dumb human things for a few hours and then he’d be back home, safe and sound. He just needed to wait it out. 

His world was jostled as the bag was haphazardly lifted up and slung around the human’s shoulder. He gripped onto the internal fabric of the bag’s front pocket to avoid getting sent flying around. His stomach felt as if it dropped farther and farther with each step, and he swore he could taste the sweetness of the banana pancakes rising up in his throat. Tamius swallowed hard. 

Enough of that. This was pathetic. He’d found a safe spot. All he had to do was wait around for what? Like 2 hours and change? A total cakewalk. Baby Food. An absolute nothing. This was fine and he was fine. 

He listened intently, trying to gather any information he could about his location and surroundings. The sound of a door closing shut... Foot falls echoing… Voices… Voices with a particular resonance. He grimaced. Wherever he was, it sounded like a large open space. As he continued to listen, his scowl deepened. He counted the voices; one, two.. Three… four, five, six… seven… 

He stopped after he reached 10. Suffice to say there were too many humans. 

The feeling of dread was overwhelming. He couldn’t see a damned thing, and though he doubted he wanted to see his predicament, the lack of sight gave him a creeping feeling of being vulnerable. The booming voices resonating in an open room so far above him… he felt so small. 

No. 

Not felt. 

He was so small. 

Of course he knew he was small. He’d never stood taller than a coffee mug for the entirety of his life… and yet… he never truly felt small. Not like this. This was overwhelming. The mental barrier he'd work so hard to wedge between his conscious mind and the primal fear that lurked just beneath the surface shook under the realization of his own insignificance. Just the presence of beings so astronomically larger than himself made his stomach churn. His head fell into his hands as he struggled to keep himself from shaking. God, he felt pathetic. Just a few hours. He could manage. He would manage. 

The booming chatter died down as the sound of human music filled the room. A strange rhythmic thundering coincided with the change in ambiance. He could feel the floor shake beneath him. As strange as the surrounding noise was, he welcomed the sound of human music. 

You could never know what it's like

Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice

And there's a cold, lonely light that shines from you

You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use

He found his voice joining in, shaky and soft,

"And did you think this fool could never win?

Well, look at me I’m coming back again, 

I got a taste of love in a simple way, 

And if you need to know while I’m still standing, you just fade away,”

As he sang along softly he felt his anxiety melt away, slowly but surely. The minutes dragged on, punctuated by changes in songs, and occasional muffled shouting, indistinguishable from the surrounding noise. Tamius tried to calculate how long he had left by adding up the approximate time of each song… two minutes here, four minutes there - 

Thud. 

A tremor far more impactful than all those preceding it shook him from his thoughts. He heard a distinct grunt, and then, again, another thundering sound of impact, like something colossal crashing down. The noise was far greater than any foot falls he’d ever heard. 

Thud. 

He heard a human speaking somewhere above him. Though muffled, he recognized it as his enormous dolt of a human. She had muttered something about needing to use more.. hip?? Surely he couldn’t have heard that right. 

Thud. 

“Better, but like, I feel like I’m not getting any pop, you know?” What??

Another voice muttered something in apparent agreement. 

“You mind if I try one more time?” 

This piqued his interest. Carefully he gripped the rear of the zipper, opening the front pocket just a fraction. Just enough to see what could be causing such a commotion… and what it could possibly have to do with hips and popping??

As he laid his gaze on the pair of humans the fear he felt was instantaneous and palpable (tasting strangely like banana pancakes). He knew no amount of quiet singing would quell the rising panic from what he’d seen. For a moment, it was as if his brain refused to register the scene before him, as he stood unmoving, mouth agape. He saw his human, but it was as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. 

Her messy hair, slick and soaked in sweat, and tied back revealing sharp and focused eyes. Her figure, no longer drowning in her typical oversized clothing, was not at all what he had expected. Her broad frame had always seemed to suggest she was heavier, and he'd assumed they had just been soft, or chubby… Looking now, she was certainly broad, but the size she carried was overwhelmingly muscular. Each thundering step caused her legs to tense and relax, giving Tamius flashes of muscular definition. He swallowed numbly. Awe and horror swirled in his mind. He wanted to look away… pretend he'd never seen the sheer power that had been sitting underneath her lazy attire, but he couldn't. This couldn’t be her. 

She was smiling; saying something to another human towering above him. He hated how familiar it was; her smile, her laugh… it was undeniably her, yet it was as if he could barely recognize the behemoth standing before him. He stared up at the pair, mind somehow both racing and numb simultaneously… And then they moved. 

He felt like the wind had been sucked out of him. 

Humans were supposed to be slow. His human especially. But the reality he had become so accustomed to seemed to crumble around him. The other human reached towards her, but with uncanny precision, she redirected the incoming arm before it could touch her, her body moving with obscene fluidity. Tamius found the ease of her movements disturbing, as he watched her clear past the oncoming arm, stepping in flush to the other human's side. Her free hand reached around their body, with her trailing hand snapping around the opposite side, locking her grip tightly around the other human's body. 

Before Tamius’ brain could catch up to what was happening, the human was airborne. 

Thud. 

His whole world seemed to shake. Both physically and metaphorically. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

He felt bile creep up his throat. This… this couldn’t be her. She's a mess. An idiot. A ditz. Not.. not this!  She fucking threw another human with such well practiced ease as slinging a bag over her shoulder. His knees trembled for a brief moment before giving out entirely. He fell back into her bag, tension rising as reality set in around him. 

That human was a threat. 

He looked down at his hands. They trembled. Stop.... Stop. Stop! STOP! FUCKING STOP! It felt as though he was pleading with his body, begging it to submit to him. His hands never stopped shaking. Hiding was all he had, wasn't it? Not strength, not speed, not agility… The only thing keeping him safe was the fact he was too small to be noticed.

And he needed it to stay that way. 

[delimeful]

give me mercy no more (1)

G/t July Day 1: Enchanted

(Full Prompt List)

patron prompt: virgil hugging a crying janus!

warnings: arguing, tension, betrayal, mentions of assassinations, offscreen character thomas, it's a g/t fic but i didn't actually get to the g/t yet LOL, self sacrifice, crying, angst

-

“You can’t do this.”

Janus paused for the briefest moment at the sound of his closest friend’s voice, before continuing to pack away rations.

“Can’t I?” he asked airily, not turning around to face Virgil.

He’d known this confrontation was inevitable since they’d come up with the only possible solution to their kingdom’s problem. He hadn’t realized how unprepared he’d feel even now, with the hour of tribute rapidly approaching.

“It’s not right. Thomas needs you,” Virgil insisted, stepping closer.

Without even looking at him, Janus could picture the scowl he was wearing. Terrified and defiant in the face of impossible odds, as always.

Bringing up the heir apparent was a low blow, however.

“Yes, he does,” Janus snapped, a bite to the words. “Do you think anything else on this continent or any other could possibly move me to do something like this?”

A short, stagnant pause as Virgil struggled to find a retort.

“His Highness will be alright,” Janus added, softer. “Of course he will. You’ll be there at his side.”

A year ago, the idea of trusting any of the knights of this kingdom would have been laughable at best. The Sanders kingdom was a pit of vipers, and Janus had blended in with the best of them, climbing the ranks to the position of advisor through means that would make any moral man weep.

He’d still only barely been in time to prevent Thomas from perishing in a political assassination, one initiated by the same mage faction that had orphaned the young boy originally.

Janus didn’t have to do any investigation to learn that particular tidbit; it was an illuminating and concerning letter from the queen, an old friend of his, that had brought him back to the kingdom.

He’d been too late to save her. He’d made sure that the same couldn’t be said for her son.

Back then, he and Virgil had constantly been at each other’s throats, both expecting the other to betray the prince at any moment. Virgil saw right through Janus’ sly facades, and Janus knew that the rank and file of the kingdom’s army were only loyal to the highest bribe.

That was what they’d thought, anyhow.

When the next attempt rolled around, Virgil had been forcefully diverted from his usual patrol route, and was halfway across the grounds when the alarm was raised.

He’d torn through any opponent in his way in a desperate frenzy, and burst into the prince’s quarters expecting to see the worst.

Instead, he’d found Thomas whole and unharmed, positioned solidly behind Janus, who stood ready with two narrow, poisoned blades. The room already had a handful of would-be assassins collapsed on the ground, some in the same exact livery Virgil wore.

“Come and try,” Janus had hissed, keenly aware of the slash along his side and the way blood was already darkening his doublet.

Virgil, bigger and stronger and less winded even after a sprint across the kingdom, had taken two steps forward and knelt before him, head bowed.

The fool. Janus had almost stabbed him on reflex alone.

“Thank you,” he’d said, the back of his neck well and truly exposed, “for protecting him.”

Janus wasn’t used to being trusted. It had thrown him off for long enough that he’d stayed his blade, and before he knew it, Virgil had managed to worm his way under his defenses and become not only a trusted ally, but a snarky, paranoid, invaluable friend.

They grew to be called the Two Hands of the Future King, a title probably invented by some of the more pretentious court nobles. Virgil hated the attention, and Janus leaned into it just to annoy him.

They’d have to come up with something different, after Janus was gone. He wondered if his death would be referred to as something garishly insensitive, like The Amputation. Hopefully not; Virgil might actually come to blows if he heard that sort of thing.

He dragged his mind out of the past, sliding another ration he would likely never eat into his bag with the same smooth calculation he’d done everything else in his life.

“Besides, there’s no cause to be dramatic. I’ll be fine,” he said, voice full of a certainty he didn’t feel.

He held his breath as Virgil stood silently at his back for a long moment. His lies had never worked on the knight, but now he silently begged that for once, Virgil wouldn’t shatter the illusion. That he wouldn’t make this harder than it needed to be.

“Tell me how you plan to convince them,” Virgil finally said.

Janus let out a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “I already went over my strategy at the council meeting, didn’t I?”

“I was too pissed off to pay attention,” Virgil replied bluntly. “Tell me again. The way you’ll tell the beast.”

It was a rare occasion for Virgil to want to embrace a lie instead of the painful truth. Janus could grant him that, at least.

“With the damages from the invasion, we find ourselves unable to provide our usual tribute without starving to death ourselves,” Janus began, the speech long-memorized in the agonizing past week of waiting. “In order to preserve the existence of our kingdom, and by extension, the existence of your future tributes many years to come, we have provided an alternative offering that we hope will please you.”

He turned and spread his hands in an elegant flourish, his posture loose and pointedly unwary. “Along with precious heirloom riches, you are offered His Highness's own most trusted advisor, with vast wisdom and knowledge gathered from this continent and others.”

To do with as you please, he completed silently in his head. That would be no comfort to Virgil.

After all, everyone knew what most dragons pleased to do to humans that inconvenienced them.

Virgil stared at him with a deep wrinkle in his brow for a moment, and then snorted. “I should have guessed that you would flatter yourself even in a time like this.”

Janus smirked, repeating his favorite retort. “I speak only the truth, Honored Knight, and I’d thank you not to imply otherwise.”

Virgil smiled despite himself, but as the silence stretched it collapsed into an expression much more desolate.

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” Janus lied, and then, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arms in a wordless offering.

Virgil crashed into the hug with enough force to nearly bowl Janus over, but he didn’t bother with a single complaint, only savored the warmth of his best friend safe in his arms.

He was doing this for both of them. His two most important people.

They stood like that for a long moment, and then with a low, pained sigh, Janus began to pull back.

Only to find that his limbs had gone strangely numb.

A jolt of surprise went through him, but all Virgil did was slowly shift them over to the nearby armchair, giving him somewhere to sit heavily as the prickling feeling spread further through his body.

“Something’s wrong,” he managed through lips he could barely feel.

Virgil, usually so quick to check him over at even the slightest sign of injury, spent a moment longer with his head tucked over his shoulder before withdrawing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his eyes were eerily lit up from within by magecraft. “But we both know who Thomas needs more. And it’s not me.”

The enchantment didn’t hurt. It settled soft and heavy on him like a blanket with the weight of stone, keeping him stuck in place even as his mind began to shriek.

“How?” he managed.

“I was born into a bloodline with the gift. Got kicked out. I didn’t want anyone to know,” Virgil said, letting a few sparks flick off his fingers. “I probably could have told you, I was just… afraid, I guess. I know it’s not fair to ask, but don’t tell Thomas? I don’t want to bring back bad memories for the kid.”

Janus had moved rapidly from shock to anger, not at the secret of Virgil’s nature, but at what exactly he planned to do with it.

“Don’t,” he said, a desperate tilt to the word even as it came out slightly mangled.

“You were right, Jay,” Virgil said with a wry tilt of his lips. “You’ll be fine. So take care of him, okay?”

Janus managed the slightest shake of his head, and whatever expression he was making was enough to make Virgil’s own composure crack slightly.

“You hypocrite,” he said, voice choked, and pulled him into another hug.

Janus hadn’t wept when he’d realized that the only way to keep Thomas safe was to sacrifice himself.

Now, with Virgil’s arms wrapped around him, he felt his stinging eyes spill over.

His breath hitched, the only version of a sob that could make it through his body’s current stasis.

“I know,” Virgil murmured, clutching him tightly. “I know. I won’t change my mind, but I’m sorry. I don’t— I don’t want to leave. But I have to.”

He couldn’t do anything to stop this, Janus realized blankly. He could only clutch back at his best friend’s arms with the barest curling of his numb fingers. He could only see the slight tremors that shook through Virgil’s frame, the pallid cast to his skin.

He could only watch as Virgil released him, picked up his bag and walked to the door, stopped to look at him with fear and stubbornness in equal measure.

“I’ll see you around,” he said simply, giving him a simple salute and a small smile.

And then he was gone.

[andtheyreonfire]

ev'ry mem'ry i'll keep - 2

2 - that i could die

ao3 Part 1

Wc - 5481

AN: Happy hug a tiny day! Idk why I'm mentioning this. No one gets hugged in this chapter. Kind of the opposite tbh

~

Sumire was captured, Amamiya tells Goro, looming over him like the sword of Damocles.

Goro remembers the stadium, the palace, Maruki gazing at them with an expression of pure pity. He grits his teeth, forces himself to stop shaking where he’s cornered in the subway alley. He asks the giant what happened after, how badly they lost.

An ultimatum, Maruki gave them. Spend winter break watching Amamiya’s friends in pure, artificial bliss. Tell him, in a week, how they’d like to see that happiness shatter.

And, of course, Goro's situation. Amamiya recounts Goro going unconscious next to him, some muttered comment from Maruki about “forgetting a wish.” He recounts Maruki disappearing, just as Goro's newfound curse was bestowed upon him. He recounts walking out of Maruki's palace, the tiny form of a serial killer in his hands.

A wish. That was lead to this, hm? Goro having to clutch his ears every time a train enters the station; having to crane his neck back just to see a glimpse of Amamiya's eyes; having to steady himself every time Amamiya moves, because even the slightest shift jostles Goro like an earthquake. Being powerless, completely at the world’s—at Amamiya's mercy. All because of a single, fucking wish.

Amamiya’s voices faces into a dull roar. Goro’s hands ball into fists. If he thinks Goro will sit there and be a good little instrument to their savior complexes, he's dead fucking wrong.

Goro will make sure of that.

~

Akechi Goro stumbles off Ren’s palm, knees slamming against the wood of his desk.

Ren winces, hand twitching forward him—but, no, he's the reason Akechi flung himself off so quickly, isn’t it? Akechi doesn’t seem to mind the bruises. His tiny arms brace under him, and he blows a microscopic—to Ren, anyways—strand of hair out of his eyes. In one fluid motion, he stands, shuffling back so Ren’s completely in his vision.

Akechi cranes his head back, and Ren schools his face into something resembling indifference. It’s still—a lot, to see Akechi look up at him with visible fear.

Ren hunches down, trying to put himself near Akechi's eye-level. All it succeeds in making the boy jerk back like he’s been burned.

Ren opens his mouth. Nothing slips out. Akechi only looks at him, impossibly tiny eyes narrowed in distrust. Not even a comment about catching flies escapes him. It’s too quiet, without his stream of comments.

Ren sighs. He stands, ignoring the violent flinch Akechi gives at the motion, and walks over to his shelf of nick-nacks. He calls over his shoulder, “What do you want to sleep on?”

A beat passes. Two. Ren looks back towards the desk. When their eyes meet, Akechi calls out, “I don’t care.”

Ren bites his lip. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, or what would stop Akechi from looking at him like Ren’s some kind of predator. And yet, it’s still easier to fil the silence. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, we should probably set something up.”

Akechi's eyes harden. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, sleeping arrangements are the last fucking thing I care about, Joker.”

Ren’s fingers drum against his shelf. “Alright,” he says. “Hang tight for a minute, I'll be right back.”

Ren hears a huff behind him, almost lost to the wind. Akechi's still there when he returns from the bathroom, carrying the fluffiest washcloth LeBlanc owns. It’s just—odd, for Akechi to be stagnant, to do nothing but stare. Ren expected him to be halfway off his desk, sliding down a makeshift rope, by the time he came back.

Akechi only watches him, watches as Ren dumps some bracelet from a shallow box. Watches as he rummages around for a blanket and pads it inside. Watches as he sets it down on the desk, inches away —but what must feel like the length of a room—and folds a makeshift pillow, laying the washcloth flat. For lack of a finisher, Ren gives a pair of jazz hands.

Akechi flinches away from the movement, and jolts like he’s been electrocuted when Ren’s phone—resting on the edge of the desk—vibrates.

“Shit—sorry.” It’s Ryuji, tone weirdly—artificially—fake as he offers Ren an invite to hang out with his track team. Guess Ren’s found a target to try to break through to, but...

“I need to get my friends back,” Ren says. Akechi's gaze snaps up from where he’d been considering the box. “I don’t know if...No, what do you want to do?”

He expects Akechi to put his foot down and take the reins that Ren’s giving him, as he’s always, always done. Akechi only gives a brittle smile, and his voice turns sour. “It’s up to you, is it not? Whatever’s in your best judgement, Joker.”

Ren sits down, not particularly feeling like crouching. His floor’s too hard for him to kneel comfortably on. Maybe it would’ve been easier for Maruki to have shrunk them both. “I want to hear your opinion, too. I'm not the deciding factor in this scenario. We’re still a team.”

“Are we? Are we really?” Akechi backs up further, his steps barely putting a few inches between them. He bares his teeth in a grin. “Excuse me for not seeing the level playing field here, Joker. Or did you forget which one of us is the size of the other’s finger?”

“Just because you’re—“ He gestures at Akechi's reduced scale. The boy’s sneer sharpens into a snarl. Ren can’t find the energy to do more than sigh. “It doesn’t mean your autonomy’s been thrown out the window.”

Ren thinks he can see Akechi's hands fist at his sides—it’s, admittedly, a little hard to tell. Akechi licks his lips. “So, if I wanted to walk out of LeBlanc right now, find my way through the streets of Tokyo on my own, you would let me?”

He winces. “I...don’t know if that would be the best idea—“

Akechi raises a hand, cutting him off with a laugh. “And there you have it. Don’t fucking lie to me next time, Joker. You’re better than that.”

Of all the things to respond to, that’s the easiest. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Akechi doesn’t answer him, hands moving to untie his scarf. His movements are jerky, at least one eye still trained on Ren. Ren leans back, exhaustion washing over him like a cold shower, and mutters a warning before standing up and leaving for the bathroom to change.

He’s messed up—he knows that. This situation is messed up, but he needs some sleep before he can begin to unravel his thoughts. He’s tired. They both are.

When he comes back, Akechi's already sitting in the makeshift bed, curled into the corner with his back facing the wall. His tiny hands clutch his knees. He flinches, just like he always does, when Ren approaches.

This time, Ren kneels.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, “We’ll talk about this more in the morning. I just...” Don’t want to lose you again. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Akechi shakes his head. He seems to subconsciously huddle into the fabric, as if shielding himself from the world. Ren’s heart tightens. “What did I tell you about lying to me, Joker?”

His eyes drop to his knees, and that’s the end of that. Ren’s brow crinkles, but he stands, turning off the light and draping the covers over himself. Even with exhaustion clouding his thoughts, he finds it difficult to fall asleep.

For once, the blare of Tokyo is silent, absent of even the sounds of another body. Akechi’s breathing is too tiny for him to hear. Unlike with sleepovers with his friends, he can’t tell if the other party is unconscious. There’s nothing to fill Ren’s ears.

It’s awhile before Ren drifts off, but when as does, he wonders if Akechi’s still capable of dreaming.

~

Ren pulls himself out of bed to meet a pair of tiny, narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from his desk.

He blinks. The memories of yesterday flood back to him—trying to get through to Makoto, Akechi finally waking up, watching the boy flinch every time Ren so much as breathed. Akechi didn’t run, which is great, because the thought of him trying to brave Tokyo's foot traffic makes Ren’s stomach churn. Hell, Ren doubts the boy would even end up a smear—

“Are you going to keep staring at me all fucking morning?” Akechi snaps, voice barely reaching Ren’s ears.

Ren reaches for his glasses, if only to prevent Akechi from noticing the next time he spaces out. Although, it’d be...fairer, in a sense, to take his mask off. Akechi never thought of his gaze as intense, right?

He stands up, stretches his back, and caches the perfect glimpse of Akechi flinching away from him, as far back as his make-shift bed would allow. His expression oozes with fear. Ren schools a grimace, and slides his glasses on in one fluid motion.

He crouches next to the desk. Akechi's neck probably hurts from staring up at—god, Ren’s probably the equivalent of a skyscraper to him, isn’t he? He’s so small. Ren hesitates, and Akechi growls, “What?”

Is this real? Ren doesn’t say. Is your reaction? Do you hate me? Ren doesn’t say. I'm sorry. Ren doesn’t say.

Instead, he murmurs, “We need to talk.”

Akechi bears his teeth, like a Pomeranian attempting to be territorial. “About what?”

“A battle plan,” he says, in lieu of something Akechi'd scoff at. “Maruki gave us a week.”

Akechi mutters something under his breath, voice too quiet for Ren to make out anything but a mocking tone. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public restaurant. There are people here.”

“I'll deal with them.”

Akechi stares at him. His body is still, but tense, like a bird poised to flight. Ren’s not stupid enough to think he wouldn’t run the second he could.

Akechi was the best at acting, out of all of them. He wonders where his masks have gone, now.

Ren counts the seconds in his head. After 20, Akechi says, “Fine.”

It takes him longer to climb onto his hand, and even longer to slide into the breast pocket of Ren’s shirt.

Ren keeps his steps steady as he descends the stairs, one hand clinging to the rail like a lifeline. He can’t help but watch his feet, wish for the lithe grace of Joker to carry through. He almost runs straight into Morgana, his too-blue, human eyes sparkling. He blinks when their eyes meet.

“Futaba missed you last night,” Morgana purrs. Ren schools a wince. It’s like looking at the mid-way point between a shadow’s human form and transformation. Ren keeps having to slide his eyes off him, wanting to look but struck by a visceral wrongness every time he does.

And yet—this was still his wish. Tall; broad; handsome; with opposable thumbs, and a rich baritone instead of a meow. To stand on eye-level with the rest of the Thieves, to be every bit the human they didn’t care he wasn’t.

He’ll buy Morgana so much fatty tuna once this is over.

But, first— “I think Haru's been missing your presence,” Ren says.

The-thing-that’s-kind-of-Morgana perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You were the first one she knew. I know she’s been spending a lot of time with her dad—“ Ren steps forward to hide the violent flinch from his pocket. “—But she probably misses you, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right! I should hang out with her. Ren, you should—“

“What about a sleepover?” Ren searches for a mask. Joker? No. Wingman? Uh. Helpful, logical friend, who only wants what’s best for his other friends? It’s something. “Winter break’s almost over. Why don’t you take the week to stay at her place?”

“I mean,” Morgana responds, uncharacteristically hesitant, ”I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“I think she liked your help with gardening more than she liked mine.” He yawns, stretches, switches masks as he assesses the former cat before him. “‘Sides, it’s winter break, there's so much time. A guy needs his privacy, y’know?”

“Gross.” Morgana wrinkles his nose, but it seems to do the job. “Alright. I'll talk to her about it. No funny business while I’m gone, lil’ bro, alright?”

Ren stifles another grimace. “Aye, aye.”

Morgana pads out, the door jingling behind him. Soiro, thankfully, is an easier job. All it takes is putting on an apron, a wistful mention of Futaba and her mother, before he’s out the door, his keys in Ren’s hand.

There’s no customers. Ren flicks off the stove, the TV, and the kettle. Subconsciously, his free hand drifts to his pocket, over the tiny, curled form against his chest, moving—

Moving?

Moving. Vibrating, really, against his fingers. It’s a small action, repetitive, existing even as Akechi stays still. It gains in intensity as Ren’s hand stays.

Akechi’s trembling.

Ren snaps his hand away like it’s been burned.

After flipping the sign to ‘closed’, shuttering the blinds, and locking the door, Ren bites his lip. His hand hovers over the pocket. He’d let Akechi climb out on his own—but, with what? It’s faster to bite the bullet. Ren approaches the counter.

“Brace yourself,” he mutters, before plunging in and sliding his fingers around Akechi's form. Akechi goes rigid in his grasp.

Slowly, he sets him down on the counter. He tries to put Akechi’s feet under him, but he stumbles to his knees the second Ren’s hand leaves. Ren winces, hand twitching forward to help him up, but stops when Akechi shoots him a withering glare.

He takes his own seat, adjacent to Akechi, leaving him the long, wooden expanse of nowhere to run.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Ren exhales through his nose. He’s starting this, if Akechi's unwavering glower is any indicator. “I just want to fix this, please.”

A beat. Two. Akechi's glare burns more intense. Eventually, he grounds out, “Why should I believe you?”

”We’re trapped in this together. You’re the only ally I have right now. I—“ Ren’s brow furrows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Akechi scoffs a laugh. “Try again. Why the fuck should I believe you?”

Ren’s fingers clench around his seat. He stuffs his building frustration in the same place he shoves his doubts on the front line, leading a group of high schoolers to the one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. “I want to help you.”

“Of course you do.”

Ren waits for more. Akechi picks at the skin around his nails, his glare never leaving Ren. When his gaze slides towards the near-microscopic digits, they still. Ren feels like he’s having this conversation halfway underwater, “What does that mean?”

Akechi stares at him in disbelief. “Are you really too much of a coward to even admit it?”

Going a million miles at once, and absolutely nowhere. “Goro, please.”

“Don’t fucking—! Maruki granted everyone’s pipe-dreams.” He grounds the words out, as if speaking to a toddler. “He could defy reality, the very laws of nature to do so. Everyone’s dreams, Joker.”

Ren finally picks up the damn cue. His stomach drops.

He rasps, “Are you saying my wish was to shrink you?”

“Don’t deny you wouldn’t like it.” Akechi prowls forward, eyes absolutely livid. His four-inch tall form seems to shake with either anger or fear—no, both. “Me, tiny and helpless in the palm of your hand. You could do anything you wanted. No one’s watching us, correct? No one cares, if you keep me as a pet, or take out the trash, or use me as some kind of—“

“Akechi.” Ren interrupts him, stomach churning. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Akechi looks away, silent. His body trembles as it did in Ren’s pocket.

He takes in the terrified, livid form in front of him, starting to curl in on himself. Before Ren can think twice, he stands up—ignoring Akechi's flinch—and runs up the stairs.

He returns with a tiny, thin piece of metal. One end wicked-sharp, the other dull and smooth. It's about half the length of Ren’s thumb. He was lucky to find it, almost tempted to use a shard of glass before he looked in his forgotten pile of infiltration-tool failures. He holds it out to Akechi, who stares at it with unrestrained suspicion.

“If you ride on my shoulder, under my collar,” Ren blurts out, “You’ll have the perfect access to my vital veins. You’ll be hidden, too.”

Akechi continues to stare.

“If you feel like I'm about to do something to you, take this and kill me before I can get the chance.”

It takes 10 seconds, this time, before Akechi wraps his hands around the makeshift weapon. He scurries back the second he’s done, away from Ren’s hand. He strains to hear Akechi's mutter. “I'd hardly be able to kill you without getting killed, myself.”

Ren forces a grin. “Well, I don’t think Iwai sells tiny guns. You can’t shoot me in the head, again. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Akechi looks away, running his hands over the piece of metal. Ren begins, “Akechi, I don’t know how to convince you that this isn’t my wish. I just want to figure out what’s going on and fix it—But, to do that, I'll need your help. You’re my only ally. You’re smarter than me, your deduction skills are unparalleled, and you know the Metaverse far better than I do. You were a star detective. I need you.”

“My work was largely fabricated,” Akechi points out. He shines a little at the praise, either way.

“The second this is over, we never have to see each other again. I don’t want you to live like this.” Ren hunches down, keeping his distance from Akechi, but contorting his body so he's eye level. “Can you help me?”

Akechi runs his fingers over the point of the weapon. He stares at it, at his hands, at Ren.

His gaze hardens. He holds the weapon at his side, and nods. “Fine. deal.”

Ren bites back a grin, and the inane, instinctual urge to hold out his hand to shake.

~

Ren had just finished talking with Makoto when Akechi awoke, he tells him. Akechi hesitantly perches on his shoulder as he leaves, Ryuji decided as their next target. Ren removes his scarf so he has room to hide under his collar. He prays Akechi doesn’t decide to stab him on a whim, and sets off.

They do Ann next, then Morgana, then Yusuke.

Morgana takes a little more convincing, both for his memories to shine through, and to convince him to stay at Haru’s for as long as possible. After Yusuke, he treats Goro and him to oden. He bought Goro his own, separate bowl, and offered to help him, so he didn’t have to struggle with picking up his chopsticks. Goro looked sick at the idea. It wasn’t until Ren turned away from him, keeping his eyes trained on his phone, that he heard the boy begin to eat.

Reluctantly, Akechi teaches him how to comb government databases. Ren’s learned a few tricks from Futaba, which means he doesn’t need to go breaking into Akechi’s apartment just to access his computer. The police database is theirs, too. He manages to find Maruki’s past, his research, and his failings. Most of which he already knew, but Akechi’s questions leave Ren with a half-dozen floating around in his own head.

They also discover that, by all accounts, Okumura and Wakaba are completely alive. This and then some is why they save the conversation with their children until the end.

Wakaba is every bit the person Ren imagined her as, and Goro shudders against Ren’s neck every time she speaks. Akechi clams up when their group walks away, remaining silent and stiff for the rest of the night. It hurts, to see Futaba fighting against giving up her own happiness, to have to move on once again. Ren can’t help but feel sympathy for Wakaba’s murderer, having to process the blood re-appearing on his hands.

Today’s target was their last: Haru.

Ren thinks it went well.

Ren’s greatest skill is lying to himself, and it certainly hasn’t failed him yet.

~

Ren winces as Goro, again, slides off his hand like he’s been burned.

But it’s—progress, in a way, how Goro doesn’t immediately back himself into a corner. It might be their negotiation, or the aftermath of the week they’ve spent together, or a sign that Goro's becoming less terrified.

Goro flinches when Ren sits at his desk, his hands spasming from where they were untying his scarf, and that hope is thrown out the window and right in front the oncoming train that is this situation.

Ren turns away. It feels weird to talk about Haru, but even stranger to deflect and pretend that he didn’t just show a murderer the still-breathing corpse of their victim—Hey, Ryuji isn’t here, someone’s gotta be blunt. For lack of anything to distract himself, Ren drums his fingers against the wood of his desk.

He realizes his mistake when he looks back to see Goro frozen, watching Ren’s fingers—inches away from him—like they’re made of the same dynamite in a Showtime attack.

Ren pauses. “Sorry. I—forgot you’re still getting used to things.”

Goro’s face settles into a sneer. “Oh, forgive me for not using the adjustment period that you’ve so graciously blessed me with.”

Ren blinks. Okay—he deserves that. He leans in, only to freeze when Goro backs up a few steps. Ren sighs, and asks, voice low, “What can I do to make things easier?”

Goro’s hands tighten from where they’re wrapped around his sides. “Stay at least 50 yards away from me—you’re awfully good at distance, aren’t you, Joker?”

Ren takes a breath. Don’t rise to his bullshit—it’d be a distraction, at least, to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but no shut up—and keep calm. Ren wills his voice to stay level. “I'm sorry, you’re stuck with me until we fix this. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, at least?”

Goro snarls up at him, “For as self-centered as you are, I would’ve thought you’d take the goddamn bait.”

Ren’s fists clench in his lap. “What bait?”

Goro throws his arms up. If he were normal-sized, the action might’ve been wild enough to clock Ren in the face. Ren can see the slightest tremble in his hands. “No, you know what? Use your fucking brain, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren sighs, taking the silence Goro offers him as the smaller boy picks at his nails. He’s tired—something about the artificial sunlight, about seeing his friends so happy, of facing a terrified face every time he checks his shoulder is getting to him—

And that’s it, isn’t it? This isn’t about their day, or Okumura, or even Maruki. Goro spat out the word bait like it was—

Personal.

Ren looks at Goro, at a frame barely the size of his finger, and shoves away his frustration to murmur, “I'm not going to take advantage of this, Akechi.”

Goro cranes his head higher, fists clenching at his sides. He seems to grasp at whatever regal composure remains. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Akechi—“

“No, tell me exactly what’s stopping you.” His eyes are burning, body tensed, taut like a drawn bow. It’s painfully easy to imagine how he would snap the second Ren tries to approach. “I don’t want to play this game anymore, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren stays still, makes his voice level, keeps his hands secured in his lap. “I'm not lying to you. I'm benefitting from this as much as you are.”

“Bullshit!” Goro snarls, stumbling back a few steps. There’s the black mask, the traces of Loki hovering behind him. “You know what this is, don’t you? Don’t say things like that with a straight fucking face! You know how this world works as much as I. Tell me—“

Goro unsheathes his weapon, pointing the tiny piece of metal at Ren. The fire in his eyes is on full display, the heat of a distant supernova. He growls more than speaks, “Tell me what you fucking want from me!”

He doesn’t even fill a fraction of Ren’s desk.

“I want you to co-operate with me.” Ren steels his voice. Maybe that’ll make things easier, for one of them. He’s so tired. “I've said this already. I want to fix things, with you. I don’t want to see you—I don’t know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Why me?” His teeth are still bared, as if they were even capable of breaking flesh. With how violently his makeshift weapon shakes in his grip, he doesn’t think that would fare any better. “After all the things I've done to you, why the hell would you waste a single tear over my well-being?”

“Because I don’t want you to go through that,” Ren pleads.

“Aren’t you a harbinger of justice?” He’s grasping at straws, even if he doesn’t realize it. The best actor out of all of them, but hardly the most composed. “Believer in a grand world where everyone gets their just desserts? You’re a noble Phantom thief, a hero. I—I don’t see how you could possibly ignore the monster before y—“

Ren closes his eyes, bites the bullet, and cuts Goro off with a soft, “I wanted to kill Kamoshida.”

Goro makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, the disposal of whatever he was going to say. Ren creaks an eye open to see him staring back with tiny, wide eyes. He doesn’t open his mouth, so Ren continues, “He was a piece of shit. He hurt Ryuji, Ann, Shiho. We found Morgana trapped in the dungeon of his palace. He made people’s lives a living hell.”

Ren smiles, an echo of the mask he wore when he awoken Arsène. He mutters, staring at nothing, “I wanted to kill him.

“But it wasn’t my choice to make, so we changed his heart. Now, thanks to us, he’ll suffer for the rest of his life under the weight of his guilt. Every day he’ll wake up in agony and every night his deeds will haunt him until he falls asleep. Heroic, isn’t it?”

Goro doesn’t interject, so Ren continues. ���You never asked me if I cared. You asked if I thought we were just, and I said yes. You never defined your terms.”

Ren takes a breath. Something wiggles past the depths of his heart, slips past his lips. “I never said I didn’t want our targets to suffer.”

A beat passes. Two. Goro asks, voice barely drifting to Ren’s ears, “How does that make you any better than me, in your eyes?”

Ren shakes his head. “It doesn’t.” A brittle smiles splits his lips. “There was just—nothing stopping you, from pulling the trigger. I got lucky.”

“...And why didn’t you? Pull it, I mean.” Goro shifts, interest replacing the heat in his eyes. If he wasn’t so obviously apprehensive, he might’ve taken a step closer. “When it came down to it, why didn’t you finish the job? Kamoshida was yours.”

“It wasn’t my choice to make.”

Ren slides off his chair and shifts into a crouch, back against his desk and head resting on the surface. He looks straight up at his ceiling, deciding to ignore Goro's presence beside him. He can’t see Goro's tiny, fearful eyes like this. It's an adequate bonus.

Ren continues, “Ann was the deciding factor, but everyone was on board with just changing his heart. I’m their leader, not their dictator. You’re the first person I've met who wanted—planned for the person who wronged you to die.”

Ren can hear the mirth in Akechi's voice, even with how quiet it is. “You’ve met him. I don’t think I was entirely in the wrong.”

“No,” Ren whispers. “You weren’t.”

It’s painfully calm, in Maruki's reality. Any other time, the streets would be filled with the blaring of horns, with shouting, with the rush and chaos of Tokyo nighttime. There’s nothing to fill the air between them but the hum of Ren’s heater. It’s far from enough to drown out Ren’s thoughts.

When Goro speaks, his voice is closer, as if he decided to take a few steps forward to the boy twenty times his size. “So, underneath that honest, pure-hearted exterior, you’re just as rotten as me. Is that right?”

“Did you expect me to be better?” Ren asks.

Goro huffs a mirthless laugh. He shuffles, and a flash of tan appears at the corner of Ren’s vision. “I guess not. So, then, do you think I deserve to suffer as much as the people I've wronged?”

Ren closes his eyes. Honesty’s worked so far, so he snaps the bullet between his teeth. “In my opinion, you deserve to suffer far more. More than I could give you, whether you were willing or not.”

There’s the faint, small sound of shoes against wood. Ren allows Goro a second to catch his balance, before he asks, “Were you willing, Akechi?”

Goro's voice is steel. He’s lived with his crimes longer than Ren’s even been aware of them. He knows his answer. “I was.”

“And there you have it.” Ren opens his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ceiling. “Whatever your circumstance, it doesn’t change what you’ve done.”

Even after everything, the air is, somehow, more bearable. Ren resists the urge to jolt when Goro walks completely into his line of vision. He asks, a tiny eyebrow raised, “So, why aren’t we having a conversation with me in a jar? Why aren’t I a smear on the pavement, if my just desserts are long overdue?”

“Because, that’s...that’s not for me to decide. That’s Haru's decision, and Futaba's, and yours’.” Ren gives a strained smile. “We only ever responded to explicit requests, y’know.”

Hesitantly, Goro steps forward. “Even so, there’s...no one here but us. No one’s been present to stop you since I shrunk.”

“You’re right.”

When Ren doesn’t continue, Goro huffs a laugh. “So?”

Ren takes a breath. Slowly, he swings his gaze over to Akechi. The boys stands—more than close enough to touch. It’s...

It’s the face of when Goro was recognized on their first meeting. It’s the face of Futaba as she stares into a crowd, of Ryuji after their confrontation with the track team, of Haru every time she recalled how her company’s treated her. It’s the face of a kid—of a boy that didn’t deserve anything that happened to him—staring into the darkness of their closet and trying to be brave.

“You killed dozens. You hurt countless individuals. You hurt my friends, but...” Ren’s eyes crinkle. “You were my friend, too. If things had been different, you could’ve been one of us. The game was rigged from the start.”

Goro's hands flex at his sides, minuscule skin twitching. Eventually, he rasps, “I tried to kill you, too.”

Ren can feel the bags under his eyes deepen. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “Yeah. You did. So listen to me when I say I don’t want to see you hurt, alright?”

Ren knows he is fucked up. He can’t put a name to all the complexes he’s seen this year, but he knows one of them is dampening his feelings towards Goro. Ren’s tired, he’s a dead man walking, but the idea of doing anything to the tiny, fragile form of the boy who killed him sends nausea shooting up his throat.

Goro gives something that could be a nod—it’s hard to tell, with him still barely in the corner of his vision. Ren doesn’t hear him move until a head of chestnut-brown hair appears next to him, and a tiny, warm weight rests against his temple.

Is he—sitting against Ren? He doesn’t dare shift to check, not when Goro's slowly relaxing against him, not when it’s the closest he’s willingly, freely been since he woke up in Ren’s palms.

They sit there, while Ren tries to get his heart rate back under control. Goro murmurs, the sound almost at normal-sized volume with how close he is. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“‘Course not,” Ren breathes, “What better pawns to play the game than us, huh?”

Goro snorts. He’s fully relaxed against the side of Ren’s head. After a beat, he asks, “You said you wanted to know what you could do to, ah, accommodate me, Amamiya?”

Ren whispers, “Yeah?”

“I—“ He struggles to imagine Goro's face crumpling, of him losing his composure. After a moment, that tiny voice gains its steel. Ren lets the ghost of a smile split his face. “If you truly don’t want to hurt me, there are a few things you could keep in mind...”

~

[kitpaw-animates]

G/t July #1: Enchanted

I was really excited to start these!! It’s been so long since I’ve done one of the G/T months of prompts!! I hope y’all like them! Let start the month strong!

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

Alright so AU huh? Mmh well if you know me you know that I love Deltarune. Guess what AU the deltarune fan base hasn’t made yet, at least to my knowledge. The Borrower AU

SO, guess it’s my job huh? Alright, here it is the Borrower AU for Deltarune aka

Minirune

So the basis of this AU is quoted simple, the darkners and the dark worlds are the borrowers and the world of borrowers within the walls. Darkners are tiny about borrower size (around 4 inches on average but with such size variations it can vary haha!) anyway, the darkners used to help the giant Lightners in the light but one day something happened, and the darkners didn’t dare go back out to the light. Many believe the Lightners left them and Chose to ignore the darkners, others believe the Lightners did something to make darkners want to hide. Who knows the real reason.

The dark worlds mostly remain the same, being in the same buildings as they were in game, the only difference is that they are living in the walls, floors, and ceilings. Here’s the cool bit, the darkners still have their powers but they have one extra one, they can turn into the object that represents them. At least to a certain degree. For example Lancer would turn into his card, the Queen (while yes is probably the computer) would be able to shift into a microchip or even a small mainframe or flash drive. I haven’t really decided on that yet haha.

Anyway, the story would be quite similar with kris and susie discovering this hidden world and exploring it. How? Well of course they get shrunk! They have to travel through the dark world to find the fountain that shrunk them and close it in order to get back to their normal size. However even after the fountain is closed the darkners stay darkners, they just lose the ability to hide in plain sight. So susie and kris can let the darkners decide to stay in their current homes or come with them to a new home where they don’t have to worry about being seen by other Lightners.

Now what about our favorite two lads? I’m talking Jevil and Spamton of course? What makes them, them in this AU? Simple really, they talk to a lightner. They learn and got help from a lightner or the knight (since I’m still not 100% sure the knight is a lightner but eh) Both had contact with a lightner and got different things from them. Jevil learned more about how small he really is and how little of an effect he would have on the larger world around him, to which he responds that since his actions wouldn’t matter, that means he can do anything. He also plays with this lightner a lot and this made the kings upset because his interactions with the lightner was putting everyone in danger. So they locked him up. Meanwhile spamton meets mike (who I’m assuming is another darkner but I’m not 100% sure) and mike introduces him to a lightner who supplies him with all these items and trinkets. He becomes well known as one of the best borrowers in the walls, until the lightner and mike just disappear one day. Then everything goes downhill. He is forced to go borrowering after not actually doing it for awhile and often trips up. Lucky there is a robotic action figure hidden away somewhere that might help him escape this little nightmare he’s found himself in.

Anyway those are just some thoughts of mine about this lil AU haha. Also I tried to design some borrower versions of the lads, might redesign them but I honestly like how they look. I really like Jevil’s big bells lol.

If you have any thoughts, ideas, or even questions about this AU, let me know! I’d love to hear/answer them!

Also for anyone who wants to be a little self indulgent, imagine finding your favorite darkner as a borrower/tiny. Just a little version of them. Maybe they were taking something from you, or perhaps they got stuck and now need you help. Either way, enjoy the daydreams heehehhehehe!

[gianttol]

gt july - enchanted

✨ Gimmi Kwami of Reality ✨

[raventroll80]

G/T July

Day 11: Melancholy

Characters: Troll Doomguy (Slayer), and VEGA

The Slayer and VEGA adjust to living in the Fortress, and the Slayer finds a photo that is both familiar and foreign to him. This story takes place after the events of 2016 and before Eternal.

The Fortress was a welcome sight to the Slayer it’s dusty walls reminded him of his better days on Argent D’Nur. Hopefully the Fortress was still operational. If it weren’t then he’d have quite the problem on his hands.

As he approached the bridge the Slayer gingerly fished out a small usb stick from his pack. The delicate cargo was barely the size of one of his claws.

It still amazed him how so much data was stored on it, at least he hoped so. He had only found four Argent batteries on his way to the Fortress, he wasn’t sure if they’d be enough. The Slayer plugged the batteries in and the Fortress whirred to life.

All that was left to do was plug the USB in and hope.

————————————————————————

Several days had passed since VEGA was uploaded onto the Fortress. He seemed to be doing well, and both were quite surprised to find that the Fortress was more than capable of housing him.

The Slayer was sat on a crate in what he decided to be his workshop. He was taking off the Praetor suit for the first time in what must have been months.

Most of its functions were inoperable from the assault the demons had launched when he made his escape from hell.

His holograms were completely destroyed and couldn’t be repaired. He didn’t mind though, he didn’t use them all that often.

He was working on dismantling one of his gloves to remove the mechanisms that operated the holograms. Maybe he could reuse some of the parts for other things-

Snap

Or maybe not.

The Slayer heard an unseen device snap as he tried to remove a panel from the gauntlet. The Slayer dropped the gauntlet on the desk and sighed in frustration.

“Is everything alright Slayer?” A voice called from his helmet.

It was VEGA. The cameras were still down so VEGA couldn’t see anything, but the camera on his helmet was still working.

He turned the helmet towards him before slowly signing out,

“Broke something in glove”

VEGA was teaching him how to use sign language because a good chunk of the screens didn’t have a keypad on them. He was having some trouble but VEGA was patient and reassuring.

“I see. Can it be repaired?” VEGA asked.

“No, don’t bother, barely used it anyway,”

“What device was it, if I may ask?”

“Hologram grenade”

“Understood, perhaps you should work on something else for the time being.” Vega offered.

“Like what?”

Vega thought for a moment, there wasn’t a lot to do that didn’t involve working with small devices. And since he couldn’t properly see the Fortress he didn’t know what work needed to be done that wasn’t electrical.

“How are the food storages? Scanning indicates that this place hasn’t be used in decades. I doubt there’s anything edible in the Fortress currently.”

The Slayer thought for a moment, VEGA was correct when he said that the Fortress hadn’t be used in ages. Now that he’d mentioned it the Slayer was feeling a bit hungry. He hadn’t eaten in hell, not that he needed to but, now that he’d left he’d need to eat like any other living thing.

The Slayer grunted in approval and got up from his seat and put on the least damaged parts of his armour before leaving the Fortress.

———————————————————————

Some time had passed and the two had been able to make significant repairs to the Fortress. The food storage had been repaired and the Slayer had found more power cells. But they still hadn’t managed to fix the cameras and during an excursion the camera on the Slayer’s helmet had broke.

Not being able to see what the Slayer was doing concerned VEGA. He was often impulsive and wouldn’t think things through, back on Mars he had watched the Slayer tackle a Hell Knight into lava of the refinery.

Though he would admit the Slayer seemed more tactful now that they were on Argent D’Nur. He would often stalk lesser demons back to their nest before attacking. For someone as large as him, the Slayer could be deathly silent.

As for the Slayer, he was once again in his workshop working on his armour. He had given up trying to repair the old armour and was now building a new set.

He was gutting the torso when the Slayer found a small pocket on the inside of the chest plate. Upon opening it a small paper fell out. Being caught off guard by it the Slayer was unable to catch it before it fell to the floor.

The Slayer grunted before getting up to search for the small paper. When he found it he was confused.

It was a photo of a family, it showed a man, a woman, and a child. They looked happy.

Looking at the photo stirred a strange feeling in the Slayer. It was like a strange sadness with no reason as to why he felt it.

“Hmm…” the Slayer rumbled.

He could just barely remember asking Valen to make the compartment, but not why the photo warranted it. The harder he tried to remember who they were the harder it was to focus on their faces.

“Slayer?”

He was startled by the sudden noise. His thoughts dissipated like tracks in a snowstorm.

“Is everything alright?” VEGA asked, sounding mildly concerned.

“Yes, why?” The Slayer signed back. He waited for a response before remembering that the cameras were still broken.

VEGA heard a loud smack followed by an annoyed grow. Not long after, VEGA received a message from the workshop.

“Yes, why”

“You were growling again.” VEGA stated.

“Oh, I found something and couldn’t remember where it came from”

“I see,” the Slayer chuckled as VEGA said that. “Do you think I could be of help in figuring out who the photo is of?”

“Don’t worry, I think we should fix the cameras though”

“I agree, I will compose a list of needed materials to repair them.” VEGA said and the Slayer grunted in agreement.

A boop signified that VEGA had left. The Slayer put the picture on his desk before he left for the bridge.

—————————————————————————

The Slayer found himself lost inside of a snowstorm. The wind howled more fiercely than an demon could, and the cold bit at him relentlessly.

He couldn’t remember how he got there only that he was searching for something, but what? What was he looking for, who?

From the white abyss he heard a voice calling out to someone. Was it him? Who’s name was it.

He chased after the voice, with each step the storm grew stronger and stronger. His bones ached and the snow burned his hands.

He finally stood before the figure, it was the woman from the picture, or was it. He couldn’t remember what her eyes looked like, he couldn’t remember her face.

The harder he tried to focus the harder the wind blew obscuring her face.

The familiar taste of blood flooded his mouth, the smell of smoke filled his lungs. His body ached and he felt as though his head was about to explode.

He opened his mouth and for the first time in centuries strangled words fell out.

“Who are you?”

The words felt knives in his throat. As they left his mouth they were drowned out by the screams of woman. Her screams melded with the howling wind, it was deafening to the Slayer, he wanted it to stop but it wouldn’t. He wanted to run but his legs wouldn’t move, he felt trapped.

A heavy thump on his chest ripped the Slayer from his nightmare. His brain was still in fight mode and his hand slammed down onto his chest, claws digging into whatever had landed on his chest.

The sound of metal and plastic crunching and the whirring of machinery made him realize that it was one of VEGAs drones that he had grabbed.

“Slayer is everything alright?” VEGA asked his concern audible.

The Slyer let go of drone before apologizing.

“Sorry, bad dream”

“Are you alright?” VEGA asked.

“I’m fine, are you?” The Slayer asked gesturing to to the drone.

“Drone will be fine, but your heart rate is still elevated. I would recommend you do something relaxing to calm down.” VEGA replied as the drone hovered by his head.

The Slayer sat for a moment thinking about the nightmare. They didn’t have every night, only when he thought about the photo. Clearly the photo was causing it.

“Wait, I need to show you something” he signed to the drone, “come”

VEGA was mildly concerned as he followed the Slayer to his workshop. He watched as his companion got increasingly tense as he searched for something on his desk. His tail twitched as he moved papers around until going still as he gently held up a photo. It looked tiny in his hand as he set it down on a relatively clean part of the desk.

“I found it about two months back when it fell out of my armour,” the Slayer signed, “I don’t know who they are or why I felt the need to keep it so close”

VEGA inspected the photo, it showed a man, a woman, and a child. It was well worn and the edges were tattered. What caught VEGAs attention was the striking similarities between the Slayer and the man in the photo.

VEGA was silent for a moment as he compared the two. He was almost certain they were the same person.

“I believe this is a picture of you Slayer, the similarities are uncanny.”

This was true, the Slayer did look like an uncanny version of the man in the photo. His mouth was a bit too wide, and his eyes were large and lightly sunken, though the sunken eyes were probably due to lack of sleep for who knows how long. VEGA had some theories on what the Slayer was but was unable to research these theories.

The Slayer stared at the photo gently running his claw along “his” face in the photo, then the other two people. That melancholy had returned, but this time he finally knew why.

It was a photo of his family, or what was. No matter how hard he tried to remember them he couldn’t, he couldn’t remember their names, he didn’t recognize them, he couldn’t recognize himself.

“No…” he rumbled, hos hoarse voiced barely audible, just like in his nightmare it burned his throat to speak.

“Pardon?” VEGA asked, he had heard the Slayer speak earlier it was what alerted him to the Slayer’s distress.

“Not anymore….” He rumbled again as he picked up the photo.

He carefully tore the picture in half, separating “him” from the family. Whoever he used to be was long dead, just like the family in the photo. Whatever importance they held was gone, he felt guilty for this but no matter how hard he tried all he could manage was an empty sadness.

He let the torn photo fall to the floor before he unceremoniously sat on the crate he was still using as a chair.

VEGA observed the Slayer as the large man tried to process his thoughts.

“Was going to tend to the green house, would you like to join me?” He asked, hoping it would distract the Slayer.

The Slayer looked up at the drone and gave a small smile before signing,

“Sure, that sounds nice”

Among the things VEGA and the Slayer had repaired the greenhouse was VEGAs favourite. It was where he spent most of his time tending to the plants and crops. Not only was it necessary to even remotely sustain the Slayer, but it also brought a sort of joy to the AI.

Since there was only one inhabitant that needed to eat VEGA was able to have his own personal section to the greenhouse. This was where the two found themselves that night.

As VEGA talked about the new plants he had added, the Slayer could feel the storm in his head finally end. The woman had stopped her screaming, and though he still couldn’t see her face or remember her name, the Slayer felt as though she was finally at peace.

He still felt melancholic as the last of his memories of her faded into the snow, but as VEGA spoke the Slayer felt a familiar warm feeling grow in his chest, and a part of him knew that she’d be happy for him.

The Fortress was ready for travel and they’d soon leave for Earth. But that could wait for now, right now the Slayer was content listening to his friend.