Rewatching Black Butler And I Have Three Separate WIPs Im Working On Because I Have No Self Control.

Rewatching Black Butler and I have three separate WIPs I’m working on because I have no self control. I have also realised I have the strangest taste in giants.

The three WIPs all centre around different characters (Sebastian, Claude and William T Spears) and the one with Claude should be done first!

-Atlas

In The Archives’ Walls- 1/1

Warnings- non-consensual handling, mentions of worms/killing worms. Let me know if I missed any!

Here’s the promised Magnus Archives g/t one shot. In which Jon is the smartest idiot and Martin is along for the ride.

Everyone in the archive was on edge. The worms were everywhere and it was getting on everyone’s nerves.

Martin was probably more annoyed than scared. Those stupid worms meant he had to be doubly as cautious to avoid The Archivist’s — Jonathan Sims, from how the man introduced himself when recording his tapes — notice. The man wouldn’t even spare him a second glance before squashing him like a bug.

Shaking his head, Martin forced himself to focus. If he slipped up now he really would get crushed like those spiders.

Scaling up his rope, Martin heaved himself into the cupboard with a huff. Spooling his rope up, he wandered up to the sleeve of already opened biscuits, pulling two out. He broke them into quarters and shoved them in his satchel.

Buttoning his bag closed, he dug his hook into the ledge of the cupboard and tossed the rest of his thread down. He started to climb down and touched on the counter without issue.

It was as he was fastening his hook to his belt that he saw it.

A worm.

Bracing himself, he grabbed the pin at his waist, drawing it in one swift motion. He knew the worms here had incredibly sharp teeth and he refused to end up a borrower raisin because he got bit.

It didn’t have eyes but it watched him anyway, waiting to strike. He lunged first, stabbing his pin forward, only for the worm to rear back with a shriek.

It struck out and barely missed his arm as he pinned it’s tail with his foot. He slammed his other foot on the middle of it and drove his pin into it’s head. It squirmed for a moment before it fell still.

Pulling his pin free, he put it back in the fabric that made his belt.

“Well, that was unexpected.”

Martin whipped around on his heel, immediately looking up into the eyes of the human who loomed over the counter. Damn it! How did he not notice he was stood there?

The Archivist snatched him up in a clinical grasp, pinning Martin’s arms to his sides and tilting his head up with a thumb, as if he was a rodent about to bite him. Squirming desperately, Martin struggled to force himself to breathe, terror gripping his lungs more than the surprisingly loose grip.

“What are you?” Martin’s stomach dropped as he was lifted even higher, scrutinised by The Archivist’s sharp gaze. The sound of his heart thundering in his chest nearly overpowered the sound of the human’s voice.

Martin wanted to tell The Archivist to go to hell but when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “I’m a borrower.” He hastily shut his mouth with an audible click, horrified at how easily he gave that answer up.

“Interesting. I’ve never heard of your existence before.” Jon started walking and Martin swallowed down the bile burning his throat at the swaying motion. “I’m sure I have a spare notebook somewhere,” the man muttered to himself.

He didn’t even want to know what a man like Jon would do to document his existence. Martin would’ve renewed his struggle if he wasn’t suddenly dropped off on a desk. He fell flat on his rear with a gasp.

Scrambling to his feet, Martin snapped his head around to look for an escape. There wasn’t anything for him to even hide behind, no matter use to run and he cursed. He could try scaling down the table but it would take too long.

The Archivist returned after less than a minute with a notebook in one hand and a small box balanced against his hip in the other. The box was set on the table first before he pulled up a chair and set down the notebook, flipping it open to the first page.

“How old are you?” The Archivist asked and Martin blinked incredulously. Was he actually just… asking questions to document his existence? It wasn’t the worst thing that he could’ve been doing, but Martin refused to answer. If the word of borrowers got out, they’d all be screwed.

“I’m 29.” Again the answer came even as he tried to grit his teeth against the compulsion to talk. What the hell was going on?

The Archivist wrote down Martin’s answer in neat cursive. “Do you have a name?”

He tried to spout off a lie. “Martin Blackwood.” came out instead. No! He had to shut up! If he kept answering these stupid questions he’d put every borrower in danger.

“A family name too…” he mumbled, spinning his pen idly between his fingers.

“What the hell are you doing?” Martin asked, making Jon pause in his writing and look at the borrower with a raised eyebrow. As if Matin was the one asking a stupid question.

“Obviously I’m recording your existence. The archives are meant to investigate abnormal occurrences and I’ve never seen or heard of anything like you,” he explained simply. The Archivist seemed to think of something, “Are there more of you here?”

“No.” And thank god that there really weren’t any more borrowers in the building. There’d only been one other borrower and they left soon after the worm infestation started getting worse.

“That’s a pity,” Jon said, sending Martin’s heart pounding again, “With only one specimen I can hardly judge a whole species.”

The fear of being experimented on made itself known and his mind blanked when The Archivist reached for him. He scrambled back but wasn’t fast enough.

“H-hey! D-don’t— put me down!”

The Archivist snatched him up, grabbing something out of the box with his other hand. Kicking at the human’s fingers, Martin struggled desperately.

It didn’t do anything but annoy The Archivist who pinned Martin to his palm, lining something up next to him. He didn’t dare turn his head to see what it was.

“Stop squirming,” The Archivist reprimanded. Those words didn’t seem to hold the same power as his questions but Martin still froze at the underlying threat to his tone. “Hmm… 7.6 centimetres.”

Martin jolted when he was set back down. He saw the thing Jon had held up to him was a ruler and he was split between being offended and relieved. Offence at being treated like some lab rat but relief that he wasn’t a dead lab rat.

This continued as The Archivist took his measurements and wrote down a physical description. It was weird but it could’ve been much worse. Still, annoyance welled up as he was manhandled. If he wanted Martin’s cooperation he could’ve just asked! He knew Martin could talk and understand him.

It was when The Archivist took a photo of him on a polaroid camera that he objected.

“You-you need to get rid of the photo.” he demanded, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. He knew he was shaking like a leaf in the breeze but he couldn’t help it.

The Archivist arched an eyebrow, clearly not at all threatened and only indulging him out of curiosity. “Why?”

He didn’t even need the weird compulsion to the question to blurt out, “It puts other borrowers at risk!”

“I already have a notebook full of information on you. What’s one photo?” Jon asked and Martin wondered if it was meant to be as mocking as he sounded. His face burned.

“It’s- you shouldn’t have either! If anyone finds out about us—” Frustrated fear boiled over and tears poured down his cheeks. Jon reached a hand out but Martin flinched away and he paused.

Jon floundered and pulled back his hand, obviously at a loss for what to do. “Ah… I can- I can tear up the photo if you’d like.” he offered and Martin frantically nodded, trying to bring his breathing back to normal.

There was the sound of tearing paper and Martin wiped away his tears to see Jon dumping a pile of shredded paper into the bin. “Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to distress you, I was curious.” Jon sat back in the chair at the desk.

“This whole thing’s been pretty ‘distressing’.” Martin muttered bitterly, sinking to sit down and hugging his knees to his chest. The constant adrenaline in his system meant he was exhausted and he muffled a yawn.

Jon winced at his words but didn’t say anything against the sentiment.

“Can I go home?” Martin asked, hoping desperately that Jon wouldn’t try and keep him to make more notes. He wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t—

“Of course! I’m sorry for keeping you like this.” Jon said.

Martin held back a sigh and forced himself to his feet. He wouldn’t give Jon even a second to take it back. “Okay, I’ll be going.”

Jon nodded, probably catching the awkwardness to Martin’s tone. He stood up and took the notebook he’d been writing in, leaving the room.

Martin wasted no time climbing down from the desk and running to the entrance into the walls. He was so glad he’d made one into the room Jon used to record his tapes.

Slamming the entrance behind him, he collapsed against it, heaving deep breaths to calm his pounding heart.

Martin was glad to get out of that one alive.

——

I’m not very far into TMA so I may’ve fudged Martin’s character but I tried. Jon gives off such neurodivergent energy so I think he’d absolutely document a borrower. Also the switching between ‘The Archivist’ and ‘Jon’ is very much done on purpose.

Foresight is 20/20- Part 1/4

Warnings: A person being treated like an object, referring to a person as ‘it’, fearplay, non-consensual (non-sexual) touching, mentions of vore but none takes place, mentions of dissection/torture but none happens and a general warning for Izuku having pretty dark thoughts. If I missed any please let me know!

This is my first post so I’m really nervous but here we go! There’s a surprising lack of g/t for mha and I took that as a challenge! Have some giant Sir Nighteye and tiny Midoryia.

Rubbing his eyes, Mirai sighed and leaned back in his chair. This case was impossible! Some woman with an untraceable brainwashing Quirk had robbed a bank and they couldn’t find her. There’d been no leads when they checked the Quirk Registry and all they had to go off was a few minutes of security footage.

There was no use in continuing what he was doing. It was late, he was exhausted and his laptop was looking more frustrating every second.

Standing up, he stretched out the ache in his limbs and he went down to the agency’s kitchen to have a last cup of tea before he left for the night. Luckily, Centipeder had left out the camomile tea and the corner of Mirai’s lips twitched upwards. It was obviously a jab at his workaholic tendencies, but it was a considerate gesture.

It was as he was sipping his tea that he noticed something laying on the counter and he squinted at it. A doll? Had Eri left it when she was visiting earlier?

Picking it up, Mirai turned it over in his hand, admiring the detailed craftsmanship. Pale, freckled skin, soft, fluffy green hair, even handmade clothes with near-invisible stitching. It looked exactly like a tiny human. He had to wonder if it was made using some kind of Quirk — a Quirk that let them zoom in the see the finer details, most likely.

Gently placing it in his pocket to give back to the girl the next time he saw her, Mirai forgot about the doll.

He finished his tea, packed up his things and went home. The drive was peaceful, considering it was nearly 11 pm and most sane people were asleep. He loved quiet nights and he basked in the only noise being the soft murmur of the radio.

When he got in, he hung up his blazer and quickly changed into his pyjamas. He barely remembered to brush his teeth and wash the product out of his hair before he collapsed into his bed and curled under the covers.

——

Izuku woke up to complete darkness.

It wasn’t the darkness of his home inside the walls, where he still got the soft light of the morning through a little peephole he’d made. He couldn’t see anything and he felt around blindly.

There was fabric surrounding him completely, soft to the touch and smooth. Following the fabric upwards, he stood up and, on his tiptoes, he could feel a flap of some kind.

It was like…

A pocket.

Izuku froze at the thought. He’d been shoved in a pocket and the material was really nice so it could only be one person.

Sir Nighteye. Or Mirai Sasaki. People called him both. He was the head of the hero agency Izuku lived in.

Nighteye was a cold, calculated man that terrified Izuku to his very core. His mama had always warned him about humans like that: they were the first ones to notice when things went missing. But Nighteye was also mean to people his own — well, just humans, considering Nighteye towered over other humans too — size. Izuku had no doubts he’d want to get rid of a borrower, seeing him as a pest.

Holding his breath, Izuku listened carefully but didn’t hear anything and decided to risk it.

Jumping up, he caught the lip of the pocket, half pulling himself up half using his feet to try and get some traction. He got up the side, holding himself up by the shoulders as he looked around. The blazer he was in the pocket of looked like it’d been hung up and Izuku knew the drop would at least break his leg, if not worse.

Digging his hook into the fabric of the pocket, Izuku let the thread dangle down. It didn’t reach the floor all the way but he’d survive that drop. Kicking his leg over the edge, he held onto the thread in a death grip and started slowly shimmying down the wire. The final few inches he dropped without a problem and he tugged his hook down after him.

Glancing around, he didn’t recognise anything around him and cold dread washed over him. Had he been taken to Nighteye’s house? How was he meant to get back?

Sticking closely to the baseboards, Izuku snuck around to get the layout, finding what looked like a living room connected to a kitchen. Upon seeing the kitchen, his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten and he padded quietly towards the nearest counter.

Tossing his hook up, it caught on the counter first try and when Izuku tugged on it, there wasn’t any shifting. Climbing up expertly, Izuku heaved himself onto the counter, unhooking his rope and spooling it back up.

He looked around, searching for anything that had been left out and he lit up when he saw a plate of cookies. Immediately, Izuku sprinted over and snatched one up — they were small enough he could carry a whole one — breaking it in half. One half went in his satchel while he bit into the other with a muffled sound of delight.

So good!

He didn’t usually get sweets so the taste of chocolate was amazing. When he was younger, his mother used to borrow a piece of chocolate or something else sweet for them to share on their birthdays as a treat. The thought of his mother was bittersweet, but Izuku pushed it aside.

He finished the half of the cookie he’d broken off and contemplated grabbing another when he heard it.

“—orning. Yes, I’ll be in the office today.”

His blood froze at the familiar voice, but there wasn’t anywhere to hide. The countertop was bare of any clutter. He could only whip around on his heel and tremble as Nighteye entered the kitchen, a phone held up to his ear.

“Of course I stayed late. Bubble Girl didn’t file her reports correctly and I had to fix it.”

Nighteye’s voice was sharp and Izuku flinched when equally piercing golden eyes locked onto him. In the blink of an eye, he loomed over Izuku, overwhelming in every sense of the word.

“Yes. I’m aware. I’ll be dealing with her situation later.”

A giant hand snatched Izuku up in a bruising grip like he was nothing, trapping his arms by his side and lifting him at a dizzying speed. Nighteye scanned over him with unabashed fascination, eyes flickering at every strained breath and twitch.

Izuku couldn’t even bring himself to scream or cry under that gaze.

“I remember. I’ll be baking them tonight. I have a new ingredient I’ve never used before and I’m eager to try.”

The borrower’s mind blanked, burning terror coursing through him as he processed the words spoken. Surely he didn’t mean Izuku… he- he couldn’t. Why would he… Oh no. Oh no. Nonono. Ohkamiohkami…

The hand clutching him moved and his vision blurred, barely catching Nighteye pinning his phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing his other hand.

His vision focused in time to see the maw of a jar and his heart plummeted.

“Yes, I may be a little delayed. A… situation came up, but it’s been dealt with.”

Izuku was dropped into the jar, hitting the bottom with a thud that knocked the breath out of him, leaving him gasping for air. A cookie was also dropped in, more carefully than he was so it didn’t land on him. The cap was screwed on and Izuku was only thankful it had holes in so he wouldn’t suffocate. He’d rather be eaten than suffocated.

“I’ll see you in the office.”

Nighteye swept out of the room, leaving Izuku in a jar on the counter. He held his freshly regained breath but Nighteye didn’t come back and there was the distant sound of the front door closing.

The tears that had been building spilled down his cheeks. He’d been caught. Oh god, he was gonna die. He was gonna be eaten!

He let himself cry for a long while, heaving sobs that wracked his entire body.

It was only when his tears ran dry that he forced himself to focus. Rubbing his sleeves into his eyes, Izuku took a few deep breaths. He had time. Nighteye had gone for his shift so he had the opportunity to get out and hopefully find somewhere to hide from the human.

He took the cookie that was in the jar with him, shoving it in his satchel before taking it off.

Glancing between the counter and the floor, he estimated that he’d be able to survive if he was careful. The jar was glass and would shatter is he could force it over the edge…

That was the last resort, though.

For now, Izuku used the fact the jar was less wide than he was tall, bracing his hands and feet on either side and climbing up with all his strength. He got to the top and started to carefully unscrew the lid, since it hadn’t been fully screwed on. He kicked it off and it went clattering to the distant floor.

Sliding carefully back to the bottom of his prison, Izuku sucked in a few heaving breaths, shaking out his trembling limbs. Step 1 was finished, now he had to knock the jar over and run out.

Slipping his satchel back on, Izuku backed up and took a running start at the side, sending it careening over. He bolted out the top and the jar went rolling off the counter, shattering on the floor.

He flinched at the clamour, all his instincts screaming at the noise, telling him to run and even if he knew the house was empty, he didn’t stick around. Izuku walked along the side where the wall and counter met, looking for any borrower-made openings.

Honestly, he was surprised when he did find one. It was clearly old and unused but he managed to pry it open and slip inside the tunnels, closing the entrance behind him.

The tunnels inside were well-made, the walls smooth, although they were clearly built with an adult borrower in mind since he couldn’t touch the top of the tunnels if he tried. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Izuku headed deeper into the walls. He soon came across a wide, empty space that was carefully carved out, more than big enough for one borrower. Izuku sighed in relief.

That relief vanished as he spotted two symbols carved on at the back of the space.

One was the symbol meaning the home had been abandoned but they hadn’t been discovered. The other… It was the symbol for a dangerous human.

Izuku winced at the sight. He knew Nighteye was dangerous before, but borrowers only ever labelled one like this if they thought it was an incredibly cruel human. The kind that would dissect a borrower or torture one.

Looking away from the grim reminder, he set his satchel down and slumped against the wall. The empty space seemed mocking, reminding him painfully of the things he’d left behind at home. That he’d had no choice to leave.

Izuku curled up and trembled, allowing himself to properly grieve for what he’d had taken from him.

——

I absolutely love the idea of Sir Nighteye as a giant: he’s just got that terrifying coldness to him! I’m already working on a second part and I have ideas for a third although I’m unsure how long this will be.

thinking heavily about a little rustic town out west that’s far too big for my tiny self, but i manage to make it in and find a little home out of the way. i’ve never interacted with giants before, but the town is mixed size, and i try to get over my skittishness quick. the only place i can find a job at is a rough bar, where the bartender sizes me up carefully before saying i can wash the dishes, the decorative ones that have nooks and crannies too tiny for his fingers to reach. each of his fingers are twice as tall am and i’m half sure it’s just pity, but he gives me more than enough food to live off of, and when the bar closes we work together in silence. the kind of silence that feels like a soft blanket. sometimes, when we finish closing, he pours me a thimble and him an ocean of whiskey, and we sit together in our drunken warmth, and he plays with his straw like he wishes he was fidgeting with something else.

borrowers who are socially aware enough to know about memes but they aren’t aware of their short lifespan

the giant’s getting used to being dabbed on every time the borrower gets away with something. they don’t have the heart to tell them no one dabs anymore

i love you complex unconventional g/t dynamics i love you conflict in g/t scenarios i love you inherent initial mistrust that very vulnerable beings feel towards a being much larger than them i love you slowly and carefully earned trust between both parties i love you g/t duos/groups that actually don’t like each other but are stuck together anyways i love you tinies that aren’t innocent babies i love you giants that aren’t gentle sweethearts i love you experimental g/t creators