"That Smell. What Is That?"

"Nowhere for you to run," the detective said.

"You always do this," the thief said with a sly grin. "Always end up pinning me against walls."

"You always do this," the detective scowled. "You try to get me flustered when you're out of other options."

The thief pressed close, and whispered hot in their ear, "I also like seeing you flustered." And then, gently, nipped their ear.

The detective yelped and flinched away, face red. The thief pushed forward. They toppled. The detective's glasses clattered behind them.

The thief grabbed them first.

"Give those back," the detective demanded.

"I don't think I will." The thief teased.

They moved to stand, but the detective pulled them into a kiss. The thief, caught off guard, let go of the glasses.

"S-see? I can strategically disarm you as well," the detective said, pocketing their glasses.

The thief blushed and stared intently.

"I-- I'm so sorry," the detective said. "I shouldn't have done that. That was incredibly inappropri--"

They couldn't finish as the thief stole their lips. They melted a little in the warmth.

"I'd better run," the thief said. "Same time and place as usual." They grinned cheekily, holding up the detective's wallet. "You're paying."

Then they were gone.

The detective, a little dazed, went home to prepare for their date.

The rain is coming down hard and unrelenting. The roads are muddy and slick, unlit and miserably cold. You are aimlessly seeking shelter when none but your nemesis stops beside you.

"Come to gloat?" you shout over the rain.

"Always," they call back with a smile. "Looks like you need a ride."

Your teeth are chattering. Your head is pounding. Your clothes are sopped.

"No, thanks. I love it out here," you snap.

Their smile drops. "Get in. We need to talk."

Malcom had lived a good five centuries on Earth, and not once had he seen such stupid, brazen audacity. He rubbed his eyes and blinked tiredly at the man in front of him. "First-- Goodness... What... What makes you think I want to help you?"

"I'll give you blood, sir," Emmett said, yanking his sleeve much too readily. "Or... Money? Please say blood."

Malcom crinkled his nose and gave him a once-over. "Listen, I don't know where you came from, or what you're in, but what makes you think you can just walk up to someone on the subway a-and just ask for something like that?"

"Why's it so weird? I want my mind stronger." Emmett clapped Malcom on the back, and Malcom glared daggers. "Maybe we can even help you fix your... Uh... Mind control difficulties? Make a game out of it."

"Listen, hush, will you? Also, what difficulties?! My mind control is fine!" Malcom took a deep breath and worried his lip. "Also, quit saying vampire this, mind-control that. You're freaking people out." He shook out a newspaper and hid behind it.

"Oh wow. I didn't even know they still made those." Emmett said, flicking the paper. "Do they? Is that from this century?"

"They sell them in supermarkets," Malcom sniffed.

"Oh wow, so they do. Sorry to question you, grandpa." Emmett grinned cheekily. "Hey, maybe I can teach you what we use in modern times. Do you know what the internet is?"

Malcom gave him a deadpan look and held up his smartphone. "Sometimes I just like print better," he said. "Now go find some other poor sucker to pester."

Emmett stared at him with an almost hungry look, and gripped the newspaper. "Make me," he said.

Malcom grimaced. "This is some sort of weird fetish, isn't it? Let me sit you down and tell you about a little thing called consent. No means no."

"Listen," Emmett said, suddenly very serious. He seemed like he was having difficulties getting the words out. "I... Killed... Under a demon's orders. It was... I swore I'd never do it again. And I've seen you around. We take the same route almost every day. And you seem... Safe."

Malcom was at a loss for words. Emmett's pleading tone moved him, to be sure. But more than that, he knew how it felt to be a puppet.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this," Malcom muttered. "Listen, Emmett... Fine. I take Venmo. I won't say no to a little blood too. Nothing from the vein. All the hair and arm sweat-- just-- no. Get some sterile needles, wipe it down, get it in a bag or bottle for me. You're not diseased, are you?"

"Not that I know of, sir," Emmett said.

"And quit calling me sir. It makes me feel old."

"Good day, good sir. I would like to be put under mind control" "I… I'm sorry… It's just… People usually don't offer volunter to do that." "Oh, it's just that I need to practice how to get free once in a while to not get rusty."

The vampire spat out your blood. "God, what have you been eating?!"

I desperately wish to see more of this non-religious guy and his mom's prayer circle making garlic casserole and fighting vampires.

"You have misunderstood the lore, hunter. It is neither crucifix, nor rosary, nor holy water, nor any other trapping of faith, but faith ITSELF that is anathema to my kind. And yours has proven to be. . . insufficient."

"You shot me! In the foot!" The god whined, curled up on the floor.

"Well, yeah," you said. "You were about to destroy the whole city."

"My foot! Do you know how long that takes to heal?! I'm going to have a limp!"

"You also killed people. I really can't feel too sorry for you."

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with." You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "Do you?"

The God raised his head to glare at you. "Some pathetic human who got lucky," he said at last.

You smiled and raised the gun to his head. "No, I was sent here," you said. "But try again."

"A couple of puny humans--"

"You're too old for this foolishness."

The God quieted, at that. His eyes went wide as something registered. He shrank a little in terror.

"You were summoned by the Gods, weren't you?" he whispered.

You stared down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "The Gods will give you a lighter sentence if you come with me quietly."

It was then the room shifted, or tried. You could feel him pull at the fabric of reality, but you wouldn't let it budge.

"You tried that already," you said. You placed a hand on his shoulder. "No more running."

He tried to grapple you, but his power was never in brute force.

"You chose this," you said.

You gripped his head. He shrieked, wide-eyed and terrified, clawing at you desperately. His hands shrank, now short and stubby. His shoes flopped to the ground, feet too small to hold them. The bullet wound became but a tiny birth mark. His head shrunk, his eyes more soft and wide. Soon enough, he was nothing more than a harmless human baby.

You cradled him in his shirt. He screamed and cried and babbled.

"You will live among the humans, stripped of your memories, stripped of your godhood," you said gently. "For as many lives as you have taken, you will be reborn. That is your punishment."

The baby fussed and spit up a little.

"...Lovely. Now, let's go introduce you to your parents."

You've been sent out to defeat a powerful, reality bending god. All have died horrifically trying. And here you are in front of the crying god as they complain about how you just shot them.

Too Many Beds

(Reverse Trope: Too many beds, as seen on @out-of-jams )

Context: Hero and Villain forced to work together and need a place to stay for the night

Hero had been sent back to the car to gather their things while Villain booked them rooms for the night. Refusing to use a readily available luggage cart, Hero pridefully piled several bags across their body. They held two in each hand, two more were strapped crossbody–one resting on each hip for balance–making them so wide they would have had to step through the lobby door sideways. That is, if they could open the door in the first place, considering their hands were full and this hotel was sketchy enough to be skirting the ADA.

When Villain came back outside with only one room key, Hero could only hope that there would be two beds awaiting them behind shoddy wooden door.

Image their surprise when they unlocked the door to find not one, not two, but three beds clad in all-white linens.

Villain, ignoring the gobsmacked hero, pushed all the way into the room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. In a rather fittingly-villainous move, Villain had refused to relieve Hero of any of their cumbersome stuff during the trek up to their second-story room. The hero finally gathered themselves and their bags enough to step into the room, throwing villain’s bags on the far bed, placing their own bags on the bed closest to the wall, and sitting themselves on the bed in the middle. Immediately feeling their aching joints relax, hero fell back into the plush dramatically. They contemplated the merits of stealing some of the extra pillows to transfer to their bed before a light bulb lit up over their head. After a moment’s consideration, they stood up and started pushing the center mattress towards the one on the wall.

Mega Bed. First come, first serve.

“Hey! I got that one for me,” yelled an incredulous voice behind them. Apparently, Villain was back from the bathroom, and they were very very jealous of Mega Bed.

“You don’t need two beds!”

“Neither do you!”

“Sure I do!”

To punctuation their point, hero belly-flopped dramatically onto their claimed, enlarged sleeping arrangement.

“If you wanted more room to sleep, then you should have booked a room yourself!”

“What kind of motel has rooms with three beds anyway?!” Hero’s question was muffled by the comforter as they held their ground starfished face down over the blankets.

“This one does,” stated the villain from what sounded suspiciously far from his allocated regular-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Obvishushlee,” the hero mumbled in reply.

“…”

The hero recognized this as a dangerous silence. The silence of plotting.

“Look, we can be adults about this-“ Hero was cut off with a yelp as they were dragged by the ankle out of Mega Bed and onto the questionably-clean carpeted motel floor. Villain attempted to step over them, presumably to claim Mega Bed for themselves, but Hero caught onto their ankle in a grand feat of revenge, thus preventing Villain from crawling into the rumpled sheets.

Hero would not give up Mega Bed without a fight.

As Hero and Villain tumbled on the ground, knocking over the lamp and accidentally turning the TV to the Spanish channel in the process, a stroke of genius hit. Hero grabbed Villain by the back of the shirt, stalling their scramble for the bedpost, playground-king-of-the-hill style.

“Stop! Stop-,” Hero shouted, then added placatingly, “I have an idea.”

And thus the Super Mega Bed was born.

The Beast (Part 1)

The crowd screamed and ran at the sight of Hero's monstrous transformation. Hero roared, a pained and animalistic sound. Their shaking hands grew to long and sharp claws. Their teeth, jagged and pointed.

Hero cautiously approached a mirror mounted on the wall, terrified by what they might find. They recoiled at the beast that stared back.

They fled, out the doors and into the crowded streets. More people screamed. Someone threw a can, and they yelped. Shots rang out.

"The beast is getting away!" Someone cried.

They darted down an alleyway, and they kept running until they felt well and truly alone.

Or, so they thought.

"Ah, so you're the one they're after," said a voice in the shadows.

Hero bristled. They knew that voice.

"Oh. Oh my," Villain whispered reverently, stepping into the light. "You're marvelous."

"It went this way!" A voice cried.

"You're not safe here," Villain said. They threw open the doors to an abandoned warehouse. "Quick, inside."

Hero scrambled into the warehouse doors, up the wall and into the ceiling rafters.

The Villain shouted, "It went the other way!"

The angry voices receded, and Hero momentarily relaxed.

Villain closed the doors and all looked around. "Well, that's not ideal."

Hero shrank back into the shadows. Villain couldn't see them.

Villain ran to an intercom mounted near the doors.

"Listen up," Villain called over the intercom. "My pet is loose somewhere in this warehouse. Whoever brings them to me unharmed receives a little bonus."

Their lackeys sprung into action, running back and forth along rows of shelving and in and out of the various shipping containers littering the warehouse. A few ran into each other in their haste.

"Where did you go?" Villain muttered, scanning the ceiling.

They locked eyes with Hero, who bristled.

"They're on the ceiling nearest the compactor," Villain announced over the intercom.

Hero jumped down and scampered across the concrete flooring. Two lackeys tried to head them off, and they ran towards a set of stairs. Two more lackeys blocked their path, and they jumped off the stairs and darted over the shelving, toppling boxes in their wake.

"Boss, they're too fast!" One of the lackeys complained.

"Get the tranqs," Villain said.

Darts whizzed by as Hero tried to shake their pursuers. They cursed themselves for seeking asylum from a villain of all people.

They dove down to a set of doors and launched at them, but they wouldn't budge. They looked for some kind of lock or obstruction, but too late.

Something hit their shoulder. They tried to wrench it out, much too late.

They snarled as Villain approached them.

"Sorry, darling, but I can't have you tearing apart my warehouse," Villain said.

Hero realized they were laying down. They tried to get up, but they suddenly felt so, so weak. Villain knelt down and pet them gently, peering into their terrified eyes. They tried to nip at the Villain's hand, but that didn't seem to deter them.

"Rest now," Villain said.

Hero whined and went limp.

Part 2

"I can't pay you."

"It appears you did not read the contract."

You guys get ONE animated wip for the Laikas Comet AMV I’m working on ‼️‼️ It’s with the song Neighborhood #2 (Laika)

It will be posted on my YouTube channel! (But I’ll let you all know when it’s finished dw)