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@lemonlovestowrite
Hello there! I’m Lemon. 👋 🍋
Writing and coming up with stories is my life, but this blog here is specifically a place to put all of my G/t related stories onto. And to hopefully read as many of yours as I can get my hands on! Other, non-G/t stuff will also be posted here when connected to a larger story, but that is the priority.
~•~
Here’s a masterlist of said stories below if you feel so inclined (all sfw, with tw added as needed):
Part VII of Garden Party gonna be the COAT (cutest of all time) fr. 🧥 Just you wait.
A silly little something I wrote up as an exercise for a part of a story that’s been stewing in my head for quite awhile now. And, because it’s got a smidgen of G/t in it, I felt like pushing this one out into the void.
Anyway, enjoy this dude trying not to freak out about his shattered sense of reality! lols. <3
Garden Party
Part V: “Dissonance”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
He wasn’t going to bring it up, not when his mind dared to even consider it on his way outside the walls and up the human-sized kitchen table with a speed that spoke to his disturbing new familiarity with the route.
It being a comparably smaller, standalone item to the rest of the furniture, there typically weren’t a lot of useful things up there besides the occasional leftover plate. In all honesty, it was a much better place to get yourself caught out in the open, which rendered it pretty much useless in the eyes of a borrower.
That is, unless you were planning on getting caught out in the open.
The soft plush of those slippers did very little to muffle the dull thud of human footsteps. Any time he thought that surely the sensation couldn’t get any more… intense, her slow approach would work to prove him profoundly incorrect.
And she hadn’t even entered the room yet.
Thud.
In so few words, as he stood waiting beside one of the many used mugs laying around, of which he just barely outmatched in height, Lawrence was beginning to waver.
Thud.
More specifically, he was beginning to wonder if this swirling feeling in his gut was still the same that led him here in the first place—lingering exposed under a human’s direct line of sight, a human who knew his name—or if this was now rooted in something else entirely. Something closer to a plain, abject terror.
Thud.
Well, he concluded through a sharp intake of breath, I can keep on wondering. Because despite his gut screaming at him to stop, to run, to hide, the man adamantly and repeatedly chose to ignore it.
Thud.
Thus, in the absence of his mind, he would simply have to listen to his heart instead. The one telling him that if he truly wanted an answer to his questions, or at most a remedy to his doubts and suspicions; the only way to find out was to move forward.
And that meant he was going to have to bring it up, wasn’t he?
Thud.
Lawrence let his shoulders drop in an attempt to steel himself further, exhaling a much steadier breath through his nose while his more stubborn jaw remained tightly wound. It was the latter which made it clear to him that, while he’d managed to stay in one spot during their discussions thus far, or speak with his usual flow, not every part of him could be swayed so easily by the human’s undeniably ‘favorable’ behavior.
Silence followed, echoing throughout the dim, early morning light of the kitchen that casted the floral walls and tiled floors in a blueish tint. It might have been the loudest absence of a sound he had ever heard.
When the overhead kitchen light finally flicked on, Lawrence promptly cleared his throat, partly in an attempt to clear his clouded thoughts at the same time.
“Good morning,” he shouted up at her, his level tone absent of the shaking his knees had since become insistent on doing. More evidence of his own dissonant state of mind, he grumbled inwardly. He’d have to get at least that under control before the human came any closer; that is to say, enough to notice it.
Fortunately, he had time, because in response to his greeting the human had practically yelped.
It had been maybe a week since they’d last seen each other. Less than that, even. Far from it being enough time to warrant such a reaction out of anyone, he thought. Yet, either way, her response had thrown him off guard for an entirely different reason.
This, to put it mildly, was not how humans were supposed to act. Not in the cautionary tales he grew up with, nor the ones that had been passed down to his own two kids as of late. It was strangely a bit rewarding, to see his curiosities not go to waste like this.
Her reaction was also, in the deepest recesses of him, even the tiniest bit funny. Not that he would ever, in a million years find the heart to voice that particular perspective out loud.
Fine, maybe with Tilly. But that one didn’t count. A small smile had settled over Lawrence’s stiff features in the meantime.
“Lawrence?!” The human—JJ, he corrected in his mind—staggered, still loitering by the doorframe.
The longer he stared up at her, the more he was beginning to doubt whether a week really was a long time to go without seeing someone. For one, her hair was a completely different color; a pale blonde in place of the usual tawny brown. It was also much closer to her chin than just above her shoulders, where it last hung. And for the life of him he couldn’t recall if that was the usual, mildly concerning depth of the dark circles under her eyes, or if she’d just lost more sleep lately.
“Uhm, I— yes, good morning to you, too.” The words finally tumbled out of her on a breath, all the while Lawrence simply held his ground, already getting used to the idea that she may need a moment or two to collect herself before initiating any kind of interaction. In that regard, life had been hectic enough lately, and the man was more than happy to oblige in slowing down the pace a little.
Her voice continually lowered in volume with each word she spoke, the result of her catching on in real time just how much sound was acceptable in a situation like this one; caught between the wide gap between them and the dead silence of the kitchen.
Again, unusually thoughtful. For a human.
With a polite nod, Lawrence gestured openly at the table’s vacant chair, his other hand held behind his back. Without another word, or more like a poor attempt at one that came out as an incoherent mumble, JJ walked over to him and slid into the appointed seat.
Ask him how he knew precisely what her next few words were going to be.
“How are you doing?”
His mouth parted to respond. “I’m…” and for all the assurances he had given himself moments earlier, the pause was undeniably there. “I’m here to follow up on your suggestion from the other day,” he concluded.
His feelings were not essential to this discussion.
“Oh!” JJ perked up in her new seat, those green-gray eyes of hers lighting up like two stage lights overhead. There was a shuffling from beneath the surface of the table, either her fidgeting or just her readjusting herself, he gathered.
“…So, how did it go?” She implored, cueing him back into conversation.
He hadn’t realized until she spoke up again, somewhat awkwardly, that he had been neglecting eye contact with her for quite a while now. Staring down at the floor beneath his boots instead as he tracked those gigantic shuffling movements below with an intense amount of focus.
Likewise, turning back up to face her took a bit more effort than he was expecting it to, and a hand came up automatically to rub at the growing soreness in his neck. Up or down, his back was going to suffer for this.
“Actually, they took it surprisingly well.” He conceded, his almost pleasantly surprised tone turning into a less-than-pleased grumble in an instant. “Some even had ideas of their own, it would seem.”
Lawrence had begun to feel this conversation was drowning him in déjà vu.
“Ideas?” As if those stage lights couldn’t get any brighter. The fidgeting below appeared to have stopped though, which was something.
This was it. The moment he’d been dreading ever since the night Tilly first brought it up, and every night since when he’d brought it up again and again. With two decades of practice behind him, that sweet, optimistic sunbeam of a man had learned Lawrence’s ins and outs dangerously well. How to listen; to convince; how to lure a smile out of hiding.
Then again, so had the other. Hell, he thought, if Tilly had been here, he’d have been grinning so hard that Lawrence might actually go blind in combination with this human’s eager gaze. Who by the way, was waiting very patiently for the smaller figure in front of her to say his piece.
Then again, he continued to ponder—purely stalling at this point—it was partly his own fault that he’d followed along with this ridiculous proposal. For as well and as dangerously as they knew each other’s souls, Lawrence was just as dangerously, head-over-heels in love with him as he was twenty-something years ago. How could some of that blind optimism not rub off on him? How could he say no to absolutely anything that sparkling sunbeam proposed?
Just when he’d managed to inhale a breath to respond, he found himself overpowered by the all-consuming, yet surprisingly gentle tone of the human’s voice.
“Is this about the festival?” She questioned, innocently.
Lawrence felt his jaw drop to the dark wood surface beneath him, the absent smoothing down of his coat halted halfway through as if the man had been turned to stone right then and there.
“I— that’s right, a festival,” confessed the visibly reluctant borrower, after way too long of a pause. “How on earth did you know about that?”
She answered as though the answer were obvious, her grin faltering as she glanced over the sheer confusion on his own. “You sent me an invitation the other night?”
Wait, what? “An invita—“ Lawrence abruptly coughed into his sleeve, a startled sound erupting out of him that caused the human to flinch backward in turn. He swiftly apologized to her for his slip-up, all while his mind raced to piece together just how this had happened without his knowing.
“They,” he started again, unnecessarily straightening both his posture and coat back out, “didn’t think to inform me of this ‘invitation’ they sent you. But yes, they had suggested hosting some kind of a, um, ‘summer festival.’ Outdoors. With you there.”
Oh for the love of—did the human really just giggle?—Lawrence was battling the butterflies in his stomach with tooth and nail. The sound had reminded him so much of another girl’s, much younger in age, and by then the urge to smile at least a little bit had become irresistible. He covered with the back of a hand, hopelessly.
“You all really want me there?” JJ echoed, hands still stuck onto her lap out of respect even as she unthinkingly leaned the upper half of her body down closer to him. Closer than he would’ve liked. “I mean, I understand that this is all pretty new, and I wouldn’t want to… you know, bother you, when you’re just starting to try and get comfortable.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” He remarked in return, an eyebrow quirking upward as it tugged a slight smirk alongside it. “But please, don’t expect a lot,” he tried to reason. An attempt to gain back some semblance of calm in them both. What ever happened to slowing down the pace?
She then nodded tersely before interjecting with something that utterly baffled the man.
“Oh! Before I forget, is there some way I could maybe get a list of what to get for the event?”
In lieu of pinching himself, Lawrence blinked, hard. “…Get for it?” He reiterated, his brown eyes narrowing further in an equal blend of confusion and suspicion.
“Mhm,” she hummed back, happily nonetheless while she drummed against her leg. “As in, food or drink or supplies. Anything you need, really. I’d just… love to help with the set up, if at all possible.”
For the briefest of moments, Lawrence actually was rendered blind by the bright flash of Tilly’s smug face that had rung through his mind just then. The optimist had been more than correct in his judgment of her, if her offer truly was as honest as it sounded.
The set-up, huh. Supposedly in addition to a formal invitation. So this really was happening.
It was impossible for his coat to get any straighter, with all the smoothing he had been doing with his palms. A nervous habit. “Well, sure, alright.” He reluctantly agreed, mulling it over with a hand pressed to his chin. “I can get Carl to deliver something of the sort to you tonight, then. As long as you genuinely don’t mind it.”
The human shook her head fervently at his comment—“Of course not!”—and yet, even in her gigantic movements, JJ seemed to cement further, that distant parting of her gaze becoming a familiar sign of her thought process. “Who’s Carl?” She asked, her lips gaping slightly beforehand as though her mouth were simply running on a delay.
Somehow, it hadn’t even crossed the four-inch man’s mind that she wouldn’t have recognized that name. Or anyone’s name besides his own, for that matter. Was it that the reality of their situation hadn’t fully settled in for him yet? Or, he wondered with an odd chill down his spine, had he gotten that used to her already?
“That’s… who delivers the mail to everyone.” He answered honestly, a breathlessness to it that he was glad to know she wouldn’t comment on.
Those green-gray eyes suspended high, high above briefly left the surface of the table entirely to flick vaguely around the room. Only once they met back with his again did he finally take note of how her gaze almost never fully landed on him. Regardless of whether she was in thought. They always had elsewhere to wander to, it seemed. Be that as it may, the hu—JJ continued with her line of questioning. “Including me?” She gestured, a finger emerging from its dwelling beneath the table to point skeptically toward her own chin.
“Everyone,” Lawrence repeated himself once more, stone-cold and straightforward.
Much like he himself did, something appeared to also click in her mind then, that prior curiosity in her expression dissolving into what—to Lawrence’s best guess—was a thoughtful smile. If only because the glint in her eyes appeared more hopeful than it was determined, which helped settle at least most of the oncoming sense of dread. Though he was itching to know how that information was at all releva—
Oh. That’s right, of course. That darned ‘invitation’ she’d received. Lawrence’s tight shoulders slumped in defeat. He truly wasn’t kidding when he meant their sole delivery person’s job applied to everyone in their community; which in turn meant only Carl could have delivered it to her. Deep down, Lawrence could feel his role as liaison becoming less and less relevant by the second.
“Actually, while I may ask,” he cleared his throat somewhat impatiently. After all, he now had people to go and interrogate. “Did the invitation happen to mention a date?”
“Yeah, it did! This Friday,” she supplied helpfully. According to his mental math, which in truth was just him trying to remember what day it was, that would be about three days from now. He figured it this festival was going to happen anyway, he may as well have all the information.
The human’s overwhelming voice once again pulled him out of his stupor. “While I may ask,” she copied him, though it felt good-natured, “could you possibly deliver indoors this time?”
When her request was met with a second curious look, she jumped in to explain herself further. “It’s hard,” was all she could muster, and it was more than enough answer for him, the flash of their conversation from a week ago still fresh in his mind.
As casually as the supposed-liaison could manage, he shrugged, making the gesture purposefully wider in consideration of the human’s odd, strangely absent perception of him. Of the world around her in general, it would seem. “It’d be easier on his route anyway.”
“…Carl’s route.” she seemed to be testing out the name, the words curling at the edges in a way that almost made it sound like a question, or even an asking of permission.
Lawrence nodded in the affirmative alongside a sharp “correct,” just in case any of his above suspicions were in fact true.
With that, and a mutual wave goodbye, Lawrence forced himself to part ways, already constructing a short bullet point list in his mind of what his next few steps would have to be.
First, he needed Carl to gather a list of any missing ingredients and potential dietary restrictions. He purposefully did not want her to handle all of the food and drink on their behalf; despite the human’s more than gracious offer, he intended to make it clear that they could handle themselves.
And secondly, he had to find out who in their right mind had sent those invitations out. Who in their blindly trusting, obliviously positive mind would do such a thing?
No way could that have been the case. Not when Lawrence dared to even consider it on his way through the crack in the kitchen plaster and up the dark, stuffy stairwell, marching toward the postman’s office.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
Part VI: “Thank You, Carl” -> (workin’ on it!)
<- Part IV: “Chantilly”
seeing people like my writing, even if it's like ten people, means the world to me. I'm glad I mustered the courage to start posting here.
I rlly felt alone?? liking g/t has always made me feel strangely shameful as if it's something forbidden when in reality it's a trope like everything else, and more people enjoy it than I think. I still feel embarrassed for liking it and sometimes I beat myself up thinking that I shouldn't like it, and maybe i should like something less bizarre and something more 'mainstream'.
So posting here, having more than 100 followers and seeing people consistently like my posts (even though I disappear for months on end lmao), seeing people create beautiful stories and art for this corner of the internet, how kind to each other you all are... it means a lot, and means I'm not alone.. so thank you all for being here, and creating for the thing you love. Just know that someone, at least me, is out there seeing it, and is comforted by it :]
Guess who got on AO3 ~
It’s under the same username, @lemonlovestowrite , and the first few chapters of Garden Party are already up and running!
Planning on getting chapter five, “Dissonance” up by tonight. Thanks to my small audience for your unending patience, lols <3
Give me a story about borrower children disobeying their parents and playing with the human’s miniatures. The human craftsman noticing and after investigating starting to build toys and playground sets.
They don’t try to meet or “catch” the children but every day they are excited to see whether their builds have been used or not and to add more details. When they’re asked about the sudden obsession with crafting playgrounds and toys they shrug and say “I just felt they were necessary to build”
—Alright, bet!
Lost and Found
⋆.𐙚 ̊
At exactly six o’clock that morning, the lights inside the shop flicked on.
Whilst tying the apron that acted as his self-appointed work uniform around himself, the craftsman walked through the curtained doorframe that separated the residential side of the building from the front. His heavy-soled shoes clacked across the hardwood floors as the burly man passed by shelves upon shelves of his beloved creations; ranging from entire houses to individually carved chairs and teacups.
And yet, out of every miniature the man had ever constructed, there was one shelf in that shop that he made sure to check on each and every morning. It was a favorite, per say, though it notably was not his, nor his customers.
Like clockwork, he approached the aforementioned shelf, eyeing the most recent pieces up and down in a mental game of spot the difference. The amount of squinting being done required him to readjust his glasses a few times as they attempted to escape down the bridge of his nose, but it had all been worth it. Because what he seemed to witness so often lately never failed to bring a warm feeling to his chest and bright smile to his face.
On the third shelf up from the bottom, the slide he’d placed down just last week had since been worn down the middle, where its blue color became noticeably lighter. There were also metal scratches around the knotches where the swing set’s chains had been attached, the kind you get from doing just that—swinging back and forth on it. Other pieces of equipment had been altered in much the same way; items not left in the same place he’d put them, springs worn and ropes run taut.
The leftmost swing set, most of all, appeared to have significantly more wear and tear on it than the others he had attempted to build. Notably, it was the only one suspended by braided twine ‘rope’ instead of the usual metal chains used for jewelry and the like.
Despite having been involved in this particular craft for over a decade, there were about as many new things to learn as there were objects in the world, thus there was always something the craftsman did not quite know how to make. Playgrounds and toys were undeniably on that list when this whole affair had started some weeks ago, and it had certainly been… something of a wake-up call, to put it mildly.
He made a mental note to himself to use more braided twine from now on. Perhaps he’d even try purchasing some colored variations. Kiddos enjoyed colorful things, didn’t they? He could only hope the same applied to presumably non-human children as well, as the man wrapped up his investigation with a quick dusting off of his hands still in the quiet hours of the morning, long before the shop had to open.
He already knew today was going to be a slow day. The shop area was small, located along a length of several others all packed together like sardines. Not to mention his craft was certainly not an ordinary one, and so the bulk of purchases he received were typically specialized orders rather than the typical walk-in customer.
Nevertheless, the craftsman had become newly aware that he was hardly ever alone in the shop. Just as well as he’d deduced that this was information which he should not have been privy to. If the way they ran and hid in his presence was any indication. Then again, the man could hardly bring himself to call them ‘subtle’ in their attempt to hide their presence from him. Ah, kids.
He was just about to rise to a stand from his admittedly awkward crouch, when all of a sudden, something unfamiliar caught the man’s attention. Obscured underneath one of the bench seats, which was such a tight spot that he genuinely had to go wander in the back for a moment to grab himself a spare pair of tweezers, was a pink ribbon. The sort of thing worn in somebody’s hair, and yet—“good lord,” he breathed—the thing was smaller than his thumbnail.
After a second or two, the initial wide-eyed realization had softened into a tender sense of recognition; any remaining tension leaving him through a small, humored sigh. Then, with the same amount of care taken to retrieve it, the craftsman wordlessly placed the lost item on top of the bench it had fallen under, with the hope that whoever it belonged to would have an easier time finding it that way.
It wasn’t as though he intended to catch them in the act, or meet these tiny, young, mysterious admirers of his creations. To be completely honest, their enjoyment of his work gave the man about as much joy as he reckoned it made them. What a gift it was to know that this silly hobby-turned-career of his was indeed making someone else happy, and how incredibly lucky he was to have such direct feedback on his work.
In some ways, he had begun feeling like a younger man himself, dreaming up colors and playing around with new ideas in his head. The latest on his mind was the idea of trying to recreate a functioning merry-go-round in miniature, which he’d been thinking about basing off one from his own childhood, like so many of the other playground pieces were. Thing was, the physics required to achieve that level of mobility was, as of yet, entirely out of his wheelhouse.
Fortunately, the craftsman knew just who to call in times like these.
Calloused fingers drummed mindlessly on the glass surface of the front counter, where the apron-adorned figure sat leaned back in a chair his own size with the shop phone hugged up against his ear. With each passing ring, more details stood out in his mind regarding things he might need to add to this current project or tweak in some the older ones according to the ‘feedback’ he’d received last night.
Finally, the line clicked, the voice of a very tired and surely yet-to-be-caffeinated woman chiming in. “Mornin’, Lenny,” she yawned. “This another question about your seesaws?”
The smell of fresh baked goods had been drifting in from the shop next door for several hours at this point, so he figured she must’ve gotten up even earlier than he had to prepare for morning rush.
He fumbled awkwardly with the phone a moment, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ah— no, actually, those turned out fine. Thanks again for the assist, by the way.” It was the best he could admit to without openly confessing that his mysterious new customers hadn’t been interested in that particular build at all. He tried not to let the disheartened tone in his voice show through before continuing.
“I wanted to ask you about spinners. Have you got a minute?”
There was an audible sigh on the other end, sounding a bit more fond than exhausted. “Of course you do. And yah, I have got, just ask away. Wait, actually—“ she cut him off before he could speak, her voice lowering and growing hushed, acting as though she were about to breach a potentially sensitive subject.
“What’s with the sudden obsession with playground equipment?” She caved. “I mean, I’ve known ya to go through a phase or two, but this is serious if you’re willin’ to listen to me yap about pivots and motion for the better half of an hour.”
“Now hold on,” he chuckled to himself, “I asked for a minute, not an hour. But yes, I suppose I…” the craftsman found himself trailing off, his thoughts drifting to the lost ribbon he had held so briefly in his hand. “I just felt they were necessary to build,” he answered after a pause, shrugging his shoulders casually before realizing the other person couldn’t see him.
This, apparently, was not as satisfying a response as the baker was hoping for. He could practically hear her pinching her forehead together through the speaker. “Whatever you say, Len,” she then leisurely agreed, clearly unconvinced but willing to let her curiosity go for now.
“Thanks, Cheri,” he hummed sweetly back at her. “Now, spinners: how do they make ‘em?”
The phone call had been immeasurably helpful, and the craftsman had taken to work as soon as it was over. Meanwhile, the miniatures shop had opened and closed with about the anticipated amount of customers, though an order or two had been placed later in the evening that he would have to get an early start on that night to be ready in time for tomorrow’s pickup.
Undeterred by any of such paying customers, the man was far too excited to ‘test out’ his new creation, and thus opted to take his work upstairs for the night, flicking the lights off as usual as he finished locking the place up. Wishful thinking told him that this one would turn out a lot better than the seesaw had.
With one last peek at the shelf, assuring that everything there had been neatly arranged, the craftsman hung up his apron and disappeared behind the curtained door from which he came in, his shoes clacking up the stairs noisily until the kids were certain he was gone.
That’s when they went in.
“Shh!” One kid, no more than eight or nine years old, urged to her friend with a finger shoved harshly to her lips. “You don’t want our parents catching us, do you, Simon?!”
The small light attached to her hip bounced and spun with the girl’s energetic movements as the group made their way through the pitch dark corridor of the walls. It wouldn’t be much longer until this lesser-traveled path led them toward a slight crack in the walls, just the right height and width for a person no greater than four or so inches to pass through.
“Nuh-uh!” Simon muttered back, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. Then remarking under his breath, “…I’m not the one who left something behind, anyway…”
The girl gasped in shock, a hand placed dramatically against her chest as if to illustrate the figurative stab to her heart. “Oh my god I am so going to murder you!” She faux-whispered through a set of gritted teeth. “For real!”
“Both of you are going to wind up killed by that human if you don’t stay quiet,” another girl, the oldest of the group at a proud twelve years of age, silenced the two bickering kids. “And aren’t you supposed to be leading the way, Vi? Do you want me to take the—“
Instinctively, Violet whipped the light out of the older girl’s reach, turning to walk backwards just to cast her a pouting glare. “No way! You said I could take it this time, so I’m taking it. Back off,” she finished with a second flourished spin, facing the front again before running up ahead of the group.
With a half tired, half annoyed sigh, she felt a light tug at the hem of her shirt. Beside her stood her younger brother, practically adjoined to her hip, who their parents were actively convinced she was simply ‘watching’ at home while they were off on a borrowing trip elsewhere in the adjoining bakery.
“Emmie?” He whispered timidly up at her. “Is there really a human out there?”
The six year old’s round brown eyes were wide with worry, being at an age where the most he’d heard of humans were the stories and cautionary tales their parents had told him. Without missing a beat, his sister promptly ruffled his hair in her palm, causing his hand to retract and the front to fall messily into his eyes; blowing it away from his face as he continued to peer up at her.
“Obviously not,” she declared, a bit too confidently for her own liking. Not that she would let that part show. “Why else do you think we go this late? It’s so we don’t run into any nasty, evil humans.”
Her brother shrugged once, followed by an incoherent noise of “I’unno” while his gaze shifted back down to the floor. The kid began fidgeting nervously with his hands. “Isn’t it weird that there’s a whole playground for borrowers lying around, then?”
Emmie blinked in surprise, her pace slowing just enough that someone further up ahead turned to glance at her, ushering her forward again. “Uhh, well… yeah,” she admitted, both to herself and to him. “It is weird. Guess it’s lucky we discovered it then, right?”
With that, Violet’s light vanished ahead of them into the crack in the wall, signaling to the rest of the group that they’d arrived at last.
The very first thing that caught pretty much everyone’s attention upon exiting the walls was the strange, brand new structure sitting idly just a few feet away. Immediately, three or more kids ran off to go try it, already arguing on the way about how the thing might work.
Violet, on the other hand, wore a stunned expression on her face for an entirely different reason.
“My ribbon!” She exclaimed, an air of confusion evident even in her overwhelming relief. Dropping the light on the ground with a distant “hey!” from Emmie, the younger girl jogged straight up to the bench she’d been sitting on last night.
All at once she recounted the chill that had gone down her spine once Simon pointed out to her that her favorite hair ribbon was missing. The scolding from Emmie, the crying to her parents, the lying about where she might’ve dropped it and the dread that she had probably doomed their secret nighty recesses forever.
Yet tonight, there it was, as perfectly unharmed as they all were. She wanted to squeal with happiness and tear up all over again.
Quicker than anything, Violet tied the pink hairpiece back into her long, auburn colored hair, feeling the familiar weight of it with a smile that could outmatch the sun.
“See?” Some older kid called to her from close by, though she was far too busy smiling to herself to care who it was. “Told you it wasn’t gone forever.” Their voice grew farther away as they added, “why don’t you come try out the new spinny thing with us?!”
Instead, Violet plopped herself down onto the bench seat, swinging her legs out in front of her to emphasize her unwillingness to move. “No thank you, I’m good,” she replied, still grinning brightly as the kid left with a soft grunt of acceptance and hurried off to the slide.
Tonight, she was feeling far too relieved to have to lie to her parents again. Maybe she’d tell them simply that she found it exactly where she lost it. They’d probably roll their eyes and chide her about not being careful, or tell another tragic tale about the dangerous humans that stalked outside the walls.
But Violet knew better, she figured. Because late last night the girl had bolted upright in her bed, remembering exactly where she’d left the thing and feeling incredibly guilty over having possibly condemned her and everyone else’s families to a death so alike those tragic tales she’d heard.
Until a human, of all things, had given it back to her; put it right in her line of sight where they knew she would spot it. Something that made her curiosities absolutely soar.
With the whole world on her mind, Violet watched the show. A kid even younger than Emmie’s little brother had been placed in the center of the newest structure, while three of the older kids spun them around, chanting their name through bursts of playfully mischievous laughter. “I-an, I-an, I-an,” until the kid grew dizzy and had to get off.
“My turn!”
“How fast do you think this’ll go?”
“Hey, give that back, it was mine first—“
“—race you there!”
Young, squeaky voices layered over one another, giggling and squealing with their very best ‘quiet voices’ on, all the while the craftsman upstairs was busy pretending not to notice the commotion in the slightest.
Happy Hug a Giant Day! ♡
Definitely not late to this at all. Started writing this just this morning so it’s probably still a bit sloppy in parts—sorry about that—but here’s some solid, Curtis and Romanius G/t action. Hugs involved.
Word count: 3.1k
The End (short):
The Calm During the Storm
Happy Hug a Giant day!!!
Happy hug a giant day! 🫂💞
Hi
Will you post your g/t stories on ao3 eventually ? (Just to know, since it would be easier to keep track of them without getting lost to time and posts)
Hi! Actually, yes, I’ve been meaning to get myself on the waitlist lately. Once this happens I’ll absolutely link to it and get to posting some stories.
Thanks for the ask. <3
Garden Party
Part IV: “Chantilly”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
Turns out, interacting with humans for the first—or rather, second—time takes a lot out of you.
By the time Lawrence was back inside the safety of the dimly lit walls, far outside the human’s view, he was practically stumbling his way forward in his exhaustion.
This path was as familiar as always, and for a few lengths of the journey he had simply let his heavy eyelids succumb to falling shut, trusting his muscle memory and sure footing enough to lead him to where he very much longed to go.
Home.
Garden Party
Part III: “Questions and Answers”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
“You sure drink a lot of tea.”
I all but spat out said drink as a composed voice chimed in from right beside me, jerking back from my spot leaning against the counter only to find an already familiar figure sitting near where I once stood, legs dangling over the edge of the open cabinet.
Morning light spilled out in hazy lines from the partially closed blinds above the kitchen sink, illuminating that same half of my face as I stiffly turned to face him properly. In my drowsy, semi-awake brain fog, it took me a moment longer than it should have to recall who—or even what—on earth I was staring at.
It was a man with neat blonde hair, narrow brown eyes, and an astounding four inches of immaculate posture.
Garden Party
Part II: “Lawrence”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
Lawrence was a highly respected individual among his community. A man with neat blonde hair that fell in curtains around his narrow brown eyes and that framed around a square jawline. Which, to top it all of, was encompassed entirely by a poised, four-inch stature. He had essentially been appointed as the sort of ‘liaison’ between me and… everyone else. The formality of it all never ceased to fluster me in some way or another, giving goosebumps or butterflies, and so mostly I just tried not to think about it. As long as it helped them feel safe around me, then of course I could get behind that, I’d reasoned.
But someone else still had yet to be convinced.
“Prove to me you aren’t a threat, then,” Lawrence had demanded of me with a glare so icy it could very well have frozen the mug of tea I was holding. I’d come to learn in the following weeks that he had a tone like water; as adept at smoothing things over as it was capable of changing shape at a moment’s notice.
Hi there! I’ve been inspired by this post for literal weeks now about a human befriending a whole community of borrowers—long story short, I may have gotten a bit carried away…
Here’s hoping it strikes a chord with other G/t fans! But to be honest I’m having such a fun time writing these characters either way, lols. I already have the next few chapters written out and waiting to edit. Yippee, go my blorbos!!
👇 Read the first part below 👇
Garden Party
Part I: “You’re Invited!”
A borrower who witnesses a home invasion and decides to take matters into their own hands Home-Alone-style because ‘only I can steal from this human’ or something like that.
A show of affection, a moment of contact—surely it meant nothing at all. Right? Totally. Didn’t even matter. Haha. What.
Behind the Scenes: Nothing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“AF?”
“Manual.”
“Frame rate?”
“Uhhh…”
Nico tapped a shoe impatiently on the freckled gray-and-black countertop, arms crossed tightly over their chest, standing beside a propped-up laminated sign on the concessions stand that was quite a few times taller than themself. The pair’s little corner of the vast main lobby was illuminated by a single, orange light, emanating from behind the popcorn machines on the back wall. Any more and Tyler would’ve begun to worry about people looking in and thinking the theater might still be open at this late hour.
“24,” Tyler finally replied, leaning back from the camera’s pop-out screen for a moment whilst still bent at the waist over the counter to offer a prideful smile at the figure below. Nico returned it with an assured nod that made their dark hair swing from just above their shoulders, pushing it back behind their ears to get it out of the way. The incessant tapping of their foot ceased as they pushed onward.
“ISO?”
“Auto’s off—no wait! I mean,—400.”
That correction of his received a skeptical look from his instructor that brought a pang of guilt to Tyler’s face in turn, but all that was quickly put down by a dismissive hand wave from the former.
“Alright,” Nico declared, louder this time, moving their hands to their hips where a jacket had been tied around, revealing an off-white shirt with two short sleeves of mismatched colors—one blue, the other red—that reminded Tyler of a pair of 3D glasses. He wondered if that was on purpose, except now didn’t seem like an appropriate time to ask about the other’s design choices. Angling away from the camera, he folded his arms carefully over the countertop in front of them both in a gesture that showed he was ready and awaiting further instruction.
“Now clear all camera settings and do it again.”
Tyler’s heart sank, along with the rest of him as he knocked his forehead against the solid surface in defeat, arms sinking to his sides out of view while his hands braced on the counter’s edge. The sudden movement caused the smaller of the two to flinch, stepping back somewhat before clearing their throat and leaning against the camera’s side, an attempt to feign a sense of casualness that slipped away much too easily in the human’s presence. The human’s face was now fully obscured by the dusty brown forest of curls on top of his head, voice muffled in addition to the subtle slurring of exhaustion that was already present, which together rendered him practically incoherent.
“Man, we’ve been doing this for ages, how many more times…?” He groaned, and Nico suppressed a chuckle at the sight of it. That someone of their own kind could have such an effect on a being several times their size was nothing short of bemusing, if not a marvel in its own right.
“Until you stop making mistakes,” he responded, clear and concise. Another groan erupted outward, softened now by a low tone of understanding, and this time Nico couldn’t hold themself back.
The human’s tired, pale olive eyes returned to view as the head attached tilted back just enough to glance down at the borrower, narrowing in mock offense. “What are you laughing at?” He scoffed with a similar attitude.
The weight of regret was pretty much immediate as Tyler remembered just who it was he was speaking with, anticipating some kind of personal attack on either his knowledge, his skill level—or complete lack thereof. Meanwhile, Nico wiped a stray tear out of the corner of their eye, leaning further into the camera’s rubber-coated siding with a sigh that reeked of amusement. “Oh, nothing.” To Tyler’s surprise, the harsher words remained unspoken. Which, he exhaled at the notion, was somehow even worse. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “sure it isn’t.”
“Also,” that instructional tone of theirs resurfaced, and Tyler marveled just the same over how naturally it seemed to come over them, as if they’d been giving private lessons to rookies like him for years. “You forgot to disable auto power off.”
“Damn it.” Tyler’s exhausted face met with the counter’s cold one once more with a dull thud that, unbeknownst to him, reverberated through the ground where Nico stood.
After a moment or two spent sulking, an unexpected sensation made Tyler flinch the way his movements had caused Nico to earlier; his breath hitching in his throat when something warm and impossibly light made contact with the tip of his left hand.
He refused to lift his head or even move another inch, not for fear of the unknown; but because he knew precisely what this was. Despite never having felt it this… directly, before, he knew in his pounding heart what it was.
When that commanding voice spoke up again, it was perfectly clear and terrifyingly close. “Agh, don’t worry about it. You’re gonna get it eventually, you know. Just… gotta keep trying. Don’t worry so much.” With a quick few pats on the back of a knuckle, Nico’s hand retreated, and so had Tyler’s restrained breath.
He waited until the faint tapping sound of those footsteps got what felt like a good distance away before finally repositioning himself, his chin coming to rest on the counter while his hands maintained their grip on the ledge lest he fall over from this shrimp-esque posture he’s taken on. As two pairs of eyes met in the middle once again, they respectively startled at how this position brought the two almost exactly at eye level with each other. The staring would’ve felt awkward had it not been entirely mutual.
The ghost of warmth still hovered on Tyler’s knuckles. He resisted the urge to twitch.
“Thanks,” he whispered. While inwardly, Nico cursed the perfect vantage point Tyler now had of them, given front row seats to the flush of red that erupted across their small face. After a couple attempts were made at saying something and failing miserably to do so, the human caved into his instincts and began rambling on, picking up speed like a rock tumbling downhill. “I mean, not just for— for what you said, just now, I mean— thank you, Nico. Like, for taking the time to show me the ropes and everything, actually teach me stuff and all. I’m um… I’m kind of a slow learner, but well, you probably already know that, right?” His appreciative-gesture-turned-self-deprecation ended with a lighthearted, yet unconvincing chuckle.
All the borrower could do was stammer. “Wh… What? You— god, shut up, it’s nothing, really.” And they chastised themselves over the pathetic nature of their response. Deciding that avoiding eye contact wasn’t enough, Nico turned their whole body against the massive, looming face overhead, shoving it forcefully into the periphery as they pretended a poster had caught their attention.
“Mm. Yeah, sure it isn’t.” Tyler echoed Nico’s previous words, much to their annoyance, it would seem. They scoffed, still refusing to glance over their shoulder. Not until they could dismantle the stupid, unnecessary smile now spreading across their face, at least. Then in one swift motion, they sped-walked over to the front of the camera and slapped a palm over the top switch, the screen displaying a quick ‘cleaning lens’ icon before shutting off entirely. Nico swiped their hands together as if to dust themself off, Tyler watching throughout with a mixed look of surprise and fascination.
“Alright, big guy, think that’s enough for today. You’ve clearly lost your mind with exhaustion.”
Oh.
For someone so insistent on leaving just seconds ago, Tyler suddenly found himself planted to the ground. Then his mouth was in motion before his brain got a chance to catch up. Jeez, maybe Nico had been kind of right about that.
“Ah, wait— but, I still have to—“
Fortunately, what surely would’ve become his next slur of words came to an abrupt halt as the borrower raised a hand out for him to stop, their other hand settled naturally back onto their hip. “Nuh-uh,” they argued. “You said it yourself, you’re a…“ slow learner “…you need more time to pick up on things, so, you should go and get some sleep. Seriously. Go home.”
The tired human let out a sigh as he reluctantly pushed himself up and away from the counter, rubbing at the back of his neck with a slight grimace. Nico’s attention turned up to him as he did, their own neck starting to ache with the new angle. Turns out going over camera settings was a lot more physically arduous than either had expected it to be. “Yes, sarge,” joked Tyler, before adding, “You really should, too. It’s probably been a long day for you.” As he rose to his full height, stuffing his hands in his pockets, Tyler bit at his lip, his gaze wandering elsewhere. Anywhere but here. “Are you— uhm, do you…”
The curious tilt of Nico’s head only seemed to make Tyler more nervous, now fidgeting absentmindedly with the fingers on his left hand.
“Do you mind if I… walk you home?”
“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”
The human’s gaze affixed on them all of a sudden like a glaring spotlight, Nico thought. The bright gleam of them didn’t exactly disprove the comparison, either.
“Really?!” He asked in a tone that suggested a squeal of joy was actively being repressed, and in return Nico had to suppress a growing feeling of their own.
“Yes, really,” they half-chuckled, an uneasiness slipping through. But one that was pointedly ignored. “Just remember to—“
“Keep distance, stay behind, slow down,” Tyler finished with a small smile and a single, exaggerated nod. Although anything below their torso was obscured from Nico’s vantage point, they could practically sense him bouncing on his heels as they turned around to start making their way down the concessions stand to the floor. Despite this being against their every instinct as a borrower, Nico’s shoulders dropped, the infectious nature of Tyler’s joy getting through to him and melting those instincts away effortlessly.
“If only you were this good at remembering camera settings.” They shrugged with a slow side-to-side shake of their head, latching their hook onto a nearby tray of napkins. “Alas.” And with that, they repelled off the edge and out of sight.
In place of a sign or a huff or another groan—a soft, bubbly laughter erupted inside the lobby. Nico listened to it echo through the empty air as they swung down the string of their hook, landing deftly on the carpeted floor before retrieving it with a flick of the wrist. With similar practiced ease, Tyler scooped the camera off the counter, pushed in the popped-out screen with a click, and then tucked it under an arm for safety.
As they pivoted around, hook reattached in a loop to their side, two neatly laced sneakers emerged from behind the counter, making a wide arc around the borrower before positioning themselves behind at a careful distance. It was all Nico could see of him without tilting their head back. All the while Tyler stood still as a statue, a soldier in position.
“Thanks again,” a voice, still loud in volume despite sounding impossibly far away, commented from somewhere high above. Nico brushed him off with a hand motion that they realized he probably couldn’t have seen anyway. A smirk then came to their lips as they cooked up a response.
“It’s nothing,” they repeated with a sarcastic, theatrical flair that felt sour on the tongue with their usually monotone voice. Inciting more of that sweet, hushed laughter out of the human that only melted the borrower further. Gross, they winced, hastily shaking off the thought.
“Sure it isn’t,” Tyler answered back, a call-and-response that he happily imagined becoming a sort of inside joke between them. Even that half-chuckle of theirs rang in his mind like an alarm bell, a green ‘go’ sign that he wanted nothing than to race through at a hundred miles an hour. Except Nico clearly didn’t want that, so, neither did Tyler. Slow down, he urged himself, and shook off the thought.
Their conversation continued to slow easily as though nothing had happened at all. And, as far as they were concerned, it hadn’t. Definitely not.
Nico dreamt of nothing as they settled into bed that night, stuffing the pillow over their head to drown out the noise of bright, bubbly laughter echoing from every wall of the room.
Tyler felt nothing on the drive back home as his left hand kept incessantly twitching, tapping mindlessly on the wheel to rid himself of a lingering sensation that he hopelessly pretended wasn’t still there.
He wasn’t grinning like an idiot all night. And of course, neither were they.
The End, Romanius’ POV - Part 3
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Summary: Romanius finds himself in a baffling place, having to rescue an equally baffling individual, whilst trying to ignore some rather existential questions about himself.
(Note that while his dialogue is written in English for the sake of it being his own POV, he is still canonically speaking Latin.)
TW: Consumption of alcohol
Word count: 2.8k
“Praise to Adrius!” cries Lucius, partially slurring his words. The drunken crowd of men surrounding us all echo back in unison, “to Adrius!”
Dexidius then raises his glass, grinning wide at me, the amber liquid inside sloshing around with his stilted movements. “And to Romanius,” he adds, shoving the cold, effervescent drink directly into my arms. Julius barks out a laugh behind him, already three or four jugs in, by the looks of it.
Apart from the occasional holiday, I have never been outright drunk before. Which is why I wince as the liquid glides coolly down my throat, almost stinging at the edges, all while my three superiors cheer me on, callused fists pounding the wood. And I admit, the details get a bit fuzzy from here.
At some point we leave the bar and are stumbling our way outside, the heavy armor of our uniforms cast away to the ground on account of the humid summer air. I try to take my shawl off too but with the state I’m in, the mechanism of lifting my arms over my head to slide the chainmail off is simply too complicated to figure out.
They’re talking about the job. My very first as of sunrise that morning. One full job, no longer as a doting assistant but as an equal companion. Most of which consisted of standing around whilst the others chatted away mindlessly and mocked me for my rigid stance and paranoid glances, jumping at even the slightest noise. First day jitters, Julius had put it. You’ll get used to it, he’d said.
Now someone else is speaking at me. I think it must be Dex because of the distinct, almost musical lilt in his voice. That kid was born to be a performer, if only the circumstances had been different. Twice as evident in the way his apparent brain fog does nothing to abstract the mantra he clearly knows by heart. His hand is on my shoulder, leaning into me a bit heavier than normal. His breath reeks.
“I formally declare you, proud defender of Adrius,” he confidently begins despite the slur in his speech, a pointer finger shoved emphatically into my chest. “As sir Romanius Adrius Kilroze. And so shall this name not be forsaken as it is placed upon you.”
My heart races. “But, Dex—“ I stumble, nervous despite the pleased grin currently plastered across my face. “I’m only in training. I’m not even a real defender yet—“
Much to my amusement, and I confess some amount of fear, his eyes light up with an idea. Then before I can argue any further, Dex has gotten down onto his knees, slipping the metal blade from his hilt with a sharp shing.
“Tonight you are, good sir.”
The silver gleams in the reflection of the moonlight, almost ethereal. It makes me hesitate to reach for it, even just to touch it, like it might burn me for being unworthy. But the alcohol does wonders to rid me of my doubts, and I’m already partially wrapped around it by the time Dex clears his throat.
“Ah-ah,” he interjects. “Not just yet.”
“Have you already forgotten about the swearing in?” Lucius’ voice erupts from somewhere behind me, swiveling my head around to catch the man’s eyes narrowing in the hopes that he’s getting under my skin. I will not give him the satisfaction by lashing out with an ‘obviously’ or an ‘of course I do.’ I will simply recite the speech, its words flowing into me from deep inside as if tapping into some divine source. Yeah, that’ll show him.
With newfound gusto, I place a hand to my heart, feeling the heavy, sluggish beating of it through my glove.
“I swear, upon my very life,” I squint back at Lucius at this first utterance, which only makes him grin harder, like he’s expecting me to slip up, to prove my ignorance, my naïveté. I ignore him and persist.
“I swear upon my very life, no matter the cost to life or limb, through acts of bravery and sacrifice alike, that my loyalties lie only as this nation’s proudest defender. I swear to—“
That’s when it happens. When the fog melts away and the moon becomes the sun and the whole world snaps shut, ears popping with a sudden change in air pressure; the shift from warm summer heat to a frigid chill manages to sober me up considerably, prickling at my unaccustomed skin and leaving all but a still-pounding headache.
I collapse onto the ground. The flat, rugged ground. Of unfamiliar color, touch, and texture. Dex’ sword remains in my grip, but there is no Dex to speak of. There is no Lucius smirking behind me either—trust me, I triple check—and there is no Julius lurking nearby. For another hour or two, I wander the dead silent landscape in a daze, mind clearing as each footfall lands less wobbly than the last. It gradually dawns on me how completely alone I am. More so than I have ever felt in my life.
Until I hear it. A shout cuts through the quiet, forcing me back to life as it kickstarts an impulse within myself, the very same that had been instilled into me throughout the years. Someone is in need of help. And that somebody needs me. I can worry about the existential terror of this whole situation later, for now though, I pivot in the direction of the sound and sprint toward it, sword in hilt, reciting the speech to myself throughout as the unfamiliar walls stretch on with renewed purpose.
“I swear. I swear upon my very life. No matter the cost to life or limb. Through acts of bravery that—no—Through acts of bravery and sacrifice alike…”
The origins of the shout only worsen my confused state, however, because there isn’t a person in sight. There are only the half-built remains of some kind of large construction project, bits and pieces sticking out in every direction, groaning against whatever is inside.
With only the faintest hesitation, I inhale deeply before I’m listening to my own words reverberate throughout the metal walls.
“Hello? Is anyone here?!”
With no clear response, I stumble a bit closer to the structure, locating what looks to be a staircase off to the side of it. They lead up and up before veering sharply into the unknowable darkness within. My heart races with anticipation and my mind with intrigue as I ascend the stairs with haste, hand sliding along the railing; each metal step creaks against the heavy soles of my work boots, undoubtedly marking my presence.
“Hellooo?” I call out once more into the dark, to no avail. Though I can barely hear the faintest rush of air as I get closer, like someone—something breathing. Heavy and shallow.
“I heard someone crying for help…”
When a voice actually does respond, I nearly topple over in alarm. It is so unexpectedly loud. That, and I’ve no idea what the person just said to me. Or perhaps that’s just the alcohol still working its way through my system, I consider, a newly acquired regret digging at my empty stomach. After a pause, I realize the voice is repeating the same sound I had heard a moment ago, starting soft in the throat and emitting outward: ‘hell-oh,’ it seems to shout. Though even with the second chance, I still have no clue what that means. Curse my inebriated mind, I inwardly chastise myself.
But, in a way, this is good. It means they know for certain that I’m here. They just need to know I’m here to save them, is all. If I could only figure out how to. A determined huff of air escapes me. Right, first things first.
“Ah—hello!” I echo back in a show of recognition, connecting the two of us through mutual acknowledgment. At least, I hope that’s what I’m doing. Without any sense of where they are or what they look like, it is incredibly difficult to tell.
The unseen individual falters, uttering out a question that I can only assume is another plea for help, judging by the growing urgency in their startlingly dry, scratchy voice.
“Listen,” I tell them, trying to pin down the precise location of each shallow breath, which, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say was coming from everywhere.
“I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”
I wait for any kind of confirmation that they’d heard me, and take the heart-wrenching, pained noise that returns as my answer.
Turning back to the task at hand, I continue wandering through the metal rails and stairways of this very poorly lit construction project. Truly, it’s as if someone’s put a blindfold on me—I can hardly even see my own boots as I try to gauge what kind of surface it is I’m navigating. Then it hits me. Quite literally, actually, because I’ve just crashed face-first into a pole of some sort. And it’s as I’m tugging myself away from it, scoffing lightly at the thing’s audacity, that the pole decides to tug away from me as well, shifting with a fair amount of ease under my grip.
Curious, I give it another quick shove. It inches even further away in turn. Something lights up inside my disheveled brain and I can hardly repress a growing smile. Yes, of course! This structure is so far from being finished that the protruding beams don’t even appear to be bolted down yet. Pulling them out should be no less arduous than that time Lucius had forced me to carry him—in his chain mail, full set of armor, and leather coat, mind you—all the way up the spiraling watchtower stairs because of an ‘injured leg.’ By the time I had gotten us to the top, heaving and sick to my stomach, it was revealed to me by the others that the injury in question had been nothing more than a rolled ankle. Not to mention one that took place all of five years ago. Training, he called it, through his usual teasing smirk.
And agh, darn it. He had been right.
One by one, the supports give way. A few more increasingly spirited comments from the individual nearby imply that I’m doing a good job, which I have to admit makes the work go a lot easier. Better to ignore the exhaustion weighing on me like I continue to ignore the ever-pressing puzzle of—
Woah, why is this one warm? Heat radiates off the surface of the beam like armor in the summer sun. It doesn’t budge like the others had, either, but it instead gives way under my touch. Definitely a cushion, but the exact ‘what’ and ‘why’ of it escape me at the moment. A brief moment, as it happens, as I feel my hand fall into empty space, the surface jerking away on its own volition, far out of reach. My breath hitches in my throat, and my eyes blink out into the pitch black, searching for… I really don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if this person genuinely even needs my help, do I?
No, no. These are not the thoughts of sir Romanius Adrius Kilroze, defender of the region. This thunderous beating is not the pounding of a heart, but the drums leading the procession, and they insist I must keep going. Julius laughs. Lucius’ eyes narrow. The next beam gives way, the rescuee’s breathing passes over my face, and I turn to meet it head-on.
Oh. Oh. Oh?
Well, aside from the notion that this person’s head alone is greater than the height of my entire body, there are some other features that stand out to me as unusual. For one, there are bits of metal embedded into the massive face. Below the lips and between the brows sit two pairs of them, while others are solitary; most notably, a silver loop below the nose that, if I can begin to imagine myself trying, I could likely fit my head through.
Freckles map their face like stars, concentrated beneath two wide, visibly terrified eyes, dark strands of hair falling in the way of them. Despite the size, despite the unnatural black of their tears—this being is just so, inexplicably human.
It’s okay, my friend. I’m going to get you out of here. You just need to breathe, for me, okay?
—
Curtis is a nice name. I’ve not heard it before, but then again, I have also never met a giant before, assuming that is what they are. That’s not something I ever thought I’d have to clarify, either, funnily enough. We’re breaching a lot of firsts today, Curtis and I.
Something else I note about Curtis is that they are so, so quick to give up. And also very, very scared. Any mistake seems to weigh on their shoulders like some grand, shameful burden. For one, they haven’t raised their voice a single level since earlier, and I have no way of getting it across to them that it wasn’t them that was the problem, but the ongoing headache I had leftover from my first night of celebratory drinking.
It was also odd to me how they walked as if they weren’t used to it, and it struck me in the moment how little I truly know of this person. Yet, as I’d gawked at the sheer sight of their towering form as they rose to the fullest extent of their height, I couldn’t help but be reminded me of home. Mostly of the spiraling watchtowers scattered across the borders of Adrius, the very same I was drunkenly sworn in to protect this very night. Though, perhaps a bit shorter than they were. If I were to get any closer, albeit against my friend’s wishes, I’d guess I would come up to just above their ankle.
It was taking more and more effort to prevent my mind from wandering. A floodgate I am desperately shoved up against. Fortunately, Curtis was there, inadvertently being the most attention-grabbing sight in the world right now.
When the whole… slip-up, I’ll say, happened, only two things remained clear to me. That this weird, metal-carved creature was now making noise, and that it was hurting my friend. The rest was purely instinct.
Dex’ sword slashed through the creature’s featureless glass face, shattering it into silence. My heart was pounding in my ears, as deafening as the creature’s cries, the edges of my vision fading into nothingness. Because this? Sword in hand, a beast silenced beneath the tip of its blade, it was just all so… unfamiliar. I shouldn’t be shaking this much. My heart should not be pounding so loud. I should be braver than this. I’d even sworn so, hadn’t I?
Finally, the floodgates had to come crumbling down.
Oh gods. Who was I kidding? I am no great defender. Dexidius had been drunk when he swore me in then. It was all just an act, a show to get a laugh out of the older, more experienced guys who’ve managed to actually do something with their lives, who didn’t flinch on the job, who had earned their middle names with effort. Sir Romanius Adrius Kilroze does not exist. He never did. That honor had been stolen away from me before I ever got the chance to grasp it.
As I glanced sideways at my friend—having positioned themselves against the buildings with nothing but pure fear in the way they shook violently, arms wrapped tightly around themselves—if I didn’t know better, I’d say that they even looked rather small. A fragile thing, and as lonely as I felt in this moment.
So I slid my new blade out from the glass and back into the side of my belt, pushing off the beast’s cold, curved face. It was with caution that I approached the petrified giant, my friend who is much too quick to give up and too frightened of themselves to try otherwise.
The truth is obvious to me now, though it aches just the same. That I am no defender of Adrius. Adrius was gone, and in fact I have never had to defend anything in my life. Not really.
But maybe—I thought, with the slightest glimmer of hope—just maybe I could start to do that now.
So I wrap my arms around the wrist that is as wide as my torso, feeling like a cushion with surprising warmth, though acting like a fallen soldier with a feigned leg injury, and I tug with every ounce of strength I have left. The sky has since tinted yellow with the promise of sunset, and I’ve no intention of us being shelterless or without food and water tonight. There is no rest for the weary, Curtis. Even for the giants and the perhaps not-so-great defenders.
