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goblinunderabridge · 11 days

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eEEEEE POOR CHRIS DIDNT DESERVE THET 😢😢😢😢

I love this series omg avwhwhanqjs

Y’all remember when I asked you to choose which way I wanted to take the language barrier story (either a continuation or a prequel)?

Continuing with Ritchie and Mason seemed to be the one people were most interested in, so without further ado…

Part 3 of Takeover Scenario Future!

(part two here) (@goblinunderabridge, @entomolog-t, @microfoxprime, tagging y’all because you were the ones who wanted this to win!)

The first night with Mason was wild. Once I was certain everyone else had gone to bed — even my sister, who kept checking up on me every twenty minutes — I made us a fort beneath my blankets. He stared in awe at the covers high above him, grinning at me as if it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. It was kinda like a sleepover, only he’d be here every night. I reminded myself to get an actual bed for him later. Tonight he seemed perfectly content to stay right here with me. “Wow! S’ti ekil a elohw sucric tnet rednu ereh! Knaht uoy, niaga, rof lla fo siht. I yltsenoh t’ndid kniht stnaig derac hguone tuoba su ot evig em gnihtemos yletomer ekil siht. M’I dalg uoy dnuof em yadretsey. Neve fi uoy did kaerb ym gel.”

“You’re welcome.. I think?” I hadn’t understood much of it, but Julie had stuck it to me to learn ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘you’re welcome’ in the survivors’ language. I asked about learning ‘yes’ and ‘no’, which seemed important, but she shrugged and said that wasn’t really necessary considering nodding or shaking your head could easily replace those words in the basics of communication. She added that thumbs up or thumbs down could also mean ‘good’ or ‘bad’. We’d just started learning ‘sorry’ when I was called off to get to bed.

We stayed up a good portion of the night playing Super Smash Bros on my Switch. Mason refused to sleep until he’d mastered the little controller. Thankfully the single joycon they give you on the switch was just big enough to be a bit larger than keyboard size to him. He was decent — clearly he’d played games like this back in his world. The only thing stopping him from beating me was the fact that he had to use both hands to move the joystick. I still let him win a few times. He called me out on it for most of them, though.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I was shaken awake by Mason. He gestured around to the bed then to himself and I eventually realized he was asking for his own place to sleep. Nodding tiredly, I helped him down off the bed to the floor. He only needed a single pillow as a mattress and a small blanket as a whole comforter. I’d just put away all my gaming stuff and slid into bed when he spoke. “Ritchie?” It was strange hearing him speak my name. So much of what he said I didn’t understand.

“Yeah?” “Tha.. Thank… Knaht uoy.” Well, at least he was trying. I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for, either. Maybe everything. “Re- Re’uoy emoclew.” Damn those contractions are hard to pronounce. I peered over the edge of the bed at him. He was sitting up on the pillow, grinning at me from below. “Goodnight!” I called quietly, settling back into my bed. “Thgindoog!”

Groggily sliding out of the covers the following morning, I nearly gave myself a heart attack. I’d missed stepping on Mason by a mere few inches. Thankfully, he was still asleep and hadn’t noticed. Just as I returned from the bathroom, my mom hurriedly opened the door to my room. I yelped, quickly coming up to the entrance to block her view of the little bed on the floor, and the small person sleeping soundly in it. “H-Hey, Mom! Why are you up so early?” “What do you mean?” she asked me, “I have to drive you to school in twenty minutes! I came to see if you were ready for breakfast.” Her confusion turned to stern exasperation. “Ritchie, don’t tell me you forgot. You have six weeks of summer school, young man! You better get up and get ready!” “Alright, ok! I’m up! I’m getting ready!” She sighed and closed my bedroom door.

Up until then, I’d forgotten about summer school. Probably because it sucks. At least it’s shorter than normal school. I hurriedly readied myself in my room, stuffing things haphazardly into my backpack. As I sat on the edge of my bed to yank on my socks, Mason stumbled blearily into the space, still half asleep. “Tahw… S’tahw gniog no? Yhw era uoy pu os ylrae, edud?”

He grumbled something at me, then yawned. “I have to go to stupid summer school,” I told him with a groan. Mason stepped back slightly, giving me a slightly hurt look as if I’d grumbled at him. I held up a hand, “No, no I’m not angry at you! I’m angry at school, see?” I picked up my backpack and placed it in front of me, zipping up the pocket I’d been stuffing things into.

Immediately upon seeing my backpack, Mason’s eyes dulled. A knowing, almost disgusted look spread onto his face. “Yeah,” I sighed unhappily, “school.” Mason waved a hand at me dismissively and turned to go back to sleep, but froze in his tracks before he could reach the pillow. Whirling back around, he ran across the room to me, excitedly talking nonstop. “Woah! Slow down! I only know like.. five words in your language! And you’re talking so fast I wouldn’t understand a single one!”

He stopped next to my backpack and yanked the zipper back open, pointing to himself then to the open bag. “You’re kidding… Why would you willingly go to school?” Just like I’d been taught a few things by Julie, Elenor had also taught Mason several words in English. ‘Why’ was one of them. Mason stammered a moment. “I tsuj.. tnaw ot og htiw uoy. Ees erom tnaig secalp, I sseug.” He stammered awkwardly, glancing away from me. Whatever he just said, I understood ‘you’ and ‘giant’, and the fact that he was suddenly at a loss for words. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I didn’t see why he couldn’t come. It would probably make classes a bit less boring, even if Mason couldn’t exactly get out of my bag without being seen. “Alright,” I nodded, “Let me just rearrange a few things in-”

“Ritchard? Are you ready up there?” I flinched, blood running cold. “You have ten minutes to be in the car.” Quickly grabbing Mason, I hastily slid him into my backpack — tucked between my binder and the side of the bag where the zipper was. He gave me a wide-eyed look as I went to zip it up. “I’m so sorry, man. I just- my mom’s gonna kill me if I’m not ready. Just.. try to make yourself comfortable in there, ok?” Sliding a more gentle hand in, I settled him more comfortably so nothing was in danger of hurting him and especially his leg. “Ok, gotta go. I’ll see you at school, buddy.”

Zipping up my bag, I cautiously slung it over my shoulder and made my way downstairs. Placing it on a chair at the table, I quickly snatched up some breakfast as my mom warned me again about being late. While I finished eating, I felt a tug on my sleeve and glanced down. A little arm had slid out of my bag, trying to get my attention. It slid back inside once I noticed it, and Mason’s face peered through the gap where his arm had been. He pointed to the table and mimed biting something. “Oh yeah!” I whispered, “I can get you breakfast, one sec.”

While my mom went to put on shoes, I grabbed a bagel off the counter and slipped it into my bag beside him. “All good?” Mason gave me a thumbs up and I zipped everything up again. Nothing too extraordinary happened on the way to school, but I made sure to treat my backpack with a bit more caution than I usually would. With it on my lap, I could feel Mason shifting around inside, still trying to get comfortable. Guiltily I remembered how hastily I put my things inside it. Whenever I get to my locker I’ll have to rearrange it for him.

However, I didn’t realize that during summer school, you don’t get a locker. You just bring your bag right to class — in front of about a dozen people. I had no choice but to leave him there. Class went by agonizingly slowly knowing there was someone else hidden right beside me in my backpack. When lunch came and I headed to the cafeteria, I pretended I’d forgotten something and went back — secretly hoping to check up on the survivor. But of course teachers just have to eat in their room. Defeated, I trudged back down the hall to get lunch. At least I could bring Mason something to eat whenever I returned.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea bringing him with me. His presence was only making me more anxious. Thankfully, I managed to wrap up some of the school’s meatloaf — which was really just random meats stuffed suspiciously together — and returned to class. It would probably leave a huge mess in my bag, but at least my secret friend would have something to eat.

Actually, he might not even have that. Mason was gone. The zipper to my bag was open wide when I arrived. I cursed under my breath, carefully rummaging through everything in my backpack. The only sign of him was a partially-eaten bagel and the little empty place he’d constructed for himself. Desperately, I wanted to call out to him, but I could only sit quietly at my desk, glancing accusedly at the people around me. Did someone steal him? Who would’ve gone through my stuff to find him?!

I dreaded it the whole time, but as the end of the school day arrived and the bell rang, I sat at my seat and attentively watched everyone’s bags and hoodies to see if anything could hint at a survivor stashed away inside. Once I became the last in the classroom, I began peering around the floor. “Ritchie, is there something you need help with?” I jumped as the teacher eyed me confusedly from across the room. “I- I think I lost something,” I said numbly, “but I can’t find it.” She let me stay for a bit longer, but eventually even she had to leave, and I was left standing alone in the school.

By then my bus had long left. I was stranded, but not so much as Mason might be, so I kept searching. “Mason!” I whisper-yelled through the empty halls, “Where are you?!” My phone started ringing, making me jump as I slunk around. I glanced at the caller ID and paled. It was my sister. My mother was still at work, but my sister was at home, waiting to see whether I’d come back from school. “Shit! I can’t let her know about Mason! She won’t let him stay with me if she finds out I lost him on the first day!”

Up ahead, I heard the sounds of a custodian in the next hall and quieted my voice. I peeked out from the corner, planning to make a quick dash past the hallway’s opening while he wasn’t looking. He seemed distracted enough, so I angled myself to make a run for it, but froze as a shout echoed down the hall, followed by a loud slam. A survivor scrambled to their feet and ran for the end of the hallway, followed by the custodian with an empty bucket. I watched in horror as Mason was roughly scooped up into it.

With a huff, they walked around to the end of the hallway, and tossed the bucket’s contents outside. Oh thank god, he’s just letting him out. I raced away down a different hallway and out the side door. My side ached by the time I got to the door where Mason had been tossed out of. He was there! He was.. helping someone up? I stopped in my tracks. Mason helped another survivor to their feet. This new survivor was the first to spot me watching them, and upon realizing I was there, he started screaming — dashing away into a nearby bush and tugging Mason along.

“Wait! Mason!” I yelped, rushing forward. The survivor skidded to a halt, letting the other continue hiding. “Ritchie!” I fell to my knees at the sound of the relief in his voice. He ran up to me, scrambling up my bent legs like a ramp before hugging my chest tightly. In that way, I could feel both of our heartbeats pounding in our chests. We sat together like that for a while before my phone rang again, startling us both. Mason stood practically glued to my side as I hesitantly picked up the call.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, RITCHIE?! I KNOW YOU TOOK MASON BECAUSE HE’S DEFINITELY NOT HERE!” Oh. “YOU BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN HIM KILLED!” “N-No! He’s fine! He’s right here! He wanted to come to school with me!” “He wanted to, or you wanted him to?” she asked. “He wanted to! You can ask him yourself!” “Mhm,” she grumbled disbelievingly.

“Anyway, can you come pick me up? I’m still at school; I missed the bus.” A groan rumbled out of the speaker. “Alright, I’m coming.” The call ended. I breathed a sigh of relief and glanced back down at my survivor friend. “What happened?” I asked Mason, opening my bag and pointing to the empty spot where he’d sat earlier. “Where did you go?” “I was taht yug!” he told me, pointing to the bush where the other survivor was hidden. “Eh saw gnilaets sgniht morf eht moorssalc eht tnemom eht rehcaet deppets yawa, os I-”

Mason stopped, recognizing the growing confusion in my eyes. I didn’t understand him. If only I could just, like, watch a video or something and understand his language. He sighed, also clearly wanting me to understand him as well. Never in my life have I wanted to actually learn something language-related until now. It’s.. kinda the reason I’m in summer school in the first place.

Stepping a little ways in front of me, the survivor motioned for me to follow him. We made our way back to the bushes in the exact opposite way as the day I found him — with him in the lead and me cautiously following. When I neared the bush, the other survivor whimpered something to Mason. I could see him cowering deeper and further away from me. Mason briefly began to speak, then his eyes lit up with an idea. He raced over to the dirt, broke a small stick off the bush, and began to draw.

When he was finished, I slowly peered down at it. The drawing showed a sad little stick figure behind the bars of a cage, then Mason pointed at the other survivor. “Ohhh,” I realized, him nodding along with me. “Eh saw dnuof yb a tnaig dik,” he explained, drawing a larger stick figure with a mean face standing beside it. “Adnik ekil woh uoy dnuof em, tub eht tnaig ohw dnuof mih saw.. a tol esrow.”

I watched as he gently coaxed the other survivor to come out. He stepped up to the very edge of the bush, but stayed beneath it. The little guy looked awful — much more like the wild survivors I’d seen before I met Mason. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with purpled bags beneath them, and everywhere on him were the telltale signs of either bruises or starvation. He looked older than us, but I couldn't tell if he was actually older, or if his awful tortured state made him look that way. It was probably both.

“Wh- Who would do this?” I asked quietly. Mason rubbed away parts drawing to show the survivor escaping a backpack. He’d been living in the school since his escape. But today was the first day of summer school. He would’ve had to have just escaped today!

Shocked, I looked to Mason as he stopped drawing. His expression darkened for a moment, then he turned and looked up at me — not with an accusing ‘you might’ve done this to me, too’, but a thankful ‘you might’ve done this to me, too’, only I hadn’t. I’d hurt him by frightening him, but I’d never intended to do anything that would make him look like this new survivor.

With a shaking hand he reached for me, leaning more heavily on his good leg. I gently took his hand and sat him in my other palm. The new survivor physically flinched at our interaction, as if I were touching him instead. I brought Mason to my face and scrutinized him for a moment. “Are you.. thgirla?” I asked, remembering only one of the words I meant to ask him. He pressed a bit closer to my hand, but nodded. If I was so horrified by seeing the poor state of the new survivor that I’d previously grown used to seeing, I could only imagine how Mason must’ve felt finding him — how he must’ve felt when the survivor told him that a ‘giant’ my age in my school had done that to him.

He squeezed my finger as if to say he knew I wouldn’t have done that sort of awful thing, then turned to the other survivor. “Ees? S’eh a yldneirf eno, I raews! Eh nac teg su tuo fo ereh ot erehwemos efas!” “Dna woh gnol evah uoy nwonk mih?” He seemed to have said something either really smart or really scary because his reply quieted Mason for a moment.

“I- I t’nevah nwonk mih gnol, tub I wonk s’eh doog! Sih retsis-” “Won s’ereht a retsis?” “Ehs swonk ruo egaugnal! S’ehs neeb sdneirf htiw a namuh rof sraey! I t’ndid tsurt siht tnaig ta tsrif rehtie, tub ehs detalsnart rof em; eh sdnatsrednu.. emos sgniht tuoba su. Eht tnatropmi sgniht! Dna s’eh gnoig ot nrael erom!”

The two survivors almost sounded like they were arguing, but I think Mason was just trying to explain to the other guy that I wasn’t going to hurt him. Damn, why did ‘I’m not going to hurt you’ have be part of today’s useful phrases to learn instead of yesterday’s? After a back and forth that went on for several minutes. Mason said something decisive. Moments later, the new survivor begrudgingly slid out from beneath the bush.

After some half-arguing, he approached me with his head down as if he were being marched to his doom. I slowly lowered my other hand for him to climb onto. Tucking Mason against my chest — which he didn’t seem to mind — I was able to keep a steady both hands on him to ensure he would have as comfortable a ride as possible. Still, the survivor struggled slightly in my grasp — repositioning himself every few seconds while frightfully glancing back at me.

I made it to the pickup line where Julie’s car was already sitting. A jolt of guilty fear zipped through my chest, but I braced myself for her yelling and headed over. Sacrificing my hand that held the new survivor’s back, I opened the car door. Julie was on the verge of yelling at me, but then she realized the survivor in my hands wasn’t Mason. Then she realized I was carrying two survivors.

“Where did you-?” “Mason found him in school. He said that this guy was caged up by another kid.” Julie gave the new survivor a pitying look — anger rapidly fading from her expression. “By the state of him, I wouldn’t doubt it. Come on, get in.” I deposited both survivors onto the dashboard so I could get my backpack off and my seatbelt on before reaching out and picking them up again. The new survivor struggled in my grip, but Mason slid down to happily sit on my lap. He called up to the guy in my hands and his struggles slowly lessened.

“S’tahw ruoy eman?” Julie asked the survivor in his own language. He turned to her, wide-eyed. “T- Tahw?” he asked. She repeated what she said, nodding to him. “Ym eman.. si Sirhc.” “Sirhc,” she repeated, “Ll’uoy eb efas htiw su, I esimorp. Revetahw deneppah ot uoy erofeb, s’ti revo won.” The survivor stilled in my hand, and stayed fairly quiet for the whole ride back, except for occasional questions he’d ask Mason or Julie. Again I had that sense of not belonging. Everyone in the car had either asked or answered questions throughout the drive, while I sat in silence — only able to guess at what was said.

Back at home, Julie took the new survivor off to the kitchen to get him something healthy to eat and drink. On my way to my room with Mason, she asked me to tell Elenor what was going on. I poked my head into the seemingly empty room across the hall from mine. “Elenor?” The survivor appeared from behind my sister’s bed. “What is it?” she snapped. “Julie wanted me to tell you that we found another survivor. He was in my school escaping from a kid that had caught him.” She sighed, said something under her breath in her own language, then nodded and waved a hand dismissively at me.

In my own room, I finally put Mason back down. He stepped out of my hand to the surface of my desk. I gave him a long look, then sat down tiredly, head resting on my crossed arms. “I want to know what everyone’s saying,” I told him quietly, “But I barely know any words in your language, and I’m even worse at pronouncing them.” Mason came and sat down directly in front of my arms, scrutinizing me with concern. “English,” I tried, pointing to myself, “you?” I pointed to Mason. “Hsilgne,” he replied. “Hs.. ill.. gn-e?” I repeated questioningly. We spent a while repeating the word for his language back and forth, then Mason eagerly grabbed a pencil and tugged a piece of paper closer. In his hands, both items looked massive.

He tried to write something, but kept fumbling with the pencil. “Hold on,” I said, opening a drawer and digging through it. “I put a pencil through a sharpener for a bit too long… Aha!” I pulled out a very used wooden pencil — the tip ground down all the way to the edge of the eraser. It still looked thick around in Mason’s hands, but it was small enough that he could use it much easier. Mason wrote down a word in his language, then pointed to the last letter. Looking up at me, he nodded towards the larger pencil. “You want me to write?” I asked, picking it up. He nodded, made room next to his word on the paper, and pointed to its last letter again.

Confused, but intrigued, I wrote the letter he pointed to: ‘h’. He went down the strange word, pointing to each letter from the end of the word to the beginning. ‘h’, ‘e’, ‘l’, ‘l’, ‘o’. Wait.. what? I looked at the word I wrote then at the one he wrote in his language. “Hello?” I tried. “Olleh!” Mason replied happily, pointing to the papers. “Wow! Ronele t’nsaw gniyl; ti yllaer si sdrawkcab,” he mused to himself.

Excitedly, I wrote a word in my language, then pointed to the last letter. Mason immediately got to work copying it down. Soon we began learning how to properly talk to one another without having to mime everything. Through the paper, he told me what had happened without me at school while I occasionally repeated larger or important words I wanted to commit to memory. I learned that Mason had heard the new survivor — his name was Chris — trying to gather some supplies from the room to try to hole up in the school for a while. He’d escaped whatever awful kid had taken him by breaking out of the plastic lunchbox they’d kept him in — continuing to kick the latch until the cheap plastic snapped open.

When Mason climbed out of my bag and made his way over to him, Chris had thought he was also escaping. However, after learning that he’d befriended a ‘giant’, Chris had begged Mason so vehemently to run away, and tried to convince him that he wasn’t safe, that the teacher in the room nearly found them and they both had to run and hide outside the classroom. From there, Mason had to chase down the other survivor to try to convince him to come with me.

Of course, they both ended up getting lost. After the last bell had rung, Mason feared that I’d left him behind. He’d begun to have second thoughts about chasing Chris when the custodian found them both and kicked them out. I knew the rest of the story from there. “Era uoy thgirla?” I asked him after he’d finished relaying what happened. I’d asked him that before, but I wanted to flaunt my knowledge of his language a bit. Mason nodded happily, flopping down on my crossed forearms.

“Haey, m’I tsuj dalg I tog tuo fo ereht dna kcab ot uoy wohemos. I saw gnitrats ot daerd taht d’I eb gnivil ni eht sehsub niaga…” Despite my efforts to learn, I still couldn’t quite decipher full verbal sentences yet. Instead, I tried to cheer him up by laying my head back down over my arms, jokingly resting it on top of him. He laughed loudly, shoving at my chin. “Yeh! Pleh! M’I gnieb dehsums!” he yelped.

The rest of the day passed more easily. I grudgingly did homework, then went to check up on the other survivor before I got ready for bed. He’d decided to stay with Julie, which.. fair. She can actually understand and speak their language. Apparently, he had a colony of people that he’d been taken from that he wanted to get back to. Julie had promised him she’d take him early the next day after a safe night’s rest, and ONLY if he agreed to take armfuls of supplies with him to his camp.

Laying down roughly in bed, I snickered as I watched Mason get launched a good five inches into the air. I didn’t realize it would do that to him until a split second before I hit the mattress. He shook himself off eagerly and pointed at my Switch laying beside my bed. I shook my head “Worromot. I ev- ah ot peels.” Mason gave me a slightly disappointed look, but nodded, understanding I’d have to get up early again tomorrow. By the time I was finished getting ready for the following day, Mason was tucked away in his tiny bed, fast asleep.

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goblinunderabridge · 11 days

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silly’s 🥹🥹🥹

At the Side of a Titan

Our First Conversation

The titans are great beasts that no man in his right mind would trust. It is fortunate then that I did not belong to that category, for you see, I have discovered life at the side of such a powerful being to be much simpler than it is within the confines of human civilization. Gone are the worries of food and shelter - a single crumb of the titan's meal could feed me for days, and no soul dare approach such a terrifying figure. At the same time, it is difficult to be so completely stripped of any sort of society. While it seemed otherwise at first, the lack of social exchanges began to weigh on me a few moons after I joined the titan's wandering across the land.

I had not one person to speak with - not even the titan, who made himself clear about the matter. They only tolerate my presence due to my insignificance, but would leave me at the first human settlement we encounter were I to cause any disturbance to them. It is for this reason that I dare not to speak much.

The titan himself seemed to be content with silence. In all the time I have traveled with the titan I have heard them say fewer than a dozen different words, and not once have I heard them speak a full sentence. I would like to think that it is understandable then that I had jumped when the titan chose to initiate a conversation with me for the very first time while we hid from a storm in a large cavern.

"Bothered?"

"E-excuse me?" worry tinted my voice, in spite of me not having anything to worry about.

"You sighed."

"Oh- did I? I apologize!" I feared the titan to be angry - perhaps he thought the sigh to be an expression of frustration, "the rain had simply saddened me, but I am perfectly well!"

"Why?"

The titan sat down in a motion that caused the bolder that I sat on to tremble terribly - almost resulting in my falling to the ground.

"Why?" I repeated, somewhat surprised, "why did the rain sadden me?"

"Yes."

The titan's usage of a word where a simple nod or even a grunt would have sufficed surprised me further, and I attempted to answer carefully.

"We humans are always sadder during the rain," I sensed it might not be enough, and continued before the titan spoke again, "I would not pretend to have a complete answer, but there are a few reasons I am able to think of."

Having paused for a moment to gather my thoughts I noticed the titan's eyes following me with great interest, I did not know what to make of it so I continued speaking - happy at the opportunity for a conversation.

"Rain brings with itself cold and darkness, and these are both things humans tend to avoid - we do not see well in the dark, and the rain constrains our vision further, and the cold is dangerous to us - it weakens and ills us."

The titan hummed in response and looked to the entrance of the cave at the heavy rain. I followed his gaze and we sat in silence for a while.

"You fear us."

I looked up at his face, and was relieved to see it curious instead of angry.

"Well, yes." Attempting to lie of this matter would have been unwise, but that just meant that I needed to tread carefully. "Your great size frightens us as we are all too aware of the harm you are capable of inflicting on us if you so choose."

"And our abilities."

My heart stopped at these words. Everyone knew of the rare powers of the titans, and everyone knew that they never spoke of them with lowly humans. At these moments I feared for my life. Have I spoken too much? Have I irritated the titan greatly enough for them to have decided to rid of me?

Still, I replied, "yes, the abilities scare us most."

The titan - lowering their head - looked away from the rain and inspected me.

"Are you scared of me?"

Yes. Yes, I am terrified.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

My body refused to react as the titan leaned lower - watching me all the while. A strange expression appeared on their face.

"Don't be scared," their voice quiet and gentle as it had never been before, "I won't hurt you."

I found myself unable to move as gigantic hands rushed towards me. In terror and awe I watched the enormous hands as one closed around my bolder, and the other around me. I would have disapproved of this, were it not for the fact that my legs chose that exact moment to buckle. I slowly sat down - using the giant hand as support, and looked up to the titan's face. Fiery-gold eyes met mine, fiery-gold eyes that followed every single one of my movements.

A heavy sigh escaped the titan's mouth, hitting me as a warm gust of wind, "sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he apologized.

That caught me unprepared. Did the titan really just apologize for scaring me? Evidently so. As my heart returned to its regular pace I managed to decipher the large being's facial expression as sorrow or perhaps regret. He really did mean his apology. For a single moment I felt a need to apologize to him for having feared him.

"There is no need to apologize," I reassured the sympathetic titan, "the matter has been cleared now," I smiled - both to help assure the titan of my forgiveness, and due to a true easing of a tension that went unnoticed by me until now.

The titan remained still for a few moments - looking me over with those terribly big eyes - before leaning back to watch the weeping heavens once more. I confess that the sight of his hands retracting away from me filled me with relief.

"What do you know about the abilities?"

I would have preferred some other topic of conversation, but with the titan's reassurance and an unhealthy supplement of curiosity I managed to continue the conversation.

"We do not know much," I began, "we only know for certain that these powers exist, and that they are inaccessible to us. All else are guesses. Are these powers tiring to wield, or do they have to be held back at all times? Do all titans possess them, or are there just a select few who are actually able to make use of them? Many of our scholars debated such questions, but to the best of my knowledge none have yet given a complete and satisfactory answer."

When an amused chuckle reverberated throughout the cave I turned to look at the titan.

"You do fear the unknown."

I do not like to admit it, but I felt embarrassment at the titan's reaction - not just for myself, but for all of humanity.

"We have good reason to," I defended, "much too often the unknown turns against us, or is used against us by some other malicious entity."

The titan thought it over shortly before shrugging.

"Fair."

I suspected him not to be entirely sincere - the slight upward curving of his lips might have went unnoticed by a fellow titan, but it clued me in to his still elevated mood. I might have continued arguing, but the titan sighed - and the smile was gone. I took that as an indication that our conversation is over, and reserved to continue watching the heavy rain.

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goblinunderabridge · 13 days

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is this working 😔😔😔

Ur character kind of looks like pink bubble gum 😢😢😢

*waddles up to you trembling like a chihuahua* i could rlly go for some uppies right now man

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goblinunderabridge · 16 days

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their secretly ecstatic guys I swear !!

I love ur art it looks like it tastes like marshmallows 😍😍😍😍

Lily being held, they are not too happy about it

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goblinunderabridge · 19 days

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No gt art but I have been tryna improve and actually color and shade 😥

#NOT gt #i swear ive been arting #accidental name reveal but im too lazy to edit it outt #xoxo #art #my art #oc art

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goblinunderabridge · 20 days

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I love size swaps 😥😥😥😥

#THE JOY OF: omg my giant friend I just started to trust is suddenly three inches tall #Oh no theyre scared of me #they think im gonna retaliate for our less than optimal first meeting #Yknow the jar thing #how the fuck do I be gentle when im this big #How tf r THEY gentle when theyre this big?#and then they get frustrated and accidentally use their newfound strength to like break something #Or hurt someone on accident #and they turn into what they were afraid of #and ofc the sensory overload for the new tiny guy #HURT/COMFORT OMG 😔😔😔#g/t idea #g/t art #g/t fearplay #gt community #g/t fluff #g/t writing

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goblinunderabridge · 20 days

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ill kiss it better

okay but what if it was the giant being scared of the tiny? its always the tiny afraid of the giant but wheres the opposite 🤔

and no i havent named this oc yet 😿

also hi lmfao im new 2 tumblr

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goblinunderabridge · 20 days

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IM BACK

granted, it’s gonna be less than before, but i’ll be here!

HIYAAAAA 👋👋👋👋 WBBB

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goblinunderabridge · 21 days

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i dont wanna talk about it 😢

The struggle of a gt artist; drawing hands

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goblinunderabridge · 21 days

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NOOOO 😭😭😭😭 m sobbing my boys 😔😔😔😔

Okay, we know Oliver isn't scared of James but.. what if James (accidentally or not) actually did something that would scare the shit outta Oliver? Make Oliver feel totally vulnerable and terrified?

We really need to see their angst!

(love your work🥰)

You guys asked for it. Ironically @justme315 also just made a post whilst I was in the middle of writing it about wanting some good angst-- hopefully this is filling enough. I also tied this into the injury prompt 31 which was requested!

31) "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Word count: 1,685

---

“We all make mistakes, James. It's a part of life. You shouldn't hold onto that guilt forever. You said yourself that Emily forgave you for—”

“Emily forgiving me doesn't fix anything! Fuck, Oliver— I… I don't want your therapy-speak right now, it's just pissing me off!” James interrupted, a slight growl in his tone as he levelled a half-glare in the borrower's direction. His hands gestured as he spoke to emphasise his point. He knew Oliver was only trying to help, but he always made it sound so simple when life just wasn't like that.

Oliver winced at the volume but didn't let it bother him too much, sensing that if he told James to quiet down that might just aggravate him further. He focused instead on what James said. Therapy-speak?

“That's…just how I speak, James. I'm sorry if it made things worse, I’ll try to…hm.” He paused, thinking over what to do to fix his speech in the moment. “I’ll try not to say too many words. I understand that can be overwhelming for some people when they're in distress. My apologies.”

James groaned, slamming an elbow onto the edge of the table as he buried his face in one of his hands for a moment. He looked up, brows furrowing with irritation clear in his expression. “You are literally doing it right now—”

Oliver bristled.

“Oh. I'm…sorry. I'm just trying to communicate clearly so my intentions and feelings aren't misunderstood.” He hesitated again for a moment as he tried to figure out what about his speech was therapy-speak. Did James not want comfort..? But then what was Oliver supposed to do? He certainly wasn't going to participate in James's self-loathing. He offered a reassuring smile. “How would you like me to speak? I just want to help.”

James inhaled slowly before letting out a huff, closing his eyes and burying his face in both hands now. Rather than answering Oliver he stayed like that; silent, annoyed but trying to hold it back. He knew Oliver just wanted to help— but sometimes that just made James feel worse because Oliver had it all figured out and James didn't.

Sometimes he admired Oliver so much, but other times he felt so jealous. Even now, James knew that he was being the bad guy. Oliver wasn't a malicious person and clearly only cared but James really didn't want care right now. He wanted to shout and yell and throw things and collapse in a corner and cry to himself as the thought of one drink wouldn't hurt kept replaying in his mind over and over again.

Sometimes he just needed that time to get it all out so it wouldn't keep bubbling up inside of him, and Oliver was the one who was keeping him from that. Ultimately neither option would fix the relationships he had broken, so it didn't matter which one he picked, right? Self-destruction was probably some fucked up form of self-love in some way.

“I’m sorry—” Oliver began, feeling slightly on edge seeing James be so quiet and simply assuming, correctly, that he had spoken wrong again. He didn't like the feeling at all. He hadn't felt it before when facing an angry human; even angry dangerous humans; because James was his friend and he wasn't used to seeing him in that way. It felt wrong.

And something was clearly wrong because before Oliver could react, he was snatched up into a fist and lifted up to eye level. The position he was grabbed in was less than comfortable, and Oliver had been startled seeing the movement come from someone who hadn't really grabbed him much since their first meeting. Fully facing James's glare felt almost akin to staring down a gun barrel and Oliver felt nervous despite himself.

“Would you shut up?!! I didn't ask you for help or advice, so stop fucking telling me how I’m supposed to fucking feel!! I'm not stupid— I already know that this isn't bloody productive, but for God sake Oliver, you don't know shit about what I've done!!” James knew he was taking out his anger at himself on Oliver right now, but he just wanted him to stop trying.

Oliver grimaced at the further increase in volume, especially from up close. Even after the shouting and swearing though he could still only see that his friend was suffering and all he wanted to do was help. James might not want it, but he needed it at that moment… He needed to break free of these self-destructive patterns.

“I know you aren't a monster.” He responded simply, and despite his slight unease Oliver still managed to meet James's gaze with his own; seeing right through him and into the hurt that was beneath all of the anger. He could see how watery his friend's gaze was.

And that was what made James snap.

He just wanted to get a reaction— some confirmation of his own thoughts and feelings about himself. He wasn't thinking straight.

James squeezed his hand slightly.

He regretted it in the same second he did it, breath hitching and his hand immediately dropping back down to the table and releasing Oliver onto it like a reflex. His expression of anger quickly became one of horror as he processed the small crack he had heard and felt when he had squeezed. Oliver always seemed so invincible that the harsh reminder that he wasn't hit James like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” James gasped, blinking quickly to try to keep the water out of his eyes. Why did I do that? Why on Earth did I do that?? His hand covered his mouth slightly seeing Oliver's alarmed and dazed expression as he raised his arm and looked upon his newly broken wrist. I did that. Oh god.

“I'm…fine…” The borrower uttered slowly, still focused on the injury. The adrenaline rush was likely responsible for the numbness he felt buzzing through his whole body and keeping the pain from being unbearable, so he was fine. For now. His voice wavered slightly and he found it difficult to look up at his friend at the moment.

Is this fear? Why am I afraid..? James is my friend, and this was an accident. He wasn't trying to break anything I'm sure… Oliver brought his other hand up to cradle the injury only to notice his hand was shaking. Not just his hand…his whole body. No. I can't be scared. It will only make things worse…

Oliver looked down at his shoes, trying to gather himself again but failing miserably.

“I.. I'm sorry that I hurt you so much, James. I don't mean to.” He felt something wet roll down his cheek and drip onto the floor. Stunned by the fact that he was crying right now, Oliver wiped it off with his uninjured hand before looking at his slightly dampened fingertips with a furrowed brow of confusion.

“Fuck. Oliver don't apologise, I…” James trailed off. He had never seen Oliver shake or cry before— and even if Oliver was still talking fine James could hear the fear in his voice. “I can help. Just—”

As he reached forward to offer Oliver a hand and take him to where the medical supplies were kept, the usually stoic borrower suddenly backpedalled, stumbling back so suddenly that he ended up falling backwards and onto his behind. James's hand snapped back like it had been burned and his lips pressing into a stressed line.

Oliver's heart was pounding as he stared up at James. He had never been like this before, and he didn't like it at all… I need to get a hold of myself. It was an accident. It was an accident… Despite him assuring himself of that again and again his mouth felt dry as he met James's horrified gaze. He was reminded of the glare that had been there only moments ago.

“It…it was an accident. You wouldn't break anything on purpose… It was a mistake.” He murmured to himself, shoulders bunching up and knees being brought closer to his chest. Even when other humans had given him similar injuries, Oliver had never felt like this. He hesitated, looking down again. “Could I have some medical supplies?”

James stood up quickly, wincing as he saw Oliver flinch in response. He opened his mouth to apologise again before deciding against it and quickly going to the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit. You haven't changed. Even after everything you haven't changed.

He took a deep breath to try to settle his nerves as he grabbed everything needed and walked back in. Oliver was still sitting in the same position; still not looking at him. I took it for granted again. James set the kit down before resting his hands on the edge of the table. He bit his lip.

“Can I help..?” He asked, desperate to try and right his wrong at least a little. He deflated as he saw Oliver's small shake of the head.

“I would like to be alone for a while, please. I..I don't like how I'm feeling at the moment…” Oliver spoke and James hated how he could hear the nervous trembles in his voice. Still, he nodded, standing up more slowly this time. As he looked down at his friend from this position it became clear just how small and vulnerable he was… He blinked again but it didn't help with the tears this time as one simply rolled down his cheek anyway.

“I’m sorry…” He uttered softly. Why did I think it was okay to grab him in the first place? Just because I can? What kind of monster would do something like that..? Lip trembling slightly, James turned and began to walk away only to pause when he heard Oliver's voice again.

“I forgive you.”

James stood still for a few more moments before leaving the room and sitting at the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. He grit his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly.

Forgiveness wouldn't fix anything.

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goblinunderabridge · 22 days

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omg no regrets it took more then four hours cause im an easy distractible guy but omg

Their SO CUTUWTATAATA

Guys i wanna read the art of love and war but im scared im gonna get sucked in and then like four hours will go by

Am i cooked

#i cried #And laughed #and maybe like cried a few more times

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goblinunderabridge · 22 days

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Guys i wanna read the art of love and war but im scared im gonna get sucked in and then like four hours will go by

Am i cooked

#IM LOST #J WANT TO SO BAD #THE ART #AND ALL THE PPL I FOLLOW LOVE IT #BUT I HAVE ISSUES 😔#g/t #giant/tiny #gt #g/t community #giant tiny #gianttiny

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goblinunderabridge · 30 days

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I HAD TO GO BACK AND TRANSLATE IT FOR MTSELF

poor bandit omg he tried to communicate 😔😔😔

Survivors — people barely a foot tall who were forced to take refuge in our world — have become a normal part of society. Unfortunately.. it’s not in the way they were hoping.

(original story here)

There’s no way I lost my 90 dollar ball. Are you kidding me?! I spent months saving up for that thing; how could I lose it? I’d torn up my bedroom in search of my prized possession: a professional-grade soccer ball. It had come with me to every practice session since the day I bought it. I stormed out of my room, heading towards the garage. Maybe I’d left it with my gear.

“Woah! Where are you headed so grouchily?” My older sister asked snidely as I stormed past her in the hall. “You wouldn’t care,” I huffed. She shrugged offhandedly, “That’s probably true.” Digging out all of my equipment — even my old stuff that I knew couldn’t possibly have my ball in it — I still couldn’t find it. Ohh wait… One of my friends had shown up halfway through practicing at a nearby park. He’d dragged me away to a local store because one of our favorite games was on sale. Dang it, I left it there, didn’t I?

“If Mom gets home early, tell her I’m at the park!” I yelled through the doorway. “Why are you going to the-?” The door fell closed on my sister’s voice and I rushed to my bike. The park wasn’t too far from my house; I could be there in 15 minutes if I hurried.

“Hold it.” Julie stopped me as I wheeled it to the garage door. “Mom told me to keep an eye on you today. Where are you going again?” “The park,” I responded innocently. “For?” “I think I left my soccer ball there.” “Oh? The survivors have probably taken it by now.” I sighed at her joke. Ever since the little human-like creatures had stolen the phone right out of her purse while she was distracted — true story — she was constantly referencing it. At first it was out of spite, then it became a habit. “Come on, I’ll drive you. It won’t be long, right?” I shook my head, grateful for the lift.

As I rode along with Julie, I begged the universe for things to work out in my favor. Please let it still be there. Don’t let someone take it. By the time we reached the park entrance, my anxiety was calmed. I could see the white spot of my ball towards the end of the field. “Yes,” I cheered quietly as my sister pulled into a space. “Alright, go get it,” my sister nodded.

I stepped out of the car and ran across the field in a half-jog-half-walk. But I stopped as I got closer — staring in open-mouthed horror. My ball was lopsided; punctured toothmark holes of a large dog pierced the sides. “Are you kidding me?! At least if somebody took it I wouldn’t have known they’d done this!” Angrily, I ran up the last few feet and kicked the deflated ball as hard as I could. It sailed across the field and hit the fence as a startled yelp reached my ears. Below me, a survivor was hunched over on the ground, looking around in fearful confusion. He gasped, scanning the sky above him intently.

“Huh? What are you-? Oh.” Following his gaze up to the sky, I watched a hawk or some other large bird circle around overhead. “Are you hiding from that bird?” The survivor glanced fearfully at me, then back up at the sky, whispering something I couldn’t understand. “Right,” I sighed, “You have your own language.”

The survivor was.. different than the ones I’d seen — maybe because they looked to be about my age, or maybe because they were actually alive and well rather than the few depressed half-dead ones I’d seen before. Whatever the case, I didn’t feel like leaving them there to get picked off.

I went to go collect my ball so the survivor would have cover again, but he yelped and rushed after me, cowering under my shadow. His gaze finally tore away from the sky and landed on me. Eyes wide, he asked me something I didn’t understand, but I could guess.

I sighed, but nodded. “Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me, and began walking back the way I’d come. The survivor sprinted after me. Halfway across the field, he wheezed something that vaguely sounded like he was asking me to stop. Oh man, even when I’m walking I’m going too fast for him. Poor guy. I stopped and let the little guy catch up with me. He sat down on the grass, out of breath. However, that bird noticed we’d stopped moving. I watched as it swooped down and landed on the telephone wires beside the field.

“Dnimreven! M’i enif! S’tel tsuj teg tuo fo ereh!” the survivor gasped, scrambling to his feet. He walked on and I kept up with his pace, walking beside him at whatever speed he wanted. It was slow going, but when we reached the parking lot, he stopped. “I.. hhu.. t’ndid yllaer kniht siht raf daeha.” Glancing around the lot, he looked over at the bird, then glanced up at me. “What?” I asked, “It’s alright, I’ll follow you. Just go back to the woods or something.” I waved a hand at the woods, but he slowly shook his head. “You.. no? Don’t you live there?” He just pointed at the bird and shook his head. I squatted on the ground beside him. Still he was shorter than me, but not by nearly as much as when I stood.

“Hey, it’s alright! Just go hide in the woods for a while. That bird will have to stop following you eventually.” A car horn startled both of us just as the survivor was about to speak. “Hey!” Julie called, “What are you doing? I thought you said you’d be quick! Stop pestering that little survivor and get in the car!” “Alright!” I shouted annoyedly back, standing up again. “I’m coming! One second!” I started walking to the trees nearby and the survivor raced after me. When I got to the edge of the parking lot, I stopped and pointed towards the forest. “Go on. I’m sure some other survivors will come along and help you.”

But would they? He gave me a solemn look and trudged towards the underbrush like I was exiling him. The car horn startled him again and he ducked away into the foliage. “Ok! Ok! I’m coming!” The whole drive home I was, according to my sister, ‘unnaturally quiet’. I blamed it on my popped ball — and normally that would make me angry — but I was just too caught up thinking about that survivor. I tried to remember every time I’d ever seen one. Surely one of them looked like they were doing ok, didn’t they?

Yet, as much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen one happy. They always looked scared. At best they seemed kinda.. out of it. At worst they were, well, dead. I hope that survivor doesn’t end up like them. He was my age. Surely he’ll survive better than the older ones, right? But there was that bird… I was up the whole night coming up with a plan to sneak out of the house and return to the park. I had to go find him again — to make sure he was safe.

I’d never actually interacted with a survivor before. It wasn’t at all what I expected. My friends said they were little scavengers who liked to steal. All the articles about them said they were a kind of mimic of us from a whole other mimic of our world. But everyone made them sound like little animals. The guy I met today — he seemed so familiar in a weird way. He spoke to me, gestured for me to understand, and even his expressions were so human I could understand him just by reading them. Then again.. maybe he was just a really good mimic.

During lunch the next day, I passively mentioned going to hang out with some friends at the soccer field, and was thankfully met with little opposition. My mom reminded me to wear a helmet when I went out, but that was all. I wrapped up half a grilled cheese I made for myself, tossed it into my bike basket, and pedaled off. I think I beat my previous record of biking to the park by a few minutes, that’s how anxious I was. I scanned the sky as I arrived. No predatory birds in sight.

Stepping over to the place where I left the survivor the other day, I made my way into the woods. I searched the ground with every step until I came across a survivor laying on the ground. A sickening feeling lurched in my stomach watching flies buzzing around them, landing on unmoving limbs. Shit... I’m too late. I carefully stepped over to the body and knelt beside it. I turned away after only a moment, but as I went to cover it with dirt, I realized their hair was much too long to be the survivor I saw before. Holding my breath, I bent down to get a better look.

Firstly, their chest had been torn wide open, and their arms and legs picked clean down to the bone. The position they were in looked painful, as if they’d been struggling. I realized in my examination that the survivor was a female, and let out a relieved breath. Whatever had caught it.. caught her — had eaten her. Wait. I shouldn’t be relieved by that! What the hell am I thinking!? I was just glad that it wasn’t my little friend who’d died, but I felt extremely guilty about thinking of this survivor’s death in that way. She’d died likely being hunted — eaten. Was she still conscious during all of it, or had the animal killed her by then? I just hope I’m not too late to help the other survivor.

Gently taking a few handfuls of dirt, I covered the little corpse. With a quick glance around myself, I spotted some wildflowers, picked one, and laid it carefully on the small mound. “I would’ve helped you too,” I said softly, as if that were any consolation for how horribly they’d died. No wonder the guy I’d met yesterday had given me such a desperate look when I sent him out here. I was basically sentencing him to a horrific struggle for survival in a place where he wasn’t meant to live in.

Standing back up, I backed away from the little grave and headed in a different direction. “Hello?” I called, “Survivor dude I met yesterday? I’m sorry I don’t.. know your name. And I’m really sorry I left you alone out here! Please be alright...” I walked through the forest along the outskirts of the soccer field, watching my every step and calling out once and a while. I began giving up hope as I rounded the end of the field, but something stopped me before I could turn around: my popped soccer ball. It wasn’t left where I’d kicked it earlier. It was tucked beside a tree a little ways past the wooden fence that separated most of the park from the overgrown trees and whatnot that I’d been trekking through.

Heart pounding, I raced over to the ball and yanked it away from the tree. A fearful yelp came from beneath it as the survivor from the day before huddled up against the side of the tree with his arms over his head. “Hey! Hey, it’s alright! It’s me! Remember me from yesterday?” I asked excitedly. The little guy looked up at me with a bewildered expression before his face slowly fell into shock — recognizing me. “Tahw? S’tahw gniog no? Tnaig edud, t’nod llet em er’uoy ereh rof ruoy llab niaga…” I had no clue what he said, but I was too relieved to even listen. He was alive — still using my ball for shelter. “Oh, here! I brought you something.” Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the bag of my half a grilled cheese and took it out.

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything to eat out here, so I brought you this. It.. might actually be a bit too big for you.” Laughing slightly, I handed the piece of sandwich off to him. It was half his height, but he took it eagerly. I sat down lightly, keeping watch for anything that might hurt him as he chowed down. “Yeh tnaig?” The survivor startled me from surveillance. “Hmm? What’s wrong little guy?” He pointed to his throat, then cupped his hands and pretended to drink. “Oh! You’re thirsty? I have some water, but it’s back with my bike. Sorry, I should’ve brought it.” The survivor gave me a confused look. He didn’t understand me. I knew he couldn’t, but I kept forgetting. He looked so normal that I expected him to speak a language I knew.

“Come on,” I gestured for him to follow me like I had the day before. He promptly got up and headed after me. The pace was even slower than yesterday. In the field, the little survivor could easily keep walking all the way across, albeit his steps were much shorter than mine. Here in the uncut forest, he had to weave and duck through the foliage like it was a jungle. He was exhausted after only a short time, and made the same gestures for a drink again, as if I hadn’t understood him the first time. I wanted to go and bring him one, but that body I’d found had me scared. What if I left him and something attacked? I’d feel awful if I came back to find a similar scene to the first survivor.

I.. I can try taking him there myself. But is he going to run away from me if I do that? Wild animals generally don’t like being held. But he wasn’t some wild animal. Surely he was smart enough to understand that I was helping him. Taking a knee, I slowly reached for him. “I’m just gonna help you out, ok little guy?” The survivor backed away from my hand uncertainly, but he didn’t run. “I'm just taking you to get a drink, like you wanted,” I told him, pointing towards the edge of the woods and the parking lot.

The survivor glanced between me and the distance he had to travel several times, then eventually glanced down at my hesitating hand. I came closer again and he held his hands up slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. However, he stood perfectly still.

His reaction hurt slightly. Doesn’t he know I won’t attack him? He looks scared of me, but I’m not a predator. I’m a person; I wouldn’t eat him or kill him for no reason. Slowly, I gripped his torso in a light fist and lifted him into the air. He yelled — dangling legs instantly pulling in against himself as he rushed to grip my fingers. The survivor’s eyes were wide open now, looking around himself fearfully.

“Hey, come on, really?” I asked, causing his head to whip back around towards me. His breathing picked up against the palm of my hand. “Is it really that scary?” Apparently it was. He readjusted, trying to cling even tighter to my fingers. I sighed, “Man, you’re like.. the same age as me! Can’t you tell that I’m not some big scary animal?” I headed back to my bike with him in my hand. He struggled so much I nearly dropped him accidentally. It wasn’t violent struggling like he was in danger, but still.

Finally, I reached my bike and released him on the asphalt. He scrambled backwards and tripped over his own feet, glancing around at the sky before taking a few steps closer to the bike, shying away from the open space. “It’s alright," I assured him, taking out my water bottle and pouring him a capful. “I’ll shoo away anything that tries to get you.” “I- I t’nod tnaw ot eb tuo ereh,” he said nervously, ducking closer to the bike’s wheel until he was pressed against it. Tsuj- t’nac uoy ekat eht retaw revo ot eht sterof daetsni? Stnaig t’nod yllausu ekil em gnignah dnuora ni eht nepo, dna eht sdrib ekil ti a elttil oot hcum.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I have no clue what you’re saying, but you sure are talking. Here, have some water.” I handed him the bottle cap filled with water, but he only pointed to the woods. I didn’t move until he begrudgingly took it. Sitting on the curb beside my bike, I watched the little survivor. A few dogs passed by on the opposite side of the lot. Both of us eyed them warily, but they were well-behaved pets. They ignored us and continued on after their owners.

Wait.. pet. I glanced down at the survivor. He’d relaxed a bit once the dogs passed us, but he was still on alert. I’d been thinking about that body — the poor survivor who could do nothing to save themselves from such an awful death. “Hey little guy? What do you think of becoming my pet? Some people keep survivors and train them, you know. You’d be a lot safer with me! I’d have to hide you from my family, though,” I grumbled. “Maybe I can make you a little home in my backyard or something. What do you think?” He just gave me a blank, confused look. “Right…” I sighed, “Before I teach you any tricks I think I’m gonna have to teach you some words first. At least you understand gestures.”

The only thing my musings were met with was a small gesture for more water. I thought for a moment as I refilled the survivor’s bottle cap. “I guess I should start with a name. Hmmm.. should I give you a human name or more of a pet name?” I thought for a moment, “What if I name you Bandit? Because you took my soccer ball? My sister did warn me that your kind likes to steal things.”

Once Bandit was done with his drink, I stood up decisively. He startled, but calmed down soon after. That was until I reached for him again. Bandit dodged away from my grasp and stepped away from my bike. Pointing towards the woods, he told me something and started walking in that direction. “No, look! I’m going to give you a real home now! Your name’s gonna be Bandit and I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to fight to survive out here anymore.” I stepped over to him and tried to pick him up again, but he took off at a run — surprisingly fast for something so small. Thankfully, it only took a little jog to catch up with him and corner Bandit with my hands.

The survivor began yelling as I stood back up. His legs were pinned in one hand and his torso in the other. “Tahw eht lleh?! Tahw era uoy gniod htiw em?! Tup em nwod! I t’nod tnwa uoy ot yrrac em dnuora; I nac klaw tsuj enif!” He sounded angry, but he just didn’t understand. He probably thought I was taking him back to that sad little spot I’d found him tucked up in. “Man, you gotta calm down!” I told him surprisedly, “You’re yelling like I’m going to murder you or something. I’m literally saving your life!”

As gently as I could with all his struggling, I placed Bandit into my bike basket and hopped on. He peered over the edge for a moment, confused. However, he gasped and ducked down inside as I lifted the kickstand. “Yeh! I- I thguoht ew erew sdneirf! Erehw era uoy gnikat em?” “That’s right,” I said softer than before, “I’m getting you out of here. Now hold on tight! We’ll be at my house before you know it!”

I biked slowly through the parking lot and across the road, but once I hit the bike trail, I took off — excited to bring home my new pet. Bandit yelled a few more times, and I slowed down each time. However, I kept forgetting and speeding back up again. About two-thirds of the way there, my little pet finally had enough. While I was focused on a blind turn up ahead, the little thing lept out of the basket. A heartstopping thwack resounded off the dirt path as he hit it. I came to a screeching halt a few feet further and dropped my bike to the ground, rushing to his side.

Blood had begun pooling through his pant leg as he hastily scrambled to his feet before immediately falling back over again. “Bandit! Holy shit! Why’d you do that?! I thought survivors were smart enough to know not to jump out of a moving vehicle!” An agonizing cry stopped me from scolding him any longer. “Shit, I.. I gotta get you home and bandage that up.” Scooping him up in my arms, I drove the rest of the way single-handedly — Bandit gasping and whining the whole way back. The sound made me sick. I don’t understand! He knew it was moving! They’re supposed to be the second smartest creatures in the world besides humans!

I drove straight into the backyard when I got home, rushing for the back door. However, when I threw it open, my sister stood in the doorway, arms crossed. I had quick enough reflexes to hide Bandit behind my back, but that was all. “I knew you were up to something when Mom told me where you were going!” she accused. “No!” I yelped, covering up a groan from my little injured pet. “I was at the park! I swear!” “So why are you sneaking in the back-” Julie’s face paled mid-sentence. “Ritchie? Is that blood on your sweatshirt?” Shit. It was. Bandit’s leg must’ve bled into my clothing while I was holding him tucked against my chest.

There was no use trying to lie. Julie was a veterinary major — specializing in surgery. She knew blood when she saw it. “I- I can explain.” Before I could explain anything, she grabbed my arm and fearfully yanked it out from behind me. Bandit cried out in pain as he was jerked forward. Protectively, I tucked him back against myself as my shocked sister let go of me. “I knew you would go back for that survivor,” she said under her breath. “But what the hell did you do?”

“I- I didn’t do anything! He jumped out of my bike while I was riding it and-” “Give him to me.” “What? No! What are you going to do with him?” She held out her cupped hands, “What do you think I’m going to do with him? I have to stop him from bleeding like that or he will die. Please, just let me have him.” “I- It’s not that bad!” I lied, backing away, “This stain isn’t even that big!” “It is to him.” Julie’s voice suddenly turned hostily serious. Hesitantly, I tried to give Bandit to her, but he gasped and tried to avoid her hands.

I was about to tell her that I should just bring him wherever she wanted him, but Julie spoke first. “S’ti thgirla; I t’now truh uoy. M’i ereh ot pleh uoy.” I blinked, dumbstruck. Even Bandit stopped struggling. “Did.. you just speak survivor language?” I gawked. Less than a second later, Bandit practically flung himself out of my grasp and into Julie’s arms. He started speaking so quickly, even she gave him a confused look. “Tsuj gnah ni ereht,” she said gently, “Ll’i teg uoy dexif pu.” She rushed off into the bathroom. The rumbling of medicine bins filled the air along with the sound of rushing water. I was so stunned I stood in the doorway for several minutes before quickly closing the back door and rushing after my sister.

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goblinunderabridge · 1 month

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IM AT THE EDGE OF MY SEAT OMG OMG

THE POOR GUY KM CRYINGNGNG i mean i think i understand why he jumped but also i would NOT be that brave. Good for him but also 😔

ALSO THE SISTER SPEAKING THEIR LANGUAGE?? HEYOO?

Survivors — people barely a foot tall who were forced to take refuge in our world — have become a normal part of society. Unfortunately.. it’s not in the way they were hoping.

(original story here)

#squeezes u and shakes u like a ragdoll

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